Chapter 75 - Nightfort

125 AC

The First day of the Fourth moon

Ulf Pov

Nightfort, the ancient castle of the Wall, stood before us like a time-worn guardian, whispering tales of bygone eras in the language of its weathered stones. The first among the abandoned bastions of the Night's Watch, its icy steps etched into the Wall itself, weaving a staircase of frost and memory. The colossal silhouette of Nightfort loomed large, casting a solemn shadow over the frozen landscape, a testament to the endurance of time.

It towered above us, the grandeur of its age evident in every stone, each layer holding the weight of centuries. Nightfort, a relic of a forgotten epoch, surpassed even Castle Black in antiquity, standing as a silent witness to the eons that had passed since its creation. Twice as old as its more renowned counterpart, it exuded a sense of solemnity that seemed to seep from the very ice on which it rested.

Nestled within the confines of Nightfort, the Black Gate awaited, a clandestine portal veiled in the shadows of the ancient castle. From this secretive threshold, my next destination lay in the vast expanse north of the Wall. There, amidst the chilling wilderness, the child of the forest would be standing guard, holding the precious weirwood seed.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" Garmon, a seasoned ranger of the Night's Watch who had joined our expedition, remarked as his gaze lingered on Nightfort. His words carried a blend of admiration and humor, prompting a chuckle from me in response. There was a certain camaraderie in appreciating the haunting beauty of this ancient stronghold.

Accompanying Garmon were two other men from the Night's Watch, shrouded in an air of mystery. Their silence spoke volumes, and their faces concealed, as if veiled against both the biting winds and the secrets they carried. Their presence added an aura of solemnity to our journey, a reminder of the weight of duty and the unspoken challenges that lay ahead.

Harlon, on the other hand, wore a somber expression, a testament to his struggle with the unforgiving cold. The North was a harsh mistress, and it seemed to have cast its icy spell on him. In contrast, I found myself strangely unaffected by the biting chill. Perhaps Nightfort had granted me an unspoken resilience, or maybe the Wall itself had chosen to be benevolent.

"Easy now, Vedros," I soothed, calming my loyal yet restless horse as she fidgeted for reasons unbeknownst to me. Securing our horses at the stable, I noticed the sun beginning its descent, casting a golden hue over the horizon.

"Well, Ulf, what brings you to this nightmare of a castle?" Garmon inquired, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

"I'll share the purpose of my visit once we've settled in for supper, old man," I replied, a faint smirk playing on my lips, drawing a chuckle from Garmon.

With a gesture, Garmon handed me a weathered map of Nightfort, keeping another for himself. It was a treasure trove of secrets, its parchment marked with the history and mysteries of the ancient castle. I had directed Garmon towards the kitchens, the very place where the fabled Black Gate lay concealed, hidden within the fortress's depths.

As Garmon made his way towards the kitchens, I couldn't help but feel the weight of anticipation hanging in the air. The fading light of the setting sun painted the ancient stones of Nightfort in a surreal glow, as if whispering secrets to those who dared to listen. The journey that lay ahead, the rendezvous with the child of the forest and the weirwood seed, seemed like an echo in the silence of the approaching twilight.

There was an odd sense of urgency mingled with a serene calmness, a contrast I couldn't quite place.

Vedros's frantic neighs tore through the eerie calm, prompting me to hasten to her side. As I moved closer to soothe her, an ominous sensation prickled at the back of my neck. A sudden, chilling intuition made me whirl around, just in time to narrowly evade an oncoming blade that sliced the air where I stood moments before.

"What madness drives you?" I demanded, locking eyes with one of the silent members of the Night's Watch who had accompanied Garmon.

Instead of an answer, he lunged at me once more, the glint of malice in his eyes unmistakable. With reflexes pushed to their limit, I attempted to evade his strikes, but a searing pain exploded through my leg as his blade found its mark, drawing a rush of crimson from the wound.

Caught between Vedros and my assailant, I found myself defenseless, my own weapon stashed away in Vedros's pack. The air seemed to thicken with an ominous presence, as though the shadows themselves had turned hostile, conspiring against me.

The assailant, his features shrouded behind a scarf, began to peel away the concealment, his movements deliberate and hauntingly slow. As the fabric slid down, revealing a face that seemed vaguely familiar, his words hung in the charged air, heavy with a cryptic warning.

"Don't you remember—"

Before the revelation could unfold, a sudden, jolting thud echoed through the air as the assailant collapsed, face-first, blood pooling from the back of his now motionless head. Vedros, in a swift and unexpected maneuver, had launched a powerful kick that struck the assailant with a chilling finality.

With urgency guiding my movements, I swiftly retrieved my sword from Vedros, hastily bandaging my wound before being propelled by an instinctual unease towards the castle's kitchen. A foreboding sensation, like a chilling premonition, urged me forward, whispering warnings that the danger was far from quelled.

As I pushed through the threshold of the kitchen, the clashing of steel filled the air, a dissonant symphony of violence. The scene that greeted me was a grim tableau of betrayal and bloodshed. Garmon, clutching his injured arm, lay sprawled while Harlon, blood streaming from his head, was at the mercy of the assailant, poised to strike a fatal blow.

Reacting swiftly, I hurled my sword with deadly accuracy, the blade finding its mark in the assailant, sending him crashing to the ground. With the immediate threat subdued, I rushed to Harlon's aid, attempting to staunch the bleeding from his grievous wound.

"Look at me, Harlon," I urged, the urgency evident in my voice.

"You saved me," he murmured through tear-streaked eyes, a deep gratitude in his trembling voice.

"Stay with me, my friend," I reassured him, turning my attention to Garmon, who lay wounded nearby.

Fury and disbelief intermingled as Garmon addressed the fallen attacker, his voice quivering with a mix of anger and betrayal. The assailant, lying wounded, seemed to gaze at me with a venomous stare, his intentions shrouded in cryptic bitterness.

"It appears he failed," he sneered, his words laced with spite. As our eyes locked, a shocking recognition dawned upon me. The face, once concealed, was now unveiled, revealing the true identity of the assailant.

"It was because of you and the blacksmith's bastard that the princess exiled us to the Nights Watch," he growled, a venomous rage in his words. "When we saw you at Castle Black, we knew what had to be done."

"But it was all for naught," he spat out, his tone bitter with resignation, moments before a fit of coughing blood overtook him. His words, laden with bitterness, echoed a twisted sense of purpose and a tragic end.

Never did I fathom that my paths would intersect again with those two men at arms. It felt as though the hands of destiny, veiled in enigmatic threads, had orchestrated this unforeseen reunion. Yet, observing the dire state of my companions and the twist of events, a lament for the turn of fate echoed within me.

Midst this contemplation, an excruciating bolt of agony shot through my skull, jolting me to my knees. The abrupt intrusion of searing pain seemed to slice through the fabric of my thoughts, shrouding the moment in an eerie disquiet.

"Come swiftly, or else you will have to face her and I will not be able to protect you like I did against that man of the Nights Watch," the Greenseer's voice reverberated through my thoughts, urging an immediate response. The urgency in the message sent a shiver down my spine, a foreboding warning that hinted at dire consequences should I delay.