Benjen grabbed a Night's Watchman at random and questioned him, but before he could get an answer, another thunderous explosion erupted from the distant Wall. A column of green fire shot into the sky, forcing Benjen and the others to crouch low on the icy ground in fear.
Dozens of soldiers, engulfed in green flames, screamed in agony. Some, unable to bear the pain, hurled themselves off the Wall. Those nearby frantically whipped their cloaks at them and shoveled snow over their bodies, but nothing could extinguish the fire. They could only watch helplessly as flesh and muscle burned away, leaving nothing but charred white bones.
"Cover the wildfire casks with ice blocks!"
"Catapults! Prepare the catapults!"
The shouts of Night's Watch officers echoed across the Wall.
Benjen and Eddard scrambled to the battlements, peering out at the countless magical attacks streaking in from the distant Haunted Forest. Grabbing a nearby Night's Watchman, Benjen roared, "The Others are attacking from beyond our archers' range! And they knew we had wildfire—they're deliberately using fire against us! Who? Who the hell betrayed us?!"
"I don't know!" The man Benjen seized was a ranger squad leader. He looked at Benjen's furious expression, then quickly added, "Three of my scouting teams haven't returned."
"Then they're the traitors who betrayed humanity!" Benjen declared with absolute certainty, then shouted to the men around him, "They sold us out! Brothers, grab your shields and bows! We will defend the Wall to the death!"
Eddard looked at his younger brother, wanting to say something, but shut his mouth instead. Benjen knew exactly how many rangers had not returned, but as he gazed at the blazing inferno atop the Wall, he understood that to keep morale from crumbling, he needed to give his men a target for their hatred—even if that meant unjustly condemning his missing brothers. Perhaps, if they won this war, he could clear their names later.
But deep down, Benjen felt even worse. Under the pressure of the Others, some Night's Watchmen who had ventured beyond the Wall had begun discussing joining the vampires. And Benjen, the Lord Commander, with ears everywhere, knew about these secret talks. Now, with so many mages present—who could allegedly extract souls for questioning even after death—confessing outright might be the better choice. At least then, those Watchmen could still earn redemption through valor.
"Eddard, you take command of the western side of the Wall—I'll handle the east," Benjen said, gripping his brother's armored forearm. "Stay alive."
"You too." Eddard, never a man of many words, hadn't seen his younger brother in years. He could think of nothing else to say, so he simply returned the gesture with a firm grip.
"Northern warriors, to me! We fight!"
As the direwolf banner rushed westward, Benjen turned to the Night's Watch officers beside him and bellowed, "Messengers, to me!"
The Watch, regardless of rank, all wore the same black, distinguishable only by their duties. As several messengers gathered under the cover of their shields, Benjen issued his orders:
"You—get off the Wall and inform the maester. Have him send ravens immediately to all other castles along the Wall. Tell them Castle Black is under heavy attack by the Others! Have them report their own situations at once!"
"Yes, sir!" The messenger wasted no time, running for the winch cage.
"You lot, head to both ends of the Wall. Tell our brothers to protect the trebuchets and mages at all costs! Once the Others come into range, unleash hell upon them!"
"Understood!" The Night's Watchmen scattered.
"The rest of you, hold the winch cages with me!" Benjen sheathed his sword and raised his shield with both hands.
Originally, the Wall had only one winch cage, but a second had been installed years ago—one going up, one going down—anchored by thick metal bolts driven deep into the ice. Seeing the magical flames raging, Benjen couldn't be sure if the enchanted ice would hold. If the nearby ice shattered and the cages collapsed, supplies would have to be hauled up by hand. A single trip in full armor would exhaust even the strongest warrior.
"Put out those fires!"
Fireballs arced through the air from the Haunted Forest, mimicking the trajectory of catapult shots, striking the Wall and spreading their flames across the ice. Thankfully, these magical fires could be extinguished.
But the red magical orbs flew straight, targeting the battlements. When they struck, they exploded, covering a wide radius of several meters. The enchanted ice remained unharmed, but any soldier caught in the blast would have their blood instantly drained into the air—even through armor and clothing. All around, the Wall's defenders were painted in crimson.
As the twin winch cages cycled up and down, more Night's Watchmen, Northern knights, and skinchanger mages ascended the Wall. The moment they reached the top, Benjen assigned them to defensive positions.
By the fifth cycle of the winch, Meredyth, Sansa, and Geralt had arrived at the summit.
