Chapter 281: One of Us is a Traitor

Mance, who had just returned to the camp, still felt the heavy guilt of the wildling warriors he had killed with his own hands.

It was as if a rope was winding tightly around his heart, making it hard to breathe.

"Forget about it, Mance. It's not your fault," said his wife, Dalla, handing him a still-warm beet.

For some reason, Dalla hadn't felt very hungry lately.

"Hmm," Mance nodded. "Viserys is only this angry because Styr acted on his own. Otherwise, we wouldn't have lost so many people."

Sigorn, knowing the great losses his actions had caused the free folk, offered a large amount of Thenn supplies as atonement. After taking stock of their current provisions and adding the Thenn supplies, Mance felt a surge of confidence.

As long as they weren't caught in the next ten days, they could count it as a victory. His plan was to take some elite warriors and spearwives and hide near The Frostfangs—a land of mountains and forests perfect for concealment.

The main reason for breaking away from the main camp was the overwhelming strength of Viserys and the Night's Watch. With more than a thousand well-equipped soldiers, they could easily overrun the camp. Staying there wasn't an option.

"We don't have much food left, so pick the best supplies to bring," Mance commanded.

"No problem!"

"Okay!"

Tormund and the others responded in unison.

"Orell."

Orell snapped back to attention at the sound of his name. Mance handed him a small rib roast, the pale yellow fat still clinging to it.

"You're important," Mance said. "Keep your eyes open."

Mance knew how valuable Orell was. His hawk could warn them of any approaching danger, and even if Viserys used his dragon illegally, Orell's hawk would detect it long before it arrived. Yet Mance was certain that Viserys wouldn't go back on his word and use a dragon to search for them.

Orell nodded, Mance was unaware that he had already betrayed him. Under the looming threat of a dragon, Orell couldn't fathom rebellion. He believed that since Viserys had allowed them to live, he wouldn't harm them.

But most importantly, during the meeting, when they had locked eyes, Orell had understood Viserys's true intentions.

And so, Orell's eagle would not only fail to help Mance—it would become Viserys's signpost.

'The Dragonlord definitely won't hurt His Grace Mance!' Orell told himself, trying to dispel the gnawing guilt.

...

After Mance led a group out of the camp, Viserys and his men set off towards the Frostfangs as well. The old bear, now commander-in-chief, had no real reason to be there. But Viserys had saved his life not long ago, and as emperor, he was a man the old commander owed. So, out of duty and gratitude, the old bear followed.

Viserys had originally wanted to leave him at Castle Black and bring Benjen instead, but the old bear's stubborn loyalty prevailed. Knowing this was the old man's way of showing support, Viserys accepted his presence.

Since this was intended as a "surprise attack," Viserys had only brought about a hundred men. Most weren't equipped with iron armor, as it was too impractical Beyond the Wall, where brutal snowstorms and the freezing cold reigned supreme. Here, Viserys understood the wisdom behind the saying: "A general's crossbow cannot be controlled, and iron armors are too cold to wear."

Though Viserys's extraordinary constitution shielded him from the cold, his men were not so fortunate. They could only wear leather armor in this harsh climate. Even drawing a bow and firing an arrow became a challenge in such conditions.

"Your Grace, Giant's Stair is just ahead," the old bear informed Viserys.

The Giant's Stair was one of the key access points to the Frostfangs, a treacherous mountain path formed by weathered rocks. It resembled a staircase, with layers upon layers of stone, each step waist-high for an adult, as if crafted for giants—hence the name.

As the group crossed the Giant's Stair, Viserys spotted a falcon circling above. There was no doubt—it was Orell's falcon. With his Dragon's Soul skill, Viserys understood its meaning perfectly. If they followed the falcon's path, they would undoubtedly find Mance's hideout.

...

Inside a warm cave, Mance and the Free Folk waited patiently. Orell sat to the side, eyes rolled back as he entered his falcon's body, scanning the landscape from above. He saw Viserys and his group making their way toward them.

