Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Chapter 195: I Chose You (II)

POV: Author

Less than a two-mile drive from Nightfort.

Three days before the start of the Barrowton celebrations...

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The wispy wagon train, of which Pitt's cart was a part, continued at a half-day's pace without a stop, heading to Castle Black for the usual supply of groceries. This time, there were eight mounted Rangers and five additional brethren of the night, armed with bows and crossbows in the escort. A far too garnished number in Pitt's opinion, not that he was complaining. Rumors of the recent brutal brute attacks in the Gift had also reached his farm.

After all, what were they carrying in the aggregate? A few quintals of flour, sacks of apples, peas, carrots, turnips, onions, dried meat, handfuls of jars of honey, a few stalks of ham, and barely three barrels of beer. A haul too paltry and difficult to carry to risk the neck, unless someone was starving.

"Hey Old Man. You all right back there? You still sleepy...? You didn't expire on the carrots, did u?" Pitt asked the man squatting behind the flour sacks as he continued to hold the reins of the wagon, pulled by two elderly geldings.

The hooded old man and that bizarre black sparrow of his, perched there on his hand, had not made a sound for several hours.

"... I was not sleeping, Young Pitt." Replied the old man calmly.

"Not only are you still breathing, you're also holding your tongue. Ahah... Hey Old Man! How do u know my name? I don't feel like we've been introduced, eh!" The boy turned around waiting for an answer.

"... I deduced it two and a half leagues ago when Mr. Arm, back there, called you loudly to warn you that one of your worn-out canvas sacks was scattering turnips all over the road."

"Ah, right! How ranting Old Arm is, eh? But if it hasn't been for his big hillbilly voice, not even half a stag would the brethren give me for turnips, haha!" the boy was suffering from premature giggling and grammatical deficiency.

"An'd your name is what, Old Man? An'd your pet's? Thuse here are Tripping and Bigtooth, they've been pulling wagons for my farm since before I popped out of mom's belly." He also suffered from loose peasant talk.

"Lo you can call me 'L.' He's ... 'Root' and he's been by my side since long before Tripping and Bigtooth were born." Reciprocated the Old Man.

"Mmm, if u say so, L... But how long does a sparrow live, L? One spring and one summer at mosth? Look Tripping here had seen four winters, eh!" The old man, to the boy's eye, seemed clear-headed, armed with big words on his tongue, but also quite wacky in manner.

"You don't look like someone from the North. Where did you come from, Old Man L? An'd why are you wandering alone on this road? Going to Castle Black to join the Guardians?" Asked Pitt with all serenity.

"... I came from the West, after a long journey away from the continent. I was alone because Root and I like 'Confidentiality' and 'Solitude' in our travels. And I am not going to Castle Black, nor do I intend to join the Brotherhood of the Night, Young Pitt." L replied, trying in vain to inculcate two key words into the young peasant's ears.

"A no...? An'd where are you headed then? A traveler from Essos visiting to watch The Wall? The lands of the West, eh? But why didn't u follow the King's road from the south? It is a straight straight and safe road. On the new North road it is chock full of inns with hearths, feather quilts-not cloth an'd straw-an'd lots of smiles every three leagues! An'd with a few extra coins u also get frothy beer, tasty capon an'd not at all dry and good female. Female of all kinds! Hair blonde, brunetta, flame red, light skinned, tanned, dark, freckled and without, but all smooth smooth an'd very clean! You don't know what beautiful smells of flowers those ones have! My word, L!" Pitt.

"... You are an eager mind for questions and details, Young Pitt." Replied the old man, armed with patience and self-control.

"My mom always reminds me of that by smacking and scolding. Always saying, 'Someday they'll cut your tongue out!' or 'The curious take it from the Others!' an'd stuff like that, but I say, what's the harm in knowing and telling? One is bored to jelly by the tract without talking. I don't talk to Tripping an'd Bigtooth, those just trot, eat an'd shit, eh! Besides, in North there is neither of so many people. All too worried about the Wildlings around here!" Pitt.

"Wise woman your mother but, unfortunately, lacking in pulse. In the future, if fate ever chooses to smile on you again, lend her more heed... That said, I follow this road because I come from the West and not the South. I landed in the vicinity of the Shadow Tower and headed for the Nightfort. Therefore, this is the most direct and fastest route for me, Young Pitt." That boy did not accept coinage. Normally, 'L', would have offered a precious gem or a pouch of gold for a peaceful and quiet passage, but fate had chosen 'Young Pitt' who, in return for the required services, desired only talk and company.

