Inside the bird, Thorson felt his spirits lift considerably.
Earlier he had felt as though too many things were working against them.
The weather, the terrain, the crows, the wildlings.
But now, after lingering for quite some time and listening to the watchmen’s conversation, he had learned something important.
They would not have to face the feared ranger, Qhorin Halfhand.
From what the guards had said, the man would not be around for at least a few days.
That meant their greatest enemy now was the mountain itself.
He remained perched for a while longer until he began to feel his own intentions clashing with the owl’s instincts.
The bird was not made to remain in one place for so long unless it was asleep.
Yet Thorson kept forcing it to stay still and ignore the countless sounds echoing through the night.
He knew that continuing to fight the owl’s instincts might awaken the struggle he had worked so hard to overcome.
Deciding there was nothing more to learn, Thorson spread the owl’s wings and let the wind carry him farther along the Wall.
He did not fly straight back toward Ragnar.
That would be unwise, especially if the guards were observing the bird.
He could see the man below.
Throughout the whole time, Ragnar had remained exactly where he was, barely moving, patiently holding his body in place.
Instead, Thorson circled above the Bridge of Skulls, studying it carefully.
Before now, he had imagined it to be a bridge built by the crows.
It was nothing of the sort.
The Bridge of Skulls was a narrow mountain pass joining the Frostfangs to the point where the great Wall of ice finally came to an end.
Only now did Thorson understand why the crows guarded it so heavily.
Anyone wishing to invade the southern lands would naturally pass through there.
It was the easiest crossing imaginable.
The Milkwater rushed beneath it, roaring so loudly that it swallowed nearly every other sound in the night.
Allowing the wind to guide him, Thorson drifted farther south.
To his relief, he found no great waterfalls for a considerable distance beyond the Shadow Tower.
That had been Ragnar’s greatest concern.
Had there been a waterfall with sheer cliffs on either side, they would have been trapped.
They would either risk being swept over the falls aboard the ship or stop and drag it with ropes while exposing themselves to the crows above, who would rain arrows down upon them from the heights.
This changed everything.
The Bridge of Skulls was now clearly the deadliest point of the journey.
If they managed to slip beneath it unseen, their greatest remaining danger would be the rapids.
Just as Ragnar had observed, the swift current of the Milkwater struck hidden rocks in many places, causing the water to churn into violent rapids that could twist or smash the hull of a longship if the helmsman was careless.
Satisfied, Thorson prepared to surrender himself once more to the owl’s instincts.
Rather than forcing his will upon it, he slowly faded into the background and allowed the bird to become itself again.
Almost immediately, the owl detected movement beneath the snow.
Its ears locked onto the faint scratching of a burrowing mouse.
It circled silently once…
then twice…
until its eyes fixed upon its prey.
Without warning, it folded its wings and dropped.
The mouse heard nothing.
Iron-hard talons pierced its body, ending its struggle before it even understood death had come.
Back where Ragnar waited, Thorson’s body suddenly jerked violently.
Then it became still.
The pale whiteness covering his eyes slowly faded until their natural brown returned.
Ragnar kept a steady hand on the boy until his breathing settled before finally letting him go.
“Stay still,” he whispered, but he did not need to.
Thorson was already fully aware of his surroundings.
Oddly enough, he felt none of the dizziness he had expected after spending so long inside another creature’s mind.
Instead, it felt as though he had merely stepped from one place into another.
“You are back…
Finally,” Ragnar said quietly, never taking his eyes from the Wall.
Thorson struggled to contain his excitement.
There was so much to tell that he scarcely knew where to begin.
He chose the most important news first.
“Ragnar…
Everything is true.
Everything the wildling spoke is true.”
Ragnar spared him a brief glance before returning his attention to the Wall.
“I suspected as much,” he said.
“He had little to gain by lying.”
Thorson went on despite Ragnar’s lack of enthusiasm at the news.
“The crow…
the Halfhand…”
“He is not here,” Thorson continued.
“I heard the watchmen speaking…
They said he answered a summons from another fortress farther south.”
“They called it Castle Black….
They call their lord The old bear .”
Ragnar frowned thoughtfully but didn’t interrupt him.
“And this Mance Rayder…
He is real too.
They said the Halfhand answers to another ranger…
Benjen…
Can’t remember the last name…
They are gone farther north into the Frostfangs searching for him.”
“Must be a pain in their side, this Mance,” Ragnar said, still observing the Wall.
But Thorson’s excitement was only growing.
“He is…
They believe this man has united the wildlings.” Thorson paused with hesitation.
“Ragnar…
They also spoke of giants.”
Ragnar’s eyes narrowed.
“Giants?”
“Aye.
The watchman believed they march with Mance.
They even spoke of clans that feast upon human flesh.
This Mance is gathering an army to attack the crows’ biggest castle and force their way south.”
For the first time since Thorson had awakened, Ragnar looked away from the Wall completely.
His eyes shone with growing excitement.
“How many men does this Mance have?”
“I do not know.
They never spoke a number, but they sounded afraid.”
“So…
many,” Ragnar filled in for himself.
“And where in the north does this Mance gather them?”
Thorson shook his head.
“I do not know that either.
They only said the Halfhand and this head ranger had gone north to find him.”
“Good,” Ragnar said, slowly rising into a crouch.
Thorson followed him.
“That means their attention is fixed elsewhere…
If the crows are looking north, they will not be expecting us to come from the mountains.”
“There is more,” Thorson said as they began crawling back beneath the cover of snow before starting the climb toward the feeder.
“I followed the river well beyond the fortress.”
Ragnar now eyed the boy expectantly.
He had seen the change of direction, but he had thought the bird was struggling to shake off the intrusion.
Now he realized the boy had seized the opportunity to scout the most important part of their mission.
“There are no waterfalls.
At least none for a long distance…
If there are any farther south, I never reached them.”
Ragnar let out a quiet laugh.
“Odin favours us.
That would have been a death trap.”
He looked back at the boy.
“You see?…
I told you the gods have given you a gift.
I was beginning to think we would have to spend another day exploring farther downstream.
Now we need not.”
But no sooner had Ragnar spoken than Thorson suddenly lurched forward.
He would have struck the rocks headfirst had Ragnar not caught him by the collar at the last instant.
“Thorson.”
Ragnar lowered the boy gently onto the snow.
“Can you hear me, boy?”
There was no answer.
He felt for the boy’s pulse.
It was there but too weak.
He slapped his cheek lightly.
“Thorson.”
Still nothing.
He scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed it across the boy’s face.
Still no response.
Leaning closer, Ragnar listened to his breathing.
It was slow and laboured.
The boy was alive but only just.
The time he had spent inside the owl had clearly drained both his body and his mind.
He glanced back toward the Wall.
They could not remain here any longer.
Dawn was fast approaching.
The last thing he wanted was for the watch to change while they were still so close to the Wall and daylight revealed them.
There would be no escape then.
Without another moment’s hesitation, Ragnar lifted the boy onto his shoulder.
Turning away from the Wall, he began the long climb back toward the feeder.
His only hope now was that he would wake before the mountain claimed the last of his strength.