"Orell! Orell!" Tormund called out, clearly bored. He would come over from time to time, eager for any news of Viserys.

"Tormund, if he spots the black crows, he'll wake up and tell us. Why do you keep interrupting him?" Ygritte muttered impatiently as she sharpened an arrow.

"It's already the seventh day. Do you think we'll win?" someone in the group asked.

Time had passed faster than any of them realized. But Mance, ever cautious, reminded them: "Don't let your guard down. Keep sending out scouts." Orell's hawks were only their first line of defense.

Each day, Mance sent out hard-footed scouts to patrol the area around their hideout, forming their second line of defense. As for the third line, that was themselves. They couldn't let Viserys take them alive.

Mance couldn't shake the feeling that Viserys had some plan in mind when he let them go. But no matter how hard he tried, Mance couldn't figure out how Viserys intended to find them.

'Benjen?'

A figure flashed before Mance's eyes. Benjen Stark was indeed an expert tracker, and Mance had specifically chosen to take Orell and send out so many scouts to guard against being found by him.

"Hey, I think we've won! The proud free folk have defeated the Dragonlord! That's half a year's worth of grain!" Tormund exclaimed, his excitement barely contained. He was already imagining how his title would grow even longer after this victory.

Tormund's current titles were already impressively long: Giantsbane, Tall-talker, Horn-Blower, Breaker of Ice, Thunderfist, Husband to Bears (he claimed to have bedded a bear), Mead King of Ruddy Hall, Father of hosts, and Speaker to Gods. Perhaps he didn't fully grasp the meaning behind half of those names, but that didn't stop him from boasting about them at every opportunity.

"You could also add 'Dragon Slayer'..." He paused, shaking his head. "No, no, no!"

Tormund quickly reconsidered, feeling that 'Dragon Slayer' was a bit too bold. Just saying the word made him uneasy. He couldn't help but recall the moment when Viserys's dragon had nearly taken control of them all. It had been a chilling, bloodless moment—cold, precise.

He also remembered the time when Viserys tossed a gold coin to Mance, leaving the fate of the wildlings hanging on that small piece of metal. Tormund could still picture the coin in mid-air, and the terrifying realization that their lives had been decided by something so small.

"Let's call it 'Defeater of the Dragonlord,'" Tormund thought, a little sheepishly. Winning a bet could certainly count as a defeat of sorts, couldn't it?

Sitting by the campfire, he imagined how he would boast about this the next time he had an audience. He scratched at the lice crawling on his skin, the warmth of the fire making him drowsy. Before long, he drifted into sleep.

Mance noticed but said nothing. Everyone wanted to stay hidden in the warm cave. Before, Tormund had always volunteered for patrol duty, but now even he seemed content to stay close to the fire.

Just then, the scouts from the Hornfoot clan returned. When they reported that they had found no sign of Viserys or his men, Mance felt a wave of relief. He glanced at Orell, waiting for his confirmation.

After a while, Orell finally emerged from his Skinchanger state, his eyes still adjusting to the surroundings.

"What's the news? Did you find their trail?" Mance asked.

Orell avoided Mance's gaze, though Mance simply assumed he was weak after spending time in his falcon's body.

"Your Grace, I haven't seen any sign of Viserys or his group."

"Oh, that's good," Mance sighed in relief. "You rest now. I'll keep watch."

"No, Your Grace, I'm not that tired. I just need something to eat. I can manage. You rest."

"Okay," Mance agreed. Seeing Orell's resolve, he found a flat stone to use as a pillow and lay down. The flickering campfire cast a warm, yellow glow across his face, but it did little to disturb the sleep of the King Beyond the Wall.

Before long, Mance was asleep.

Orell looked around. Nearby, Rattleshirt and Harma had somehow curled up together for warmth, entwined in each other's arms. He paid them no mind. All that mattered was that Viserys was coming, and no one else knew.