"To the Nightfort?! An'd what are u going to do at the Nightfort, L?! The Guardians abandoned it centuries ago the ruin. Only cold, rats, ghosts an'd danger u find there, hear me. Bad, very bad stories go around Nightfort: Symeon Star-Eyes and the Hellshound, Mad Axe, the curse of King Sherrit, the Seventy-nine Sentinels, the Rat Cook! Don't get me talking about the Rat Cook, then u'll never eat bacon pie again, L! There's even one who got crowned Night's King, even on that story I got goosebumps! Look u might even find cannibal Wildlings in there, L! Chock-full of Wildlings in these two moons. The Guardians have found encampment tracks galore in Stone Gate and Snowy Hill, too! You don't have the escort down there, L!" Pitt began to narrate, one by one, all the darkest myths concerning the Nightfort, hoping to put the old adventurer off.

About an hour later...

"... Aye, there it is, the Nightfort, L! After the hill, half a mile walk and u're there." Pitt.

{"Praise and Glory be to the Maiden of Light and the Lion of Night."} Sang the stranger under his breath in an ancient and forgotten language.

"But it has grown almost dark, L! Do u at least have a light and food, L? I have a flashlight an'd an extra apple from the Old Arm. Even strips of beef jerky if u want, but soak them first, or your teeth won't hold them.... Do u want me to escort u there, L? I'll tow u to the gate if u want, provided there's still some beams left, but I won't fit down there... Well, if u shout me loudly loudly for help maybe I'll get in there an'd help u. But all I have with me is a wooden club for the bandits, an'd no talismans for the ghosts, L!"

"..."

After a lone traveler walked half a mile...

Old L stopped a few steps from the remaining mouldy doorway and waited. The abandoned fortress teemed with life, though the fires were out. Root would soon return to regroup. In the short wait, L peered closely at the ancient remains of those who, in a distant time, belonged to the most feared Fortress of the North.

'How could the Order of Azor Ahai have allowed such degradation?" thought L with disdain. Root reappeared immediately after that thought, gliding from the walls, then hovering near his master's ear.

{"See that unclean vision...? Tsz, my word, 'Root,' if one of the Five Forts had been neglected like this, I would have had all the descendants of those responsible crucified from Cannibal Sands to the Grey Waste moors... Hmm? I beg your pardon? An ambush...? Are these the exiled Firstmen that Pitt Loosetongue mentioned?"} The pitch-black bird sang the report of his patrol.

{"Mostly Mercenaries disguised as Wildlings. How many are...? What? Are you sure? A spellcaster from the third circle, you say? And what is she doing here? Do you think she's affiliated with the Confederacy...? A Roguewizard, then...? Maybe a Sellcaster in the service of the Titan. No...?"} The bird dictated every detail of what it had perceived, analyzed and deduced.

{"You don't think she's from Essos...Now that's interesting. Well, we just have to ask him, my friend."} The stranger entered the shadows of the ruin without traversing any further.

At first glance, the castle appeared bare and deserted. Towers and walls were broken and eroded over time. Its courtyards had become small forests, a twisted weirwood grew through a hole in the kitchen. And more trees grew among what once they would have called 'stables.' All that remained of the wooden beams was mushroom compost. Only an old bell tower, albeit unsteadily, still stood, along with a forge-nest for rodents and a brewery for spiders.

L advanced with slow, steady steps toward the centre of the courtyard forest. She bent down, rested a hand on the moss and felt the faint stream of arcane texture that still flowed between the stones. Nostalgic thoughts and buried memories resurfaced.

"Stop right there, Old Man." Four figures, some clad in grey furs, leather and woollen cloaks and breeches, but all armed with crossbows and hooked bolts, peeked out from among the shadows. Another dozen armed with pikes, axes or swords followed, surrounding him. "Stay on the ground... Yes, good. You have no way out; don't try to escape, or it will worsen." Intimated the supposed leader of the group.

