Chapter 256

Without spilling a single drop of blood, relying only on dozens of war horns and thousands of torches, Aegor reclaimed Deepwood Motte, which had been held by the Ironborn for months. Aside from a few wildlings scraping themselves on tree branches in the dark, there were no injuries. Conversely, not a single Ironborn was killed.

Aegor was pleased with this result.

In theory, he didn’t need to be so cautious about the lives of the mountain clansmen or the New Gift Settlers. For every soldier lost, he’d only need to pay a single gold dragon in compensation—a “hefty” sum that, in reality, would circulate back into the Gifted Lands’ economy and eventually return to the Night’s Watch logistics coffers.

What Aegor valued wasn’t the money but the lives. The New Gift was unlike any other region in Westeros. With a total population of fewer than 40,000 and only around 10,000 capable of labor—including older children and women—it was a fragile, small society that could ill afford significant losses.

This meant that Aegor, despite commanding the lowest-quality residents in the Seven Kingdoms, had to care for them far more than any lord in Westeros would for their own subjects—not out of mercy, but out of necessity.

When Jeor Mormont died, Aegor had been forced to make a harsh decision, sacrificing an entire tribe to stabilize the situation. But since then, he’d vowed not to engage in unnecessary risks or vainglorious acts unless absolutely critical. For Robb Stark, reclaiming Deepwood Motte with the help of the New Gift Settlers was already a significant achievement. Killing a few dozen more Ironborn wouldn’t enhance that accomplishment much.

The wildfire that consumed the watchtower burned out before spreading further, its eerie green light fading into red embers. Once the New Gift Settlers entered the castle to put out the flames, an unexpected surprise followed: in their panicked retreat, the Ironborn had left behind their hostages. Lady Sybelle Glover emerged from the godswood, supported by her maid, while a bruised maester and a steward with a missing leg were carried out of the cellar.

Or perhaps the Ironborn commander had deliberately spared the hostages, ensuring that the attackers would focus on their rescue rather than pursuing the fleeing Ironborn?

If that was the case, Aegor thought, then so be it. He had no deep enmity with the Ironborn.

“Did you capture them—especially her… Asha Greyjoy?” Sybelle Glover’s eyes were red from tears and sleepless nights. Though surprised to see a Night’s Watch officer instead of a Stark commanding the rescue, she didn’t press the issue. “My son and daughter were taken to the Iron Islands. We need hostages of our own to negotiate their return!”

“Oh, my lady…” Hoarser Umber, who had accompanied Aegor from Last Hearth, spread his hands helplessly. “They’ve already fled into the Wolfswood. I’m not familiar with these woods—it’s hard to track them.”

“My Gavin and Aena are in their hands!” The mother’s cry was filled with anguish.

“If they were still with the group that fled Deepwood Motte, I’d take men and chase them without a second thought,” Hoarser replied, shrugging. “But as you said, Lady Sybelle, they’re in the Iron Islands. Even if we caught up, there’s no guarantee we could capture the Sea Bitch alive. And even if we did…”

Aegor had planned to let the Ironborn go, but hearing Lady Glover’s plea, he reconsidered. Much like a deliveryman seeking a good review, he now wanted to ensure the rescued Northerners were completely satisfied. He desperately needed the North’s gratitude to make his southern campaign as successful as possible.

“If it’s hostages you need, my lady,” Aegor said, interrupting, “I’ll personally lead a team to capture them for you.”

Hoarser turned, incredulous. “Aegor, they’re not stupid enough to take the main road.”

“I have my ways. If you’re tired, Lord Umber, feel free to rest. But before that, have the castle searched thoroughly—make sure no Ironborn are hiding.”

Lady Glover looked at Aegor with tearful gratitude. “Thank you! May I ask who you are, ser?”

“Chief Logistics Officer of the Night’s Watch, Aegor West, my lady.” Aegor bowed slightly. “But remember, it wasn’t the Night’s Watch that helped reclaim Deepwood Motte. It was a group of passing, well-meaning New Gift settlers.”

Sybelle Glover clearly didn’t grasp the distinction between the two, but Hoarser Umber would undoubtedly explain it to her later. Ultimately, they’d need to align with Robb Stark’s narrative, so it wasn’t worth discussing further now.

Leaving the two Northern nobles behind, Aegor turned to his subordinates. “Which way did the Ironborn flee?”

“They’re zigzagging south, west, and southwest, constantly changing direction. Probably afraid we’re chasing them.”

“Inform Orell to keep tracking them. Everyone else, rest here—drink some water, take a nap. Make sure your men don’t touch anything. Deepwood Motte isn’t our loot. Once we confirm the Ironborn’s escape route, we’ll take the road to cut them off ahead!”

“Yes, sir!”

...

As Deepwood Motte’s tower vanished from view, the sounds of Northern horns and shouting faded into the distance. Asha Greyjoy led her remaining hundred men, zigzagging through the Wolfswood—south, then west, then southwest.

The wolves had taken back their castle, and Asha had spared the hostages. Maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t hunt her down.

She still felt a presence trailing them, though she couldn’t see it. What she didn’t realize was that leaving the road only made her retreat harder. Her pursuers weren’t on the ground but above her, hundreds of feet in the air—a hawk silently tracking their every move.

After allowing the wildlings beyond the Wall, Aegor had forcibly conscripted all their wargs, keeping them and their animals under strict surveillance in Crown's Rest. The once-revered wargs, feared for their mystical abilities, quickly found that the Night’s Watch not only understood their powers but feared them little. After witnessing—or hearing tales of—Melisandre’s magic and Buckwell’s ruthless slaughter of a tribe, they became thoroughly obedient.

For this campaign, Aegor had brought two wargs capable of controlling birds, granting him an unprecedented advantage in reconnaissance. Unless the Ironborn could sprout wings, they had no chance of escaping his grasp.

...

Hours of frantic flight through the dense forest had pushed the Ironborn to their limits. The weaker among them were already falling behind.

“How much farther do we have to go?” one of them asked, exhausted.

Asha reluctantly accepted reality but refused to stop. “Slow down if you must, but we keep moving until we reach the shore or dawn breaks.”

It was a pitiful retreat, but the thought of “returning home” drove them forward. The forest’s uneven terrain and thick trees made every step a struggle. The dark, muddy ground swallowed their boots, and soon, a horse stumbled, breaking its leg. Its rider, bloodied and bruised, had no choice but to slit its throat to stop its cries.

The horses were more of a hindrance now. One by one, the riders dismounted.

“We need torches.”

“And tell the Northerners where we are?” Asha snapped, her frustration boiling over. She began to doubt her decision to abandon the castle. Pulling off her helmet, she ran a hand through her sweat-soaked hair and tried to rally her men. “Keep going! The Black Wind waits for us at the shore!”

...