A Game of Thrones: The Story Continues Books 1-4. George R.r. Martin

bright in the moonlight, water trickling off to form small shallow pools. Jon squatted and brought his hands together, cupping the runoff between his fingers. The snowmelt was icy cold. He drank, and splashed some on his face, until his cheeks tingled. His fingers were throbbing worse than they had in days, and his head was pounding too. I am doing the right thing, he told himself, so why do I feel so bad?

      The horse was well lathered, so Jon took the lead and walked her for a while. The road was scarcely wide enough for two riders to pass abreast, its surface cut by tiny streams and littered with stone. That run had been truly stupid, an invitation to a broken neck. Jon wondered what had gotten into him. Was he in such a great rush to die?

      Off in the trees, the distant scream of some frightened animal made him look up. His mare whinnied nervously. Had his wolf found some prey? He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ghost!” he shouted. “Ghost, to me.” The only answer was a rush of wings behind him as an owl took flight.

      Frowning, Jon continued on his way. He led the mare for half an hour, until she was dry. Ghost did not appear. Jon wanted to mount up and ride again, but he was concerned about his missing wolf. “Ghost,” he called again. “Where are you? To me! Ghost!” Nothing in these woods could trouble a direwolf, even a half-grown direwolf, unless … no, Ghost was too smart to attack a bear, and if there was a wolf pack anywhere close Jon would have surely heard them howling.

      He should eat, he decided. Food would settle his stomach and give Ghost the chance to catch up. There was no danger yet; Castle Black still slept. In his saddlebag, he found a biscuit, a piece of cheese, and a small withered brown apple. He’d brought salt beef as well, and a rasher of bacon he’d filched from the kitchens, but he would save the meat for the morrow. After it was gone he’d need to hunt, and that would slow him.

      Jon sat under the trees and ate his biscuit and cheese while his mare grazed along the kingsroad. He kept the apple for last. It had gone a little soft, but the flesh was still tart and juicy. He was down to the core when he heard the sounds: horses, and from the north. Quickly, Jon leapt up and strode to his mare. Could he outrun them? No, they were too close, they’d hear him for a certainty, and if they were from Castle Black …

      He led the mare off the road, behind a thick stand of grey-green sentinels. “Quiet now,” he said in a hushed voice, crouching down to peer through the branches. If the gods were kind, the riders would pass by. Likely as not, they were only smallfolk from Mole’s Town, farmers on their way to their fields, although what they were doing out in the middle of the night …

      He listened to the sound of hooves growing steadily louders as they trotted briskly down the kingsroad. From the sound, there were five or six of them at the least. Their voices drifted through the trees.

      “… certain he came this way?”

      “We can’t be certain.”

      “He could have ridden east, for all you know. Or left the road to cut through the woods. That’s what I’d do.”

      “In the dark? Stupid. If you didn’t fall off your horse and break your neck, you’d get lost and wind up back at the Wall when the sun came up.”

      “I would not.” Grenn sounded peeved. “I’d just ride south, you can tell south by the stars.”

      “What if the sky was cloudy?” Pyp asked.

      “Then I wouldn’t go.”

      Another voice broke in. “You know where I’d be if it was me? I’d be in Mole’s Town, digging for buried treasure.” Toad’s shrill laughter boomed through the trees. Jon’s mare snorted.

      “Keep quiet, all of you,” Halder said. “I thought I heard something.”

      “Where? I didn’t hear anything.” The horses stopped.

      “You can’t hear yourself fart.”

      “I can too,” Grenn insisted.

       “Quiet!”

      They all fell silent, listening. Jon found himself holding his breath. Sam, he thought. He hadn’t gone to the Old Bear, but he hadn’t gone to bed either, he’d woken the other boys. Damn them all. Come dawn, if they were not in their beds, they’d be named deserters too. What did they think they were doing?

      The hushed silence seemed to stretch on and on. From where Jon crouched, he could see the legs of their horses through the branches. Finally, Pyp spoke up. “What did you hear?”

      “I don’t know,” Halder admitted. “A sound, I thought it might have been a horse but …”

      “There’s nothing here.”

      Out of the corner of his eye, Jon glimpsed a pale shape moving through the trees. Leaves rustled, and Ghost came bounding out of the shadows, so suddenly that Jon’s mare started and gave a whinny. “There!” Halder shouted.

      “I heard it too!”

      “Traitor,” Jon told the direwolf as he swung up into the saddle. He turned the mare’s head to slide off through the trees, but they were on him before he had gone ten feet.

      “Jon!” Pyp shouted after him.

      “Pull up,” Grenn said. “You can’t outrun us all.”

      Jon wheeled around to face them, drawing his sword. “Get back. I don’t wish to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

      “One against seven?” Halder gave a signal. The boys spread out, surrounding him.

      “What do you want with me?” Jon demanded.

      “We want to take you back where you belong,” Pyp said.

      “I belong with my brother.”

      “We’re your brothers now,” Grenn said.

      “They’ll cut off your head if they catch you, you know,” Toad put in with a nervous laugh. “This is so stupid, it’s like something the aurochs would do.”

      “I would not,” Grenn said. “I’m no oathbreaker. I said the words and I meant them.”

      “So did I,” Jon told them. “Don’t you understand? They murdered my father. It’s war, my brother Robb is fighting in the riverlands—”

      “We know,” said Pyp solemnly. “Sam told us everything.”

      “We’re sorry about your father,” Grenn said, “but it doesn’t matter. Once you say the words, you can’t leave, no matter what.”

      “I have to,” Jon said fervently.

      “You said the words,” Pyp reminded him. “Now my watch begins, you said it. It shall not end until my death.”

      “I shall live and die at my post,” Grenn added, nodding.

      “You don’t have to tell me the words, I know them as well as you do.” He was angry now. Why couldn’t they let him go in peace? They were only making it harder.

      “I am the sword in the darkness,” Halder intoned.

      “The watcher on the walls,” piped Toad.

      Jon cursed them all to their faces. They took no notice. Pyp spurred his horse closer, reciting, “I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men.”

      “Stay back,” Jon warned him, brandishing his sword. “I mean it, Pyp.” They weren’t even wearing armor, he could cut them to pieces if he had to.

      Matthar had circled behind him. He joined the chorus. “I pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch.”

      Jon kicked his mare, spinning her in a circle. The boys were all around him now, closing from every side.

      “For