By then, the direwolf banners, the chained giant sigil, the flayed man, the six-thistle emblem, and the green pinecone crest had all been planted across the Wall. Some banners burned, others still stood firm. Their warriors clustered around the trebuchets, shielding the operators as they launched counterattacks.
Bundles of ten small clay casks, filled with green wildfire, were loaded onto trebuchets, ignited, and flung into the distance. Upon impact, they erupted into violent explosions and inextinguishable green flames. The magical barriers guarding the Others' positions in the Haunted Forest couldn't withstand more than five seconds before collapsing, immolating the creatures lurking beneath the snow.
Yet some wildfire casks were detonated midair by the Others' magic, spilling blazing green fire across the sky, forming a burning emerald curtain above the battlefield.
Magical barriers had been raised all around the city walls, with woven vines forming large shields to deflect incoming fireballs—this was the work of the mages defending the fortress.
Benjen pressed his shield into the ice-packed ground, extinguishing the flames licking at its surface. Looking up at Sansa, who had just climbed onto the battlements, he shouted, "Sansa! Take a few mages west to protect Eddard! The rest of you, support the eastern flank!"
The soldiers who had arrived with the winch drew their weapons and rushed forward. Sansa glanced toward the golden magical barrier shimmering under the direwolf banner in the distance—that was her brother Robb's magic. She turned back to Benjen and asked, "Where is Wright?"
Her father was under Robb's protection, but in a battle of this scale, Sansa felt safer near Wright. Years ago, she had resented and feared the memory of him slaughtering his way across a bridge in Volantis with her, but now, whenever she recalled it, she felt a surge of exhilaration.
"Wright and the dragon wiped out a large number of enemies with their initial magic attack. He's been raining dragonfire on the battlefield ever since, but they've flown farther away now. Looks like they're hunting for the enemy commanders!" Benjen had to shout over the deafening battle cries, his throat raw and his voice hoarse.
Sansa and her companions reached the edge of the battlements. Below them lay the scorched and cratered Haunted Forest, where fireballs and spells still rained toward the Wall. Anxiety tightened in her chest.
Wright and Odahviing's devastating magic had indeed incinerated many enemies, but among the flames, a horde of maimed wights continued to crawl forward, joined by tattered, low-ranking vampires—mere cannon fodder.
The White Walkers' strength lay in their vast numbers of wights. As long as they lived, they could reassemble the undead from broken remains—shattered bones would simply find new bodies to inhabit, weapons would be picked up again, and the battle would continue. Now, with swarming blood magic and mindless Walkers being directed by cunning vampires, the enemy was more formidable than ever.
The magical energy in the sky had faded, and Odahviing was nowhere in sight. The Watchmen's reports confirmed what Sansa suspected: the White Walkers knew Wright and the dragon were at Castle Black, yet they had dared to attack anyway. They must have been prepared. Wright must have realized this as well—he and Odahviing were out there, hunting the leaders of the Walkers and vampires.
Sansa pulled the white mask from her head, covering the lower half of her face, then looked up at the incoming fireballs and asked Benjen, "Those creatures aren't advancing? They're just launching fireballs from a distance?"
"Yes. They show no signs of a direct assault. Our mages and trebuchets are firing back, but the wights just use their bodies as shields."
Benjen studied Sansa—his niece was now the mage of the Red Keep, dressed in an ornate white mage's robe with that eerie white mask. Speaking to her no longer felt like conversing with family. It was more like reporting to a superior.
Sansa lifted her hands toward a fireball flying in her direction. Two jet-black arms shot out from her sleeves, intercepting the flaming projectile midair. A burst of frost erupted from the ice-forged limbs, instantly extinguishing the flames.
The two arms, each made of Valyrian steel that not even dragonfire could melt, lowered the now-charred mass gently beside her. Then, they shot back into her sleeves as if they had never left.
"This smell is familiar," Geralt muttered, sniffing the extinguished fireball. He lightly scraped it with his siren sword, revealing a thick, white, fibrous layer beneath the scorched surface. With a stronger slash, a putrid, yellowish-white substance spilled onto the ice—viscous, reeking of rot, like the innards of some great beast.
"Spider silk!" Geralt cursed. "Wrapped in mud and webbing on the outside, packed with whale oil on the inside! Damn Walkers—when did they get this smart?" He kicked the foul mass over the Wall.
"Ice spiders are their mounts," Benjen said grimly. "The Walkers' sluggish minds could never come up with this—it has to be the vampires' doing." He trusted Wright's assessment of the Walkers' slow-witted nature.
