Snow poured from the sky, and white swallowed everything.
In the blizzard, sound grew sparse. Only the cries of dogs and horses, and the shrieking of crows, broke through.
This was the Fist of the First Men beyond The Wall, a place that seemed to smother the breath.
The Night's Watch's defenses formed a great ring, most of the brothers standing around the stone wall to hold the attack back.
Another mounted reserve waited anxiously around the great central bonfire in the camp. These were the assault men.
Fortunately, the torches along the ringwall atop the hill were still burning. Their orange light sent a grateful shiver through the men of the Night's Watch.
The crows cried even louder, and Chett's dogs barked along with them.
Every man of the Night's Watch was now on his feet, putting on armor, adjusting scabbards, taking up battleaxes and longbows as they rushed to the ringwall.
"I've almost forgotten what the South smells like," Samwell Tarly thought bitterly. Warm Horn Hill, warm sunlight, all of it was thousands of miles away.
Sam put on his mail. The crows beat their wings in their cages, screaming and flapping, slamming hard against the bars. Chett suddenly appeared beside him, looking as though he meant trouble.
Sam could tell that many of the Night's Watch hated this expedition.
"Why isn't he looking after his hounds?" Chett turned and left as soon as he saw Sam arrive, and Sam noticed the dagger in his hand, which struck him as strange.
"We have been attacked at the Fist of the First Men, likely by an army of the dead."
Sam wrote the sentence on parchment. The black crows in the cages had already gone frantic, whether they belonged to Castle Black or The Shadow Tower.
Sam had prepared eight pieces of parchment, each written with the same sentence.
"Damn it. I should have found a helper," Sam thought bitterly. His gloved fingers had gone stiff from cold and fear, but this was his duty.
"Click."
The birdcage opened. Catching birds was never easy, especially birds this agitated.
Black crows carried black tidings.
There were eight birds in the two cages, but in the end Sam only managed to control two from different cages. He tied parchment to those two crows and released them.
Many of the crows escaped, but at least his message flew away through the snow.
"The birds are gone. Now I have to fight too."
Once that was done, Sam immediately headed for the ringwall, riding a horse to find the Old Bear and his brothers.
This was the task the Old Bear had given him. Before danger came, he had to release the crows at once.
Sam was not a particularly strong fighter, and he could read.
Fully armed, Sam looked like a huge black bear. His pack was stuffed with everything he had: especially the obsidian blades and spearheads he had found, along with that old war horn.
"Fire."
Out on the snowy field, no one could miss the torches.
The brothers in black stood shoulder to shoulder around the torches, weapons in hand, staring into the falling snow and waiting.
Sam saw some men from The Shadow Tower, bearded men carrying long-handled axes and eight-foot spears.
For a moment, Sam thought the three blasts of the horn might have been a mistake, until the brothers from The Shadow Tower began shouting to loose arrows.
"They're here!" one brother cried.
"Nock," said Blane of The Shadow Tower. Twenty black-feathered arrows were silently drawn from twenty quivers and set to twenty bowstrings.
"It's so cold," Sam thought. It was the cold night that brought the Others.
Sam looked into the distance. He saw nothing.
The legends spoke of White Walkers in the woods, cold shadows riding great ice spiders, hunting warm blood.
"Don't panic," Blane of The Shadow Tower repeated. If they truly were wights, their arrows would most likely not be enough. "Don't panic."
Sam saw shapes moving through the snow, crawling upward from the slope below. That stiff posture could not belong to the living.
"Loose."
The brothers in black drew their bows to their ears, and the arrows flew.
"Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh."
The men along the ringwall let out scattered cheers, only for that joy to vanish at once, as if drowned in ice water.
"My lord, they aren't stopping."
"More are coming. Gods have mercy," the men of the Night's Watch said in trembling voices. "Seven, give us strength."
"Pray to your Seven, my ass," a brother in black cursed.
"This is Beyond The Wall. This place belongs to snow, wolves, trees, and the nameless gods in the cold. The Seven's power doesn't reach here. If only we had a Stark. They say the old gods protect the Starks."
Sam listened quietly, his ears pricked.
"The Old Bear is over there," a man of the Night's Watch pointed out. As the Lord Commander's personal steward, Sam ought to be with the Lord Commander.
Sam saw where the Old Bear stood, on the far side of the crowd. The Old Bear's raven was impossible to miss.
The night was so cold. Though the White Walkers had not yet arrived, the fingers of the wights seemed to slide down men's spines. That terror felt like the end of the world.
