The Trap

An overly peaceful, comfortable life had made Ghost, who had never been very clever to begin with, let down his guard.

That morning, Mesha and Bill had driven the flock out early, saying they were going to town to pay their taxes and hand over some sheep. They had told him to be careful at home.

With nothing to do, Ghost decided to go see the black wolf. He still hadn't asked him any of the things he needed to know, all because the fellow was so timid.

When he arrived, all that remained in the black wolf's hiding place were a few ropes that had been bitten through and the dirty cloth that had been taken off.

Not a scrap of the food had gone to waste, though.

Ghost was a little angry. Ungrateful wretch! He just ran off.

He returned to Rotten Grass Root Farm in a sulk, angry one moment that the timid black wolf had run off while injured, and blaming himself the next for being too impulsive and careless.

By the time he came to his senses, it was already dark, and Bill and Mesha still hadn't returned.

Had something happened in town? Or had they run into bandits and been robbed on the road...?

The more Ghost thought about it, the more worried he became. He tied up his hair, smeared some mud on his face, and wrapped himself in a tattered cloak before racing toward town.

Bill and Mesha, meanwhile, had actually paid their money early and driven the sheep into the lord's pen. Although they had lost a few sheep, paying the fine for them should have settled the matter.

Who would have thought the tax clerk would insist the numbers were wrong? Old Bill was rather timid and kept quiet, but Mesha immediately objected and began shouting.

During the argument, the old couple were locked in a stinking shed used to keep poultry.

The petty official in charge of recording taxes hung a big lock on the door, patted the bulging purse at his waist, and set off humming a tune, ready to indulge himself...

He had barely rounded the corner when a group of fierce-looking men carrying sharp blades pinned him to the ground.

Roose Bolton stepped forward, rising slightly onto his toes in distaste. He didn't want to get disgusting mud on his soft deerskin boots.

He rarely visited this district, which was full of thugs, prostitutes, thieves, and the corpses of paupers. Even the dirt on the ground gave off the foul stench of poverty.

"Lerv, you've been taking dirty money again, haven't you?"

"What did those lowborns do?"

The clerk's eyes darted about, making it obvious he was hatching some scheme. "Young Master Roose, it's nothing worth your attention. They simply didn't pay the full amount of their taxes."

A retainer beside Roose lifted his foot and slowly brought it down toward the clerk's fingers...

Before he could press down, the terrified clerk began screaming and confessed, "It was Harley Snow! I took Harley's money! He wanted me to lock up those two dirt-eating old fools for a couple of days."

Just lock them up for two days? That did fit that bastard's weak character.

Roose had informants throughout the territory and had long wanted to catch Harley out. Unfortunately, Harley was not only a skilled hunter but also shrewd and cautious, and he rarely stayed in town for long. He clearly had another hiding place.

They were just two crude farmers. What was worth locking them up for? Was he deliberately trying to throw me off?

No, that's not right.

Roose thought to himself that the Hundred-Person Hunt was less than two weeks away. If Harley didn't persuade Old Bolton soon, he would have no chance left to make a move against Roose.

After all, even when Roose went to the privy, several attendants and guards waited outside.

He's trying to draw someone out. Someone connected to those two farmers. What is this about...?

As he pondered, one of his men hurried over. "Young Master Roose, a strange child was asking around town about Old Bill and his wife just now."

"The lads were going to catch him, but he said a few words to a little brat and hurried out of town."

Roose turned to look at the clerk, who was kneeling face down on the ground. Before Roose could ask, the clerk blurted, "I really don't know! Harley only told me to lock them up for two days. He didn't say anything else. Young Master Roose, I'm telling the truth!"

Roose gave a signal with his eyes, and his man asked menacingly, "Has anything new happened in Old Bill's family recently? Tell us the truth."

"Th-they seem to have taken in a kid. I heard he was a young noble, and they adopted him."

Roose pondered for a moment, then decisively swung into the saddle and gave his orders. "We'll follow first. Get more men, bring crossbows and dogs, and catch up with us."

"Young master, what about those two old things...?"

"Bring them along." They might prove useful.

Besides, he knew how to find Harley now.

Ghost had no idea what danger was lurking behind him.

Still less did he expect to become the key to the struggle for power between House Bolton's heir and its bastard.

At the thought that Mesha and Bill might be in danger, Ghost wished he could fly to their side.

But to conserve his strength and for his own safety, he didn't take wolf form. Instead, he stole a horse outside town and galloped west.

Earlier, while he was asking around town about Old Bill and Mesha's whereabouts, a small, filthy child had brought him a message: "A man told me to tell you-if you want to save them, go to Sharp Point Forest by Long Lake."

Sharp Point Forest lay west of Rotten Grass Root Ranch. Afraid he wouldn't know where it was, Harley had also had the dirty child leave him a rough map.

Ghost had almost no experience riding a horse. In his previous life, he had only ridden a few laps while someone else led the horse. It was hard enough just to keep his balance and stay in the saddle, and he couldn't get up to speed at all.

Fortunately, the horse was remarkably obedient and didn't get agitated no matter how wildly he tugged the reins.

At that speed... Roose Bolton and his men caught up with him easily.

The hounds were wildly excited, running flat out on all fours and nearly overtaking the horse. If they hadn't been wearing muzzles made of iron bars, their barking would surely have been deafening.

Roose, meanwhile, kept a cautious distance, trailing Ghost from neither too far nor too close.

Ghost traveled for a full day and night before reaching the cold, gloomy forest of countless towering trees, exhausted and hungry.

There were paths through the woods that hunters had cleared, and a wooden warning sign stood at the entrance.

"Giant bears sighted. Please hunt in groups."

An arrow had clearly been carved with a knife into the bark of a large tree at the entrance. Ghost took a deep breath, his heart full of worry and panic.

He didn't know what traps might be waiting for him ahead...

He tied the horse at the entrance and trudged along the hunters' path. At intervals, he could see arrows carved into the bark, pointing the way.

When he reached a small clearing, the arrows disappeared. For no apparent reason, Ghost felt that something dangerous seemed to be in the clearing. He stopped cautiously...

He looked around and spotted a piece of dead tree root, which he picked up and threw into the clearing.

Nothing happened...

A chuckle suddenly came from overhead. "Don't worry, there are no traps."

Looking up, he saw Harley Snow sitting on a branch about five meters above him, swinging one leg leisurely.

There was no need to play dumb now. Ghost tried to make himself look calm and composed, but the tremor in his voice betrayed his emotions as soon as he spoke:

"Auntie Mesha and Uncle Bill, where are they?"