Sansa's left arm shot out again, pulling Geralt toward the battlements. "Your eyes are sharp—see what they're using to launch these!"
"If only my hawks were still alive," Menethis murmured. Like the other skinchangers, she had lost all her beasts in the northern battles. Surviving herself had been a miracle.
Far ahead, golden and green flames flickered against plumes of black smoke. Geralt studied the battlefield for a moment before pulling out a vial and downing the potion.
As he tossed the empty bottle aside, dark veins spread across his face, his pupils turning jet black. His enhanced vision pierced through the haze and ice, revealing several figures clustered in a dug-out pit.
"Ice spiders," he growled. "Wights are reinforcing the ice around them, using their bodies as shields. The vampires are launching spells to disrupt our defenses, countering our wildfire and magic. They're commanding the spiders." Geralt adjusted his magical sight. Ice spiders were beasts—they wouldn't appear in his undead-focused vision.
"The webbing is strung between two spiders, with a third pulling it tight like a slingshot to launch the fireballs." His voice suddenly rose in fury. "Humans! Damn it—they have wildlings lighting the fuses!"
His fists clenched, and he roared in rage.
"The wildlings? Those damned bastards!" Benjen roared in his hoarse voice, leaning over the battlements. "The vampires were once wildlings themselves, and now they aid the White Walkers? They're unworthy of worshiping the Old Gods!"
"A bunch of illiterate savages who know nothing but raiding and pillaging. The Old Gods' faith in their mouths is nothing but a joke!"
"Wildlings have served as the White Walkers' dogs before. Now that vampires look a bit more pleasing to the eye, they'd probably abandon their wives and children just to join them."
Most of the Night's Watch held little fondness for the wildling men beyond the Wall.
Benjen turned to Sansa. "Those bastards are too far away. Our mages have limited power. We can't just sit on the Wall and let them burn us. We need to send people into the Haunted Forest to eliminate them!"
"No ordinary human can step beyond the Wall right now," Sansa said firmly. "Meredyth and I will lead a few mages to clear them out."
She turned her gaze toward the Haunted Forest, where fireballs kept streaking toward the Wall from countless strongholds. "There are too many of them. We can only clear out the closest ones."
"I understand. As long as we hold out until Wright kills the White Walker leader, we'll be fine. But don't be reckless—returning alive is the only way to keep fighting."
Benjen drew his obsidian dagger from his belt. As a Stark of Winterfell, he had been familiar with Valyrian steel since childhood. He had seen Sansa's arms and Geralt's Sea Wraith, but Meredyth had no such weapon, so he handed her his dagger.
Sansa and the mages skilled in skinchanging leaped down from the Wall, with her sworn knight Geralt following without needing an order.
"We'll all return alive and give you back your dagger then," Meredyth said, conserving her magic. Since obsidian could kill White Walkers in one strike, it was better to use it when possible. She took the dagger and leaned backward, letting herself fall from the Wall.
"May the Seven protect them." The officers raised their shields and looked down as the mages landed safely below, whispering prayers for their return.
The Wall stretched for hundreds of miles and had nineteen castles. Even Castle Black, positioned at the center and defended by Wright, was under such heavy assault. Benjen couldn't help but worry about the fate of the other castles.
"The fireballs are filled with whale oil! Raise ice barriers to stop them from spreading!" he ordered, resuming command of the defenses.
---
Odahviing soared beneath the clouds as Wright activated his draconic sight. His pupils became golden slits, scanning the ground for any trace of the White Walkers.
The dragon and rider moved eastward along the Wall. Below them, fireballs flew through the air, and soldiers roared from the battlements. Whenever they neared a cluster of enemies, Wright would bombard them with magic, or Odahviing would dive low, unleashing a blazing wall of dragonfire across the ground.
"Gods damn it!" Wright cursed. "Did the White Walkers dig up every corpse from thousands of years in the North? Not even a hundred of me could kill them all!"
The attack points were spread both densely and sporadically. The relentless assault was draining both Wright and Odahviing's magic reserves—there was no way they could clear all of them before exhaustion set in.
"Dragonborn, are there any dragon remains in the North?" Odahviing asked in his deep, ancient voice.
"There shouldn't be!" Wright answered, though uncertainty lingered in his mind. "The Valyrians had a tradition of hunting White Walkers as a rite of passage. They wouldn't have been stupid enough to leave a dragon buried up here…"
But then again, history was filled with fools. Perhaps, somewhere in the frozen wastelands, a dragon's bones still lay hidden.