The North Was in Turmoil

"Yah!"

"Charge! Whoever kills the most enemies gets first pick of the spoils and women later!"

"Haha, that'll definitely be me!"

On the trade road from Hornwood to White Harbor, a hundred or so cavalrymen bearing House Bolton's banners suddenly burst from the woods beside the road. Raising their spears and swords, they charged toward a merchant caravan ahead.

The caravan consisted of twelve wagons and dozens of riders. By the standards of the North, it was a large one.

The experienced caravan leader did not panic. He frowned at the Bolton banners, ordered everyone to pick up the pace, then promptly decided to abandon three of the less valuable wagons.

But the Bolton cavalrymen made no attempt to seize the three wagons left behind.

They rode straight for the caravan as it fled in a panic.

"Something's wrong! They're not after our goods! They're targeting us! Stop moving!

"Circle the wagons. Everyone, take up positions around them and prepare to fight."

The caravan leader had traveled between the North and the South for over a decade. His judgment was certainly above average.

He immediately stopped the caravan from fleeing and set up a crude but effective defense against the cavalry's surprise attack.

However, the mercenaries and free riders he had hired were no match for House Bolton's elite cavalry.

The battle was over quickly.

After nearly half the caravan's members had been killed, the survivors all surrendered and laid down their weapons.

Clip-clop, clip-clop!

A few riders approached the caravan members, who had been disarmed and were kneeling on the ground, surrounded by Bolton cavalrymen.

"Lord Ramsay!"

"Greetings, my lord!"

"Everything's here, my lord, except the dead."

When they saw the newcomer, the Bolton cavalrymen greeted him in unison. Aelin, one of his men, immediately reported the situation.

"Mm!"

Ramsay nodded, then smiled at the kneeling men. "Who's the leader of this caravan?"

"Lord Ramsay, I am. I did business at the Dreadfort before, and we exchanged greetings. Do you remember me?"

Hearing Ramsay's question, the caravan leader hurriedly stood up and answered, lifting his head so Ramsay could get a good look at him.

"Oh? It's you. Then I'll make sure you're well entertained today!"

A sinister smile curled Ramsay's lips. He turned to Aelin behind him and said,

"Set up a flaying rack. Let my old acquaintance be the first to enjoy it. And make sure you do a good job—let him enjoy himself for a long time!"

"No, no! Lord Ramsay, I'll give you all my goods.

"I have other assets too. I'll pay whatever it takes to buy my life back! Please spare me!"

When the caravan leader heard Ramsay say he was going to flay him,

even a well-traveled man with years of experience could not help trembling with fear. Tears streamed down his face as he pleaded loudly.

"Good. You really are a man of value!"

Ramsay nodded at the caravan leader with a beaming smile.

Then, seeing the leader relax as though he had escaped death, he turned to Aelin with a wicked grin. "Don't waste his valuable corpse later. Feed it to my hounds!"

"Heh. As you command!"

Aelin, who had followed Ramsay for a long time, gave a timely chuckle and led some men away, dragging the caravan leader with them.

"No! No! ..."

The caravan leader begged at first, but when he realized he was doomed, he began cursing at the top of his lungs.

"Ramsay Snow, you bastard! I curse you! I curse you to die a worse death than me!"

Ramsay put on an exaggerated look of fear and dug at his ear. Then he addressed the prisoners kneeling on the ground. "Your leader cursed me. I'm terrified! So I'm going to kill you all, just in case you make me die a worse death than him!"

"No, my lord! Please, have mercy!"

"My lord, we're only mercenaries! When your cavalry arrived, we surrendered right away!"

"My lord!..."

At Ramsay's words, the prisoners burst into anguished cries, each of them begging for mercy.

"Ahem, Lord Ramsay, please don't forget why we came here today!"

At that moment, a young-looking rider among those accompanying Ramsay spoke up.

"Oh, dear Sam! If you hadn't reminded me, I'd have almost forgotten!"

Ramsay turned to the young rider and answered with an expression of sudden realization.

Sam loathed Ramsay, but his face remained respectful as he said, "I'm honored to have reminded you. Otherwise, I would have failed in the duty my lord sent me here to perform."

"That's right. I mustn't disrupt that lord's plans!"

Ramsay nodded in agreement, then turned to the prisoners. "You're in luck today! I, Ramsay of House Bolton, declare that half of you will be allowed to live.

"From this moment on, the last half of you still standing may leave."

After announcing his decision with a smile, Ramsay wheeled his horse around and rode away.

"Ah!"

A mercenary who understood what he meant pulled a short dagger from inside his boot and plunged it into the neck of a caravan member beside him.

His scream seemed to jolt all the prisoners awake. They began beating one another.

With fists, with their heads, with their teeth, they did everything they could to make the caravan members they had traveled with fall and never get up again.

Hearing the roars and screams behind him, Ramsay's lips curled into a faint smile.

Sam watched the prisoners beating one another, his face pale with fury. His hands tightened around his horse's reins until the veins stood out.

Taking a deep breath, he remembered his mission and set off after Ramsay with the three Wolf Guards behind him, all wearing the same grim expression.

There were two main trade routes in the North. One went overland, through Karun Bay and on to the southern kingdoms. The other ran by sea from White Harbor, on Bite Bay.

White Harbor was the North's main trading port, situated where the White Blade River flowed into Bite Bay.

It was an ice-free port. Even in winter, people could trade through it with southern port cities and the nine Free Cities.

New Castle was the seat of House Manderly, perched on a hill within White Harbor's walls. A staircase led from the Wolf's Den at the foot of the hill straight up to New Castle.

Count Wyman Manderly, whose weight rivaled King Robert's, sat in his lavishly decorated study, frowning at the letter he held from a raven.

"All the caravans heading for White Harbor have been attacked by Bolton cavalry? Even those belonging directly to other noble houses?"

Count Wyman had been silently studying the letter. Now he looked up and asked Scholar Theomer beside him.

"Yes, Lord Wyman!"

Scholar Theomer, his hair white with age, nodded and continued in a slow voice,

"Almost half the people in every caravan that encountered Bolton cavalry survived. They say the cruel Ramsay Snow forced them to kill one another if they wanted to live."

"He didn't kill them all to keep them quiet. Is he letting them go so they'll spread the news?"

Count Wyman turned a jeweled ring on his finger, his eyes full of thought.

It was clear that his shrewdness matched his size.

"Have House Stark and House Bolton responded?"

Count Wyman continued.

"House Stark hasn't replied yet. Lord Eddard has only just taken up the post of Hand of the King in King's Landing, and Lord Robb has just taken over as acting lord of Winterfell. He's probably still sorting out the castle's affairs.

"House Bolton did reply. Lord Roose said his bastard son Ramsay deserted with part of the family's cavalry, and that he's currently pursuing him."

"Heh. What a joke. Roose Bolton has the second strongest army in the North. How has he still failed to catch up with his own bastard after all this time?"

Count Wyman chuckled. He continued to stare at the letter in his hand and murmured,

"I sense something unpleasant in the air.

"Lord Eddard has only just taken office in faraway King's Landing, and the inexperienced Young Wolf Lord has just taken over Winterfell. Now this trouble has broken out in the North.

"But that 'Lord Leech' of House Bolton has always been a shrewd schemer. Surely he wouldn't resort to such a clumsy tactic?"