Chapter 13: First Command

Looking over a rise into the Grim lake tribe's encampment, he saw countless tents laid out and even some igloo. These were an original invention from the wildling at first when he noticed them scattered throughout the village he wondered what they were and soon found out that they were the homes of the poverty-stricken populations of the free folk.

He was surprised to learn how well the structure kept heat inside, but still you really couldn't create a fully functioning home inside of it. So it was used by the more misfortunate of the population.

Taking in the number of people from the tents which numbered 400 and could house a family of 4 to 5. Then there were about 200 of those igloos which could house only 1 person 2 would be pushing it. Then of course there were the much larger tents which he didn't even take into consideration since they only numbered in the dozens, tents of the leaders and most important people in the tribe.

So he was looking at 1,800 on the low end and most likely on the high end 2,400.

Turning to look at the men he had with him, there were of course his brave 100 men from his family household, the Umber, and the few scout black brothers. They were all armored and mounted for battle, but you would be wrong to assume they were all cavalry.

Oh, how he wished they were, if so then he would have swept through these rumbles of cannibals. No, of his 100 men 10 were black brother scouts, 30 were archers, 40 were infantry, and only 20 were cavalry in the true sense.

It was a good balanced force, but for the odds they faced it didn't look good.

Then there were Orrand's men, just looking at them made him feel the situation was all the worse. Yes, the man did have 150 men but he had to leave 50 behind to guard the village even if it was sacred ground, who knew who would break it.

So that left only 100, a 100 men that were ill-fitted with fur pelts, wooden clubs and staves all around with only a few sparsely steel weapons- most which seem to be rusted over and could snap at any moment. Only Orrand and a few high ranking men had some adequate weaponry.

For the hundredth time Jon wondered why he argued to this, maybe he should have just swallowed the loss of his men and continued on his way. But then he remembered that he was their commander and was honor bound to seek retribution for them.

At times he really cursed his sense of honor, he guessed he got it from his father. Though unlike him he would throw it away at the drop of the hat if it got in the way. Now however, the WhiteTree village was his only hope of really getting into contact with someone not pointing spears at him and wanting to spill his blood.

"Alright," Jon said as he stepped back from the ledge that allowed him to peak into the tribe's encampment. "Things are not looking good," he noted as he gathered around his Ancients and his nuncle. Orrand's group stood right next to them as they looked ready for a bloody battle.

"Yea," his uncle agreed, "so what's the plan?" he asked.

"What plan?" a wildling that had a proper steel weapon asked with a sneer. "We attack all at once like it should be."

Rolling his eyes, Jon forget how simple these folk could be. They had nothing of strategy or plans, all war was to them was charging head long at the enemy and smashing their numbers against each other.

Sighing, he asked the man, "Do you want to face that," he pointed his hand to the encampment, "because I sure don't want to without a proper plan!"

Looking about to answer with another disdainful answer, the big man cut in, "What is this.... plan of yours?" he asked.

Looking once again at where the encampment was, "first of all we can not fight inside that place. We would face resistance at every turn and would be soon overrun. We need to bring them out of there and into the open were we can deal with them."

"But how?" his uncle asked, glancing at him with those smiling eyes, Jon had the distrinct feeling that he was testing him.

"What if we set it all on fire?" one of his Ancients asked, "that had them running and howling."

"Do you see where we are?" another Ancient asked, "last time we had a lot of deadwood piled up and took care of it."

"No... it can," he said as he recalled the distinct fear the wildling had for fire. He guessed if it was something you barely see of, it would be a shock.

"What we need is only those tents set ablaze!" he grinned a savage wolfish grin. "That would have them running towards us."

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Coming into the encampment in the middle of the night looking as if he was any old wildling with just wood piled on his back. No one stopped him and his four other men nor did they stop the other two groups of three men that walked in freely behind them.

He was able to trade his clothing and armor for more primitive wear. So he looked like a wildling.

But still, it was just too easy as no guard was posted around, and people just freely came in and left it when ever they wanted. He wondered if he needed all that convoluted plan since it seem that he could just walk his small company over and no one would stop him.

Shaking his head to get rid of those silly thoughts, he and the black brothers still had their job to do.