{"No, no, no. I'll take care of it. You still stay hidden for a while. Just make sure our ferret doesn't escape us. Let's not risk coming out into the open. This continent has eyes and ears everywhere, you know. Besides, my nerves are on edge because of that Pitt guy. I have to let off some steam -- not a bad guy, no. I didn't say that You are unfair and prejudiced, my friend! I repeat you keep anchoring yourself to futile misunderstandings of the past...! I may have thought it, but I held myself back! Never lifted a fingernail, moved a lip, or chanted any whatsoever. Let my ancestors be my witnesses...! Yes...let's say so. What?! And why would I do that? Kindness and hospitality, your feathers! It is already magnanimity not to have dissolved his tongue! Tsz... All right! You have won! Yes! Yes, I promise! Will you curb that petulant beak if I do?"} The entire conversation between L and Root lasted less than two breaths, emitted by the unfortunate target inches from oblivion.

"You have detached yourself from the caravan, Old Man. Are you scouting on behalf of the Night's Watch? Tell us all you know about the caravan and the escort. How many of them are there? How many horses? What kind of weapons do they have? Are there any other gunmen hiding among the group...?" The sinewy leader pointed the edge of the short sword toward L's throat.

"...Answer these questions, and I promise your death will be quick and painless. Omit anything, and we will boil your hands and feet. And we will force you to eat your own flesh." The old man calmly stood up, heedless of the threat, and turned to the youngest member of the dirty dozen, ignoring the captain altogether.

"Marou from Lorath, right? A courtesy, Young Marou. Call the Maiden who is trying to mess with the Black Gate and bring her to me, and also call back all your fellow 'Wildlings' I have no time to waste." The 18-year-old mercenary's eyes widened, and his face paled.

"How do you know his name? Hey! I'm talking to you, Old Man!" The captain lashed a backhand into the old man's face, hitting him. "Urghh...!" The man groaned as if his hand had impacted a marble slab. L's face did not move an inch.

In the process, Marou dropped the pike and sprinted suddenly toward the gate entrance.

"Where the fuck are you going, Marou! You dare to disobey me...?! Marou!!!" The bashful and enraged captain turned to two other minions behind him. "Misk, Pollet, stop him! The Witch does not want to be disturbed! Bring that cowardly deserter to me at once...! Misk? What are you waiting for?" Something was wrong. None of the men moved or uttered a breath. All looked like quivering statues with eyes marked with terror.

"They will move when I say so. Their shadow belongs to me..." What did that mean?

The captain of the mercenaries, hired by an Anonymous and Most Generous Benefactor, looked down at the ground. A thread of darkness laced his shadow, paralyzing him completely. The eyes of the gloomy individual made contact with his own... An unconquerable, dark and indescribable presence entered his head, violating every memory, thought or secret stored in his memories.

"You seem like a fairly robust young man, and you also have a fair amount of Sarnor blood in your veins. Yes, you will make an egregious servant... How well can you stand the pain, Captain Sudhir, son of Elmud?"

****

A few minutes later...

"You are more useless than rats in this ruin..." The enchantress invoked a yellowish, foul-smelling puddle that swallowed young Marou. The being who had dared to disturb her in her work.

"No! No! Mercy, my lady!!! Noooo! Arghhh!" The acidic substance melted and devoured the messenger's legs and torso. The remaining twenty-two men, summoned by Marou and gathered at the courtyard entrance, watched in silence the gruesome end of their comrade-in-arms. No one moved a finger. No one dared oppose the blood magic.

"Go -- and bring me the 'alive' visitor. I don't think one death is enough to explain to you 'What Fate befalls those who dare to disturb my work'." The men sprinted in unison toward the courtyard entrance. The Witch followed them at a slow pace.

A few steps later, the enchantress sensed an anomaly--a cacophony of screams, pleas, and despair flooded the access corridor. And, a few handfuls of seconds later, all was silent.

The Witch paused, deciding beforehand to raise her guard, arming herself with protective spells and advancing with a minor dose of bravado.

Upon reaching the courtyard, bewilderment, disbelief, and immeasurable terror overwhelmed the servant of the Great Mother.

'Power! Abysmal power! I must flee!' Synna was a talented and powerful enchantress with nearly a century of experience in the path of the arcane and a veteran of a hundred battles. That experience cried out for her to get away as quickly and as far away as possible.

She still did not know who or what was present in that courtyard, but nothing except the presence of Great Mother herself could have shuddered at her like that.

