Sailing through the evening mist hanging low over choppy waters, a small fleet of about 10 make-shift rafts and battered boats, were making their way toward, their target, the coast of Bear Island. Bobbing and weaving like restless spectres against the grey backdrop of the sea, the Wildlings were trying to best to stay as silent as possible. On the makeshift vessels, rugged warriors adorned in furs and leathers glared at the island, their weapons glinting in the pale light.
"See, What'd I tell Ya? Huh?" A large imposing bearded man said pointing toward the coast, from the front of the leading boat, "It's still the same old fishing village like it always was. I've raided these shits more than three times in my life and I've never once failed,"
Looking at the coast, the rest of Wildling could see for themselves that the man was right, the port appeared empty, devoid of any significant ships or notable defences. The scattered tools left behind by the workers suggested an unfinished project.
It seemed that the workers had left their work midway and had gone to their homes for the day leaving their tools in disarray. There was nothing about the port that screamed danger and they could see cooking fires from the houses some ways which meant that everyone was having dinner at their homes without even leaving some sentry behind.
"B-But What about what Mance said?" One of the younger Wildlings asked while holding onto his wooden spears tightly, "And none of the men who went on the last few raids here ever returned. There must be something wrong—"
"Fuck Mance!" Greybeard growled dangerously, "That crow thinks he can fool us into believing that this fishing village somehow turned into a big port with giant ships in a few moons," He spat to the side straight into the face of the younger wildling.
"Ah! You—"
"What?" Greybeard barked.
"Nothing," The young wildling looked away as he knew that he wouldn't survive if he didn't back down.
"That's why I brought along one of his brats," the bearded man continued, a malicious smirk creeping across his face. "When his own flesh and blood confirms what I say, they'll have no choice but to believe me. And when we return with plenty of ale, food, and women, they'll see Mance for the crow he is, hiding under that white cloak." His laughter echoed through the air, met with a mix of chuckles and disapproving grunts from his followers.
The Wildlings were aware of the bitter enmity between the bearded man, known as Greybeard, and Mance Rayder, the leader who had recently joined their ranks. Greybeard's failed attempt to steal Mance's wife, Dalla, and subsequent defeat in a duel had fueled the deep-rooted hatred between them.
As the fleet neared the coast, Greybeard raised his axe and rallied his men. "Besides, I've heard there are plenty of feisty women all over the Islands, enough for everyone here. You want to taste the she-bears of Bear Island, don't ya?"
"AYE!" "AYE!" "AYE!" "AYE!"
The Wildlings erupted in a chorus of cheers, their excitement reaching a crescendo. The prospect of victory, plunder, and women fueled their adrenaline, drowning out any lingering doubts. Their eyes gleamed with a mix of lust and anticipation as they readied themselves for the impending raid on Bear Island.
.....
"AYE!!!"
On the other end, along the rugged coastline, a small band of warriors from Bear Island, both men and women, crouched in hidden alcoves and behind various structures, awaiting the perfect moment to strike. They were hiding so skilfully that the incoming wildling army had no idea if someone was even present at the port. Having gone through this routine numerous times, the defenders were well-practised in setting up ambushes, whether against Ironborn raiders or the Wildlings.
Crouched behind a large rock alongside Jon, Dacey couldn't help but scoff upon hearing the not-so-subtle shouts of "Aye!" from the attacking Wildlings. "How foolish can these barbarians be?" she murmured. "Shouting like that just before launching an attack. Do they not know how an ambush works?"
Rolling his eyes, Jon whispered teasingly, "Well, well, look who's talking. I recall a young girl who always loved to let out the loudest warcry, showcasing her fierceness. She would go something like, 'Ahhhh...Die! Fuckers!'"
"Shut up! I have no idea what you're talking about," Dacey retorted, trying to hide her embarrassment.
As the wildlings grew nearer, the archers prepared themselves lining their arrows and holding their bows tightly waiting for the order to shoot. They had experienced more than ten similar attacks in the past, including encounters with Wildling parties and Ironborn raiders and every time they had had ample to set an ambush due to Lady Mormont somehow getting the news of the attacks in advance.
And while the Smallfolk had no idea how she did it, they were just happy that they were having an increasing advantage in their fights against the invaders.
All of this had become possible thanks to the system Jon had devised during his time on Bear Island. Jon quickly realized that protecting the entire west coast with just Frost and Dory would be challenging since he couldn't always be present, and Dacey would also need to lead their fleet to various ports in his absence. This would mean leaving their home vulnerable which wasn't good so Jon thought of a way to solve that.
Thus, Jon began making regular trips to the villages along the western coast every few weeks. During his visits, he actively searched for potential wargs, utilizing the blood of the First Men that ran in their veins. To his surprise, there were more individuals with warging potential than he had anticipated.
So Jon went around searching for the perfect minions that would be able to create a protective net around the west coast with their companions whether they be sea animals or flying birds. He would mostly choose orphans or local kids and scrutinize their character for some time and if it seemed that they would be trustworthy he would bring them along to Bear Island.
