274 AC, Beyond the Wall
I didn't even have a moment to enjoy the victory, as the echo of my words still hung in the air when one of Howland's men ran up, clearly out of breath.
"Commander Stark!" — he called out, stopping abruptly. — "We have a serious problem. Warg birds have spotted approaching forces. Three hundred savages are coming from the east."
Silence immediately fell around me. Heavy, tense, saturated with instinctive fear.
Willam Dustin spat into the snow and said briefly, but with clear tension:
"What kind of savages exactly?"
"They don't resemble an ordinary tribe. They have burned marks, skulls on their faces, deep scars. They are cannibals. They move in a tight group, as if guided by gods or something even worse."
"How much time do we have to prepare?" — I asked coldly.
"About fifteen minutes, maybe less" — came the reply, after which everyone looked at each other.
I turned to the savages who had previously surrendered and looked them straight in the eyes.
"Have there been any recent movements from the cannibals? According to my information, they should be much further north from here."
They remained silent — clearly surprised, as if they didn't know if they could speak. Finally, a young boy stepped forward.
"For three months, the cannibals have been moving south" — he said in a calm, though tired voice. — "Our tribe was forced to flee. About a month ago, we arrived here, hoping for peace."
"How many of them might there be in total?" — I asked immediately.
The boy hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then answered:
"No one knows the exact number. We usually see them in groups of several dozen, but... something is drawing them. They are gathering. Slowly, but consistently."
"Do you know what is driving them?" — I probed.
"I have no idea" — he replied with resignation. — "But they always follow the ravens. When the birds appear, shortly after, they appear."
I frowned, and something tightened inside me.
"Ravens?"
The boy nodded.
I looked at my people.
"Good. We have ten minutes."
I pointed the direction.
"Take positions. If they come in a tight group, the first volley of arrows will do its job. We'll finish the rest."
Everyone moved without asking unnecessary questions. Even those savages who had previously surrendered — without a word of protest — joined the preparations. As if they understood that it was no longer about freedom, but survival.
Some of them picked up abandoned spears, others tied their fur belts tighter than before, as if wanting to strengthen not so much their body, but their will to survive.
When everyone took their positions, we waited.
The air thickened with each second. The snow froze. The wind fell silent. And then I saw them.
Not humans.
First, a cloud appeared. It was a cloud of ravens — dozens, maybe hundreds of birds, flying low over the ground, slowly, almost synchronously, as if they were one organism made of feathers and shadow.
At that moment, everything became clear to me.
Fuck. It must be Bloodraven.
Who else would have access to so many birds at once? Who else could push a flock as a smokescreen and a prelude to something bigger?
But why?
Why would he send cannibals after me? However, I didn't have time to think about it deeply.
"Battle positions!" — I shouted at the top of my lungs, not looking back.
At the very front stood the spearmen — three tight rows of warriors, each armored in a rune-covered armor.
Just behind them, in full battle readiness, stood the infantry — men armed with axes and swords.
Only further back, on a small rise, the archers took their positions — their ice bows gleaming with a cold light.
From afar, a sound reached us. Quickly growing.
The stomping of hundreds of feet.
Not rhythmic. Not military. Animal. Chaotic. But fast. Too fast.
The cannibals raced through the snow, not stopping for a moment. The ravens circled above them, as if they were their eyes, their guides. I still stood motionless, with Leviathan in my hands.
The archers didn't move. Taut bowstrings glistened with blue coldness. Icy arrows materialized, ready to be released.
Not yet.
Just a few more steps.
The cannibals were approaching at a maddening pace — like hungry wolves that know no mercy.
And then...
"Now!" — I roared, and my voice tore through the silence.
The ice bows fired.
There was no whistle. There was a boom.
The runes flashed with a sharp blue, and the pure ice arrows shot into the air and pierced the first rows of the enemy with brutal force.
Some were literally torn in half. Others were thrown back several steps, as if struck by an invisible giant's hammer. The ice embedded deeply, and then cracked inside the body, tearing tissues from within.
But they still ran. Even when half died in the first seconds.
"Spears forward!" — I shouted again.
The first row of warriors immediately lowered their spears at the right angle, directing their tips low, just above the snow, to intercept the first impetus of the charge. The second row raised them high, prepared for those who would try to jump over the first line. The third took an even step forward, joining the entire formation into one tight wall of steel and determination.
And then they struck. The collision was like an earthquake. Bones cracked. Armors screeched. Blood spurted upward like a fountain.
The first attacker was impaled so deeply that he went through his back.
I could no longer just watch. I threw myself forward with Leviathan in my hands.
The first opponent literally ran onto the blade — I swung to the side, and his torso split like wet paper, separated effortlessly, as if it had never been part of a living body.
The second was faster and jumped with a raised axe, but he didn't even manage to cry out — I made a turn, raised the weapon and lowered it from above, splitting the skull as easily as breaking an egg on a stone.
The third appeared suddenly from behind those two — he was strongly built, completely bald, and a necklace of human fingers hung from his neck.
He threw himself at me with a roar, as if the sound itself was supposed to break my will, but he made no impression on me — I took a step to the side, avoided the charge, Leviathan rose from below and struck with force into the side of his skull, which cracked like an old clay bowl smashed against a rock.
He fell without a sound, without breath, without life.
The fourth held something that might once have been a knife — a piece of metal, rusty and uneven, but still deadly in the hands of a desperate man.
He lunged low, trying to cut at the legs, counting on surprise, but I was ready — I blocked the attack, drove my knee into his ribs, struck with my elbow at the back of the head and ended everything with a movement from below, driving Leviathan into the neck with a force that ended his life.
I took a breath, looked around and saw that about thirty opponents remained, maybe a little more, but they were falling one after another.
Willam passed by me, wiping blood from his cheek, and said quietly, more to himself than to me:
"I guess it's over."
And then we heard it.
Wuuuuu. Wuuuuu. Wuuuuu. Wuuuuu. Wuuuuu.
We all froze as if on command.
From far away, through the snowy silence, the howling of wolves carried.
Not one.
Not two.
An entire pack.