The Witch's fingers snapped toward the bracelet, crushing the stone. The stone dissolved, and an emergency teleportation circle tried to activate, but, at that exact instant, some kind of evil black canary snapped from the ground, mingling with the runes. The canary burst into a black blaze, polluting and interrupting the circle.

Brimming with authority, confidence and boundless power, a calm voice came from the circle's centre.

"Good reflexes and a discreet trinket -- space magic impervious to abjuration, ingenious. Long ago, another ferret escaped us with the same trick... Well done, 'Root'." It all happened too quickly to be metabolized.

"I can close the circle without plot sycophancy with these additional lambs. Heartfelt thanks for the tribute, Young...though. Not a bad mental barrier. I can't even get to know your name. We'll return later to 'Who are you?' and 'Who created that defensive mental array for you?'..." The hooded Sorcerer flashed a hand. A myriad of muddy black tendrils sprouted from the ground. Each summoned arm crawled toward its prey.

"Before I devote attention to you, I'm afraid I must fulfil a promise. Be my guest for the demonstration, Young One," announced the Sorcerer. The Witch was petrified; she knew that attempting to escape or react would be futile.

The enchantress could do nothing but watch the macabre spectacle before her.

The yard had become a slaughterhouse of slaughtered pigs, ready for slaughter. Captain Sudhir was the sole survivor, kneeling and immobilized by tendrils of Shadow that harpooned his flesh to anchor him in the centre of a supposed ritual circle.

Thirty-seven floating bodies slowly arranged themselves in a spiral shape as Sudhir, his mouth gagged by a tendril of Shadow, futilely tried to plead for mercy.

There were no somatic or verbal gestures. A single drop of blood dripped from his finger, soaking Sudhir's forehead. "Rise, Feed, Grow and Erect to me, Servant of Shadows." Promulgated the Sorcerer in the common tongue.

The tendrils began to suck the lifeblood from the thirty-two captured flies, draining them to such an extent that their bodies turned to dust. In the guise of amorphous pockets of black slime, the collected nourishment travelled down the spiral toward its chosen target--Sudhir.

"This is the time for shouting and despair, Young Captain." And the captain shouted...

The shadow slime entered from every orifice slowly soaked the flesh and ate the bones while keeping the host alive and conscious of the process.

Two minutes later.

A black figure with humanoid features but amorphous bipedal goat legs, feathered arms, long fingers with claws as long as knives, a torso clad in scales and a hideous face in the likeness of a boar bowed to its lord.

"In the name of Shadow, you will safeguard Pitt of village Orewall, son of Dador and Luna. None shall see thee, none shall know thee. As long as your sap endures, your protg's enemies will perish, his sincere friends will prosper, and his descendants will continue to pass on his name." The shadowy creature bowed its head and thunderbolt in a trail of Shadow toward the lost valleys of the North.

"Happy now, Clarsurix?" Asked the Sorcerer to a wall of shadows. A harmonious chant burst from the walls in response.

'Clarsurix...? Root of the Night?! Thought the witch with alarm. All the spellcasters knew the name of that creature and the name of the Master it served.

"... We were down to introductions, Young Enchantress." The Mighty Sorcerer stood before her in less than the blink of an eye. The witch attempted to release every protective spell, prepared in advance, against the most nefarious threats.

Sprays and whips of acid crashed down upon the menace. The Sorcerer activated no defensive array. Smoke rose from his body as his skin and robes melted away. But the attack did not affect the body itself, only a kind of covering. The wizard's disguise was literally a layer of skin and flesh...

The Sorcerer stroked his exposed skin, smooth as jade stone. The rest of the disguise dissolved, evaporating along with the acid. The body was bare except for the ten rings that adorned each finger of the hand. Then, black wings emerged from the ground, embracing their Master and giving him a sumptuous robe of Shadow. A black figure in the shape of a Phoenix covered the entire courtyard floor, watching over everything.

"Conjurer of Water, for what purpose do you attack me...? Do you know who I am?" Asked the immaculate figure, brimming with Antiquity, Power and Sovereignty.

The witch nodded, trembling. It was not death she feared, far from it. Death was a deliverance to be blessed in the presence of that individual...

"So... Say my name." The witch stammered in response to the command imposed on her.

"T-The... The Great Archwizard Lo Tho the Bloody, Son of Night, M-Monarch of the Shadow, Keeper of the Five Forts and Protector of the East... The Guardian of Magic."

****

End Part II