Nodding to his men, they all split up with their logs of wood. Coming up to his first tent Jon quickly got a small roast going on, it would take some time for the whole tent to catch fire, but he could use the time to start other blazes.

Keeping his head down, all of a sudden someone tapped him on the shoulder and Jon almost spun around with a dagger in hand.

Looking down to see a man who held a leg of meat, he asked, "Want some, brother!"

Looking suspiciously at it as he remembered what this tribe was, he asked, "What is it?"

"Lamb," the man answered, then grinning, "if you are looking for better game then Bolnor is spit firing a WhiteTree villager. Mmm, their meat is so delicious!"

Feeling sick to his very core, Jon felt like puking right then and there but held back as he shook his head. "No thanks, I am good.... brother."

"Suit yourself," the man said with a shrug as he walked off.

Carrying with his work, soon he saw he was near a very large tent striking to the shadows he saw a man seated in a throne like chair outside the tent with the skull of some creature on his head. Shaking his head he figured that was the leader of the tribe who seem to be holding court as many folk surrounded him.

However what caught his eye was a man clad in fur and a robe with a hood that abstracted his face and a long piece of Weirwood that acted as a staff. Though it wasn't him that he peered at, but the shadowcat right beside him acting all docile in his hand.

Somehow he knew it was that mysterious man that set all those shadowcats against him, he didn't know how but he knew it was him.

Getting back to the task, he begin to set some twigs against the side of the tent and while doing so listened to the discussion going on.

"Chief it seems like those Northern invaders lead by the crows went to WhiteTree," one man reported.

"Orrand that bastard, is he working with them?" the chieftain man asked.

"They wouldn't dare, Chief," the cloaked man answered.

Suddenly a runner came up, "Chief the tents are on... f-fire!"

"What?" the man asked as he got up from his throne like chair.

Seeing that his work was done as he could see the fire was spreading well, he found it the best time to flee.

Making himself sparse, just as he got a few steps towards the exit of the encampment someone must have spotted him as they shout, "Hey you, Stop."

Then another person shouted, "He set the Chief's tent on fire!"

Swearing under his breath, Jon saw no reason to hide himself as he ran as fast as his feet could carry him. From behind him he could hear the Chief shouting, "STOP HIM!"

Hearing the near silent pads of feet on the ground, without even turning around he took his sword out which he hid in the pack of logs and unsheathed it. Spinning on his feet to turn around to face his opponent with his sword not far behind him, he saw that mysterious man's shadowcat bounding for him with its claws raised and its jaws open wide.

With one gesture, he removed the mouth coming to bit down on him, and watched as blood spread and the beast's lower jaw drop to the floor. Sheathing his sword back into his scabbard, he made no effort to fight anyone else along the way as he just pushed people aside and ran headlong.

Anyways it wasn't like anyone could put a resistance up as all the sudden tents seem to go up in a blaze every were. Most just stared while others went into a wild panic.

Finally running out of the encampment he could see six of the black brothers already got out ahead of him. Two seem to be right behind him, but then one of them got slashed across the back by his pursuing enemies while the other only got a few more steps in before he got smashed on the back of the head and bonelessly fell to the ground.

Without a word, he continue to run up the rise up ahead of the encampment where some trees stood. They knew what they were getting themselves into and for his other two missing men he sent a silent pray to them most likely they were caught in the ongoing fire or were captured by the enemies which he hoped was not either but knew that it most likely was.

Glancing back, he saw dozens upon dozens of men file out of the encampment right behind him. Bellowing behind them was the chief calling more men to give chase as it seem like he cared more about him then his own people. But this worked wonderfully for him.

Once he saw they were in sticking distance and were piled up nicely for him up the steep rise, he shouted. "ARCHERS! FIRE!"

Suddenly coming out of the bushes and trees were 30 mounted archers with their bows nocked in neat double rows. Without a word, they let loose their first volley on to the unsuspecting enemies down below. Without not needing to be told, they continued with volley after volley finding their way into the enemy's bodies as they begin to drop like flies.

Finally reaching his men, he surveyed the battlefield or more like a massacre as dozens of wildling fell. He could see that the chief did not care as he shouted for them to advance plus he seem to be bolstered by the fact more men came in support out of the encampment which was burning fast.

