Chapter 215

The Wall was an insurmountable monolith—so tall that no ladder or siege tower could ever reach its summit, so thick that any battering ram would shatter against it in futility. Arrows fired by ordinary bows could not even graze the top, and trebuchets could not hurl stones heavy enough to damage its icy facade. Fire? Snowmelt would swiftly quench it. True, the wildlings could climb over it, as their raiders often did, but only those strong, agile, and skilled enough could manage such a feat. For a vast horde burdened with families and supplies, the only option was to attack the gates.

“Catapults! Fire! Don’t let them near the Wall!” barked the blacksmith, who had climbed to the Wall’s summit with Aegor. Familiar with its defenses, he took command without hesitation.

Buckets of pitch were loaded into trebuchets and ignited with torches. Fueled by the wind, the flames roared to life. At the shout of “Release!” the trebuchets’ arms swung downward with a thunderous crash, launching flaming barrels into the dark night. The barrels arced across the sky, trailing orange and white flames before smashing into the ground with explosive force. A fireball erupted, scattering the wildlings below. Two mammoths panicked, their giant riders struggling to control them as their ancient guttural cries rumbled through the night, audible even atop the Wall.

Nearly a hundred defenders unleashed arrows, rocks, and fire down upon the attackers. Longspears and swords were useless on the Wall, so Aegor armed himself with a bow and cautiously peered over the edge, loosing arrows into the mass below. The howling northeast wind, diverted by the Wall’s sheer face, created a fierce crosscurrent that rendered precise aiming futile. Instead, the defenders rained arrows, flaming barrels, and rocks indiscriminately into the densest clusters of wildlings, their projectiles swallowed by the darkness below. Heavier barrels and stones found their marks more reliably, occasionally igniting fires upon impact, but arrows disappeared into the night, their effectiveness left to chance.

Wildlings poured from the forest, racing across the narrow strip of land that separated the Wall from the trees. Soon, the snowy expanse resembled a pie crust dusted with scattered seeds—the wildlings as black sesame, their mammoths and giants as larger nuts strewn among them.

In the television adaptation, the siege of Castle Black was dramatized with intricate strategies and spectacular skirmishes. Reality, however, was far less theatrical. The wildlings had no intention of scaling the Wall to give the Night’s Watch the satisfaction of picking them off. Ordinary wildlings, giants, and mammoths alike focused their efforts on one goal: the outer gate of Castle Black. Their mission was clear—to breach the gate and invade the lands south of the Wall.

For the defenders, the task was equally straightforward: kill as many of the seemingly endless attackers as possible while keeping the battle on the northern side of the Wall.

“Target the gate!” Aegor shouted as he paced along the line of defenders, noticing their lack of coordination. “Ignore the fools firing at the edges—they can’t hit anything from here! Focus all fire on those approaching the gate!”
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The so-called “gate” was nothing more than a narrow tunnel carved through the icy Wall, barely wide enough for two horses to pass side by side. Compared to the Wall’s towering mass, the tunnel was pitifully small. Three iron portcullises reinforced the interior, making the gate easy to defend even if the outermost doors were breached. Yet the wildlings’ sheer numbers, bolstered by giants and mammoths, meant that if the fight devolved into a battle of attrition in the tunnel, the Night’s Watch would be overwhelmed.

At all costs, the defenders had to keep the fight outside the Wall.

Screams and the sounds of struggle echoed from the gate as attackers fell to stones, arrows, and burning pitch. The Night’s Watch inflicted heavy casualties, with dozens of wildlings dead already, while Aegor’s own side remained unscathed. But his grim expression betrayed no satisfaction. Thousands of wildlings still surged forward, and more importantly, some had reached the gate. In the darkness, they were already working to break through.

“Stop them! Throw anything you can! Don’t hold back!” Aegor roared.

From the south side of the Wall, the sound of two horn blasts rose above the din of battle. Aegor glanced toward Castle Black’s southern defenses, where another wave of wildlings poured from the direction of Mole’s Town. Gritting his teeth, he left the southern front to Jon and Jaime, while he returned to the northern battlements. From the Wall’s summit, it was impossible to see exactly what the wildlings were doing at the gate, but one thing was clear: if left unchecked, they would eventually breach it.

Ballistae were pivoted to target the gate. The taut strings released with sharp twangs, launching massive spear-like bolts into the enemy ranks. Those without bows hurled rocks, while barrels of pitch—drenched with oil—were flung down like bombs. The area around the gate became a fiery inferno, with splintered wood, burning oil, and shards of rock scattering in all directions. A mammoth caught in the flames bellowed in agony as it charged back toward the forest, scattering wildlings in its path. Animals fled in terror, but the wildlings and giants proved more resilient. Rolling in the snow, they extinguished flames quickly, resuming their assault.

The ground near the gate turned into a blood-soaked battlefield, littered with corpses. Yet the wildlings pressed on, pushing bodies aside and using snow to smother burning pitch. Under a relentless barrage of stones and arrows, they continued their assault, determined to destroy the outer gate. The sound of wood splintering echoed ominously as giants lashed ropes to the gateposts and fastened the other ends to mammoths. Cracking whips spurred the beasts forward, and the groaning of stressed wood filled the air.
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“Mother of Mercy, source of compassion, protect your sons in battle…” Brother Seledar’s trembling voice rose in prayer, though whether it was the wind or the sight of a two-front assault that caused his voice to quake was unclear.

“Stop praying and get over here!” Aegor shouted, kicking the brother’s shin. “Open the barrels and pour wildfire into them! Everyone else, step back—keep torches away! This stuff will blow us all to pieces!”

The defenders paused, turning their attention to Aegor’s commotion. The blacksmith, Nowy, shouted to refocus them. “What are you staring at? Keep shooting! If you’re out of arrows, grab another bundle! Aegor, what are you doing?”

“Coming up with something they can’t counter! We need to stop them from breaking the gate!”

“There are too many of them. We can’t hold the outer gate!” Nowy shook his head. “Keep up the fire—it’ll at least slow them down. I need two archers and two spearmen to guard the tunnel in case they break through.”

Ten men stepped forward. Nowy picked four and headed for the lift. “Aegor, until I return, the Wall is yours.”

The weight of responsibility settled on Aegor. He realized that if he couldn’t halt the attack on the gate, Nowy and his small team would face certain death in the tunnel. Wasting no time, Aegor pried open a barrel of pitch and carefully poured in green wildfire from two jars he had brought to the Wall. The eerie liquid hissed as it mixed with the black pitch. Barrel after barrel, Aegor prepared a dozen makeshift firebombs.

“Light them up and toss them down!” he ordered.

The defenders hesitated. “The pitch isn’t hot enough yet—”

“It doesn’t need to be! Toss them now, or we’re finished!”

Obeying his command, the defenders lit the barrels. Green flames licked from their openings as they rolled them over the edge. The barrels tumbled down, trailing emerald fire. Upon impact, they erupted into brilliant green explosions, consuming wildlings, giants, and mammoths alike. Unlike ordinary flames, the wildfire clung to anything it touched, burning with an unnatural ferocity that snow and ice could not extinguish.

The emerald inferno spread rapidly, melting the frozen ground and creating a barrier of roaring green flames that engulfed everything in its path. The wildlings fell back, their attack faltering as the firestorm turned the area before the gate into a nightmarish hellscape. Mammoths trumpeted in terror, breaking their bonds and retreating into the forest.

The wildfire burned like a vengeful guardian of the Wall, an unrelenting force that would not be extinguished until it consumed everything in its reach. For now, Castle Black was safe—but Aegor knew this was only the first wave.