"Use fire arrows!" Lord Commander Jeor roared. "Let them taste some fire!"
The Old Bear saw Sam, who looked like a giant beneath his furs and mail.
"Sam, go send off the crows. That is the most important thing."
"They're already gone, Lord Commander," Sam said.
"All of them?" the Old Bear asked.
"Yes, Lord Commander." Sam nodded.
"Well then, boy, you'll have to fight with us." The Old Bear sighed.
"I released the crows too early," Sam thought with regret. "I could have waited a little longer and added a few more lines to the letter. In the cold and snow, we have been attacked by wights, but fire arrows have temporarily driven them back."
"Wights fear fire and the sun. In the cold without sun, in cold where flames struggle to catch, wights appear without hindrance." Sam thought about it, trying to sum up this battle.
Fire arrows rose, then fell, lighting the night sky for an instant before quickly going out.
Fear was the Night's Watch's greatest enemy. Sam saw many brothers' arrows miss their marks, and that was terribly dangerous.
Sam gripped his sword tightly and followed close behind the Old Bear. He also tried drawing his bow, but his archery truly was poor.
"Draw... loose!"
The camp was filled with the commands of the Night's Watch, and the sound of arrows taking flight seemed so sweet at that moment.
"Fire! Light them! Give these dead men a taste of flame!" the Old Bear shouted, with Sam behind him.
The brothers in black shouted to give themselves courage, whether in cheers or curses.
"They aren't stopping, damn it," one brother of the Night's Watch cursed.
The men of the Night's Watch held torches in one hand and longswords or spears in the other.
No one dared leave the torches. Fire was their last comfort.
"Fuck, by the Seven, all these wights are coming up."
"Old gods protect us."
Panicked voices rose like a furious tide, terror spreading from man to man.
North, south, everywhere was filled with screams. Pale wights crawled over the hills and across the field.
The wights were like a white wave of death, rushing through the white snow toward the black-clad Night's Watch.
Sam looked around and saw the pale, slack faces of the dead as the wights climbed over the rocks.
Many wights still had arrows stuck in them, but they felt nothing.
"There are so many," Sam saw. Most were wildlings, but some wore faded black.
"Fuck, that one's huge."
"It's a giant."
"Shit, there's a great bear too."
The most terrifying ones were not the human dead, but the giant and snow bear wights.
They were enormous, and their strength was greater as well.
Fire arrows were limited, and there was always a gap between each volley. But the wights, the tide of wights, seemed endless.
Their faces were pale, their hands blackened, and only their eyes shone bright blue, like blue stars, frozen stars.
One wight was struck by an arrow and set aflame, but a dozen more wights followed right behind it.
"Fucking snow," the Old Bear cursed. The falling snow spread like a white carpet, suppressing the flames.
The camp rang with the sounds of steel, wood, and impact.
Snowflakes drifted as pale wights crossed the stone wall, and the battle line split open violently.
Sam drew his longbow. At this distance, at least, perfect accuracy was not required. A fire arrow flew out. It missed the wight, but lit the white snow.
Then came another arrow. This time, he finally struck a dead wildling. Flame flared up, and the wight turned to ash.
A man of the Night's Watch raised his longsword and cut off one wight's arm, but the wight kept coming as before and knocked the man's head clean off.
"Run!"
A brother in black from The Shadow Tower died horribly. His spear pierced a wight's pale, soft belly and punched out through its back.
But the wight still staggered forward. The brother's joy did not last long before his head was twisted from his shoulders.
"Mercy!"
"Mercy!"
Some men of the Night's Watch simply broke. They were never professional knights or warriors to begin with.
They were only the dregs of the Seven Kingdoms, criminals and castoffs.
But wights had no feelings. They kept staggering forward, lifting the men of the Night's Watch who had raised gloved hands in surrender, and snapped their necks.
"All companies!" the Old Bear shouted. "Break out! We're breaking out!"
The most terrifying creature was a huge bear. A snow bear standing upright could reach twelve feet, a true monster.
The snow bear was pale, its flesh rotting, its fur falling away, but still it advanced.
Ser Thoren charged forward, bravely swinging his longsword. The blade lodged in the bear's neck, but one swipe of the bear's paw knocked the knight's head off.
More terrifying still were the giants. Ten-foot-tall giants, long-haired white wights, lifted men of the Night's Watch and tore them in half.
"Run!"
"Tooooooot."
The horn sounded again.
This time it was not the rhythm of attack, but the signal for flight.
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