"Infantry," he shouted as his 40 men appeared out of the woods, "SHIELDS UP!" he shouted as he had them form a shield wall in front of the archers with their spears held out.

Even though the archers were raining death from above, the advance of the wildling did not stop and they finally reached them as they smacked against the wall of iron and men.

Skewering themselves against the spears as the tight fortification held, he had to give it to these wildlings; what they lacked in strategy and equipment, they sure as hell made it up with ferocity and unyielding.

However it was too bad they met him, nodding his head to one of the men right besides him, the man returned the gesture and took out a horn. Blowing deep into it a loud and long sound echoed from it which could be heard far and wide.

Suddenly he could hear loud bellows and shouts, then appearing out of the woods were Orrand and his hundred men. Cheering and whooping they tore into the other wildling group flank as they showed the same ferocity and unyielding he come to expect of these tribes.

Now the enemy had two areas to fight which was never a good thing as they had to split their men.

"Advance!" he shouted as the infantry men as they took a step forward with their spears held out. Then they took another one pushing the enemies further back while the archers did an excellent job in sniping the enemy freely since volleys had no point in this close space.

Soon he could see that they were breaking as thy fought on two fronts while their brothers laid dying on the ground or already dead.

All they needed was a final push in his opinion. Turning to the horn blower, he gave him the second call, "Blow the last horn."

Letting lose the final note, the enemy wildling looked around with a bit of fear especially to their right thinking another force would come from there. However it was there that the last group came from as from behind out of the smoke of the burning encampment was his uncle leading the charge of the cavalry. He had them circle back when he went down to the encampment and now they finally arrived at his signal.

With lances and spears raised, they tore into the enemy rear as heads and limb flew and he noted with special care how the Chief's head was one of the first to fly off its shoulder.

Quickly the enemy broke apart as even before their leader's head dropped to the ground they dropped their weapons and fled towards the only opening left.

If he had the men to spare he would have blocked that too, but for now he could be happy to see the only remaining few dozens of men run into the woods like headless chickens while the rest laid dead or dying.

Suddenly the men all broke into cheering from Stark household men, to black brother and even wildling and the one thing they had in common was shouting his name. "SNOW, SNOW, SNOW, SNOW!!!!"

If there was one time he didn't find someone use it insultingly or jokingly it was this time as their cheers of happiness and victory of his name only held reverence and respect.

Coming up to him on his Destrier, his nucle smiled at him while blood ran down his spear and sword. "Well done, nephew, well done! That was the cleanest and easiest victory I have ever seen."

"We still lost four black brothers," he sighed, "and I still haven't done a count of the injured."

"Agasit the odds we initially faced, this was spectacularly done! Don't beat yourself about the few losses more men get to keep their lives thanks to your superior planning. That is something to be proud of."

"I guess you are right," he shrugged as he looked at the battlefield where his enemies laid all dead.

It was a well-earned victory!

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Watching as lines of the Grim lake tribe were basically herded out of the land, he counted only 500 remaining survivors of the initial 2,000.

A lot it seems, burned in the fires he started and all the fighting men were all but wiped out so only a few children and women were left with soot dirty faces and different degrees of burns.

This was sadly the reality of war.

He knew he should have felt bad, but for people that ate real human beings he just couldn't form any empathy for them.

"So you are just letting them go?" Jon asked Orrand who stood right next to him.

Sighing the man answered, "we would have incorporated them in our tribe as women were given to the man who most contributed and the children would have been raised by a Tribe mother. "But... cannibal leave a dark stain on you. One that can never e washed away. We will just send them out of the land."

Looking over the woman and children he could see the hate in their eyes, the mothers would whisper hate into the children and soon when they grow up they will be back to bring retribution for their lost fathers.

"Are you sure that a wise thing?" he asked, even though he sounded heartless of him of what he was saying. He still knew that some times you have to remove both root and stem. Especially for people that committed such a vile act that even the Gods would look away in disgust.

"More than anything the land would take care of them as they die of cold, hunger, beasts, other tribes, and so many other things."

Nodding his head, Jon turned to him and asked, "So about my end of the bargain."