He kept them close, teaching them the basics of warging so they could establish connections with the animals and birds he assigned to them from birth. And when they were adequately qualified they would go back to their respective villages where their animal companions would be able to easily keep track of their nearby places to be on the lookout for any kind of raids.
At the moment, there were five of these novice wargs, two boys and three girls, scattered across all the villages of the western coast and whenever they encountered enemies they were ordered to send a letter straight to Lady Mormont who had taken the default position of the defence commander.
And Jon paid them handsomely for their services which kept them happy enough to not blab about warging and all to the next person they meet.
Dacey suddenly noticed in her periphery that as the Wildlings came close to the shore, Jon was frowning fiercely with his eyes unfocused as if he was not completely here, and asked curiously, "Something amiss?"
"Yes," Jon nodded and his distant eyes suddenly focused on Dacey and said seriously, "There are too few of them... I counted twice just now, they are only 32 of them,"
"What?" Dacey exclaimed in surprise, squinting at the boats, but she knew that it was impossible for her to count them the way Jon did with his special method, so decided to just trust in his sums, "Maybe your minion was wrong?"
Jon shook his head firmly. "No, at least 10 to 15 of them are missing. It's too significant to be a simple mistake," he responded, his eyes momentarily losing focus before refocusing. "I sent Frost to scout the nearby villages... I hope I'm mistaken."
"We can't do anything about it now," Dacey murmured, signalling her fellow defenders. The hidden warriors rose from their concealed positions, a wave of anticipation sweeping through them as they prepared for the surprise assault.
Jon exchanged a nod with his fellow archers, and the moment Dacey raised her sword, they unleashed a small hail of arrows on the unsuspecting Wildlings who were in the midst of disembarking, their deadly precision immediately thinning the ranks of the oncoming enemy.
"Agh!" "Ugh" "Ahhh!!!"
Caught off guard, Grunts gasps, screams and cries of surprise came from the Wildlings. Admiringly most of them didn't even flinch at the ambush and with a bellow of war cry followed after the bear-like man with a grey beard and charged forward.
The shoreline quickly became a battlefield, with men and women slashing, parrying and fighting for their lives. And It was evident that the defenders held the advantage because they were better equipped with armour and leather, and had good quality steel against their opponent's bronze and wooden ones, and of course, they also had numbers on their side, so it was only a matter of time before they won.
Jon positioned himself at the rear, methodically firing arrow after arrow with deadly precision, targeting the larger and more dangerous foes first and he was always on the lookout for anyone who was having trouble with their opponents and helping them. The people of Bear Island had come to rely on his presence, as casualties were typically minimal with Jon at their backs.
Suddenly a ping went inside his head and Jon saw in the back of his mind, a small raiding party minutes away from a small fishing village, through Frost's perspective. Jon immediately searched for Dacey and found her fighting with the towering Wildling, one with a grey beard. She was running circles around him with her morning star and even though she was weaker than him, Jon knew that she would win eventually as the Wildling was already limping.
However, Jon had no time to spare. He raised his bow and swiftly dispatched the Wildling, shooting him through the eye. Dacey whipped her head around, her gaze locking onto Jon as he navigated the chaotic field toward her. Filled with anger, she growled, "I didn't need your help—"
"They are at the Whitebear Village," Jon interrupted her and said quickly, "The missing Wildlings are on their way to raid them and the villagers don't seem to have any defenders at the moment,"
"Shit!" Dacey's rage cooled instantly. Stepping away from the ongoing fight, she quickly ordered, "Take ten warriors and go. Perhaps you can make it—"
"No they'll just slow me down," Jon said backing away toward the rear where Peggy was already waiting for him as if she was just about to sprint, "I'll take the shortcut through the forest with Peggy. I just came to warn you,"
"NO!" Dacey shouted but the brat had already rushed away like wind on his monstrous horse, "Agh... Don't die you bastard!" she yelled after him before she looked back at the fight that was still going on and entered it with a war cry filled with anger and started smashing heads left and right with her Morningstar.
"Ahhh...DIE! YOU FUCKERS!!"
Meanwhile, Jon had swiftly entered the forest, expertly manoeuvring between the trees on Peggy. His horse effortlessly ducked under branches, leapt over shrubs, and evaded obstacles without hesitation.
Jon laid himself flat on Peggy, trying to minimize the air resistance as much as possible. His riding skills had become so refined that he synchronized his movements with Peggy's jumps and shifts, providing her with continuous support. And not only that he was also providing her intel on the terrain that would be coming far ahead and feeding the optimal path through it directly to her brain allowing her to traverse the forest with ease while keeping her focus primarily on the immediate track before her.
Typically, even the swiftest and most experienced riders would require an hour to circle the forest and reach Whitebear Village, while a skilled hunter might take about half that time through the dense woods. However, Jon could cover the same distance in a matter of minutes. He could only hope it would be fast enough...
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Advance chapters are available at: pat reon.c om/lazywizard