Inside the narrow pass, every inch of earth had been ground into a bloody pulp.
Spears thrust out like a forest of needles and battle-axes whistled through the air as the sounds of slaughter echoed across the entire stretch of the Kingsroad.
Soldiers from both sides fought with a total disregard for their own lives. Every step forward or backward was paid for with piles of fresh corpses.
The battle had ground into a gruesome stalemate.
Meanwhile, as the Northern war horns signaled the secondary advance, Jon felt a surge of rising anxiety at Galon's flank.
He still had not seen any sign of Euron's movement.
'Could Galon have guessed wrong? Are all the Ironborn committed to the front?'
'Damn it, am I the only one standing here with nothing to do?'
Jon scanned the dense forest like a hawk, searching for any trace of the Ironborn.
But the morning mist had not yet burned off, and the thick sentinel trees and oaks acted like a labyrinth, obscuring his vision.
Furthermore, the cacophony of the slaughter happening down the mountain drowned out all other noise, making his search nearly impossible.
He visualized the surrounding maps in his mind and lowered his voice to issue an order.
"Push deeper along the slope. Send out scouts, and stay hidden..."
Before he could finish, Shanks, standing beside him, flicked his ears.
"Wait. Something is moving!"
Having grown up in the Wolfswood, Shanks was preternaturally sensitive to sound. He pressed his ear to the ground and listened intently.
Within seconds, he determined that a large number of people were moving toward their front left.
"Enemies!"
Following Shanks' direction, Jon soon spotted a dense mass of figures appearing and disappearing through the mist to his front right.
They were steadily climbing toward his position.
Cold sweat broke out on Jon's brow. He hadn't expected Euron to crawl right under his nose.
But he quickly realized this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Jon made a sharp hand gesture. Shanks understood immediately and organized his archers to aim down the slope.
"Archers, ready!"
"Loose!"
At Jon's command, a hundred Glover archers at the top of the ridge drew their strings and loosed into the mist at Euron's men.
The unsuspecting Ironborn were pierced by the heavy shafts. In an instant, screams of agony erupted one after another.
Because of the fog, many of the Ironborn couldn't even see how many enemies they were facing; they only knew that the ridge above them was spitting death.
"Damn it, an ambush!"
"Take cover! Quick!"
Euron's expression shifted. He ducked behind a massive sentinel tree, and his men followed suit.
After the brief shock, he peered out to assess the terrain.
The slope wasn't difficult to charge; the incline was gentle, and there were plenty of thick trunks and boulders to use as cover against the arrows.
"Charge!"
Euron's face was a mask of murderous intent.
He let out a sharp, piercing howl, demonstrating his instinctive ability to lead through sheer savagery.
"There aren't many of them! Get up there and hack them to pieces!"
Euron drew his sword and led the way.
Using the trees for cover, he nimbly dodged the incoming arrows as he sprinted upward.
The rest of the Ironborn, their morale bolstered by his bravado, swarmed after him with a roar.
"Loose!"
"Again!"
Jon remained calm.
The terrifying power of the new bows heavily punished the Ironborn attempting the desperate climb.
'What kind of bows are these? Where did the Glovers get weapons with this much power?'
Euron watched a man directly in front of him get hit by a heavy arrow with such force that he was literally knocked backward off his feet.
Stunned, Euron ducked behind another tree. He felt the same confusion Asha had felt before him.
But his cunning told him that staying put meant certain death, while charging at least offered a chance to fight.
His eyes flashed with a cruel light.
He grabbed the corpse of a fallen Ironborn nearby and used it as a human shield, forcing his way up through the rain of arrows.
"Charge!"
"Kill them!"
The Ironborn followed his lead, using the terrain and the dead to inch toward the top of the ridge.
Finally, after losing roughly four hundred men, Euron's gaze locked onto Jon's.
"Hold them back!" Jon shouted. "Don't let a single one through! For the North!"
In an instant, the six hundred men behind Jon drew their weapons and charged. The two forces slammed into each other in a brutal, bloody melee.
The southern slope of West Horn Hill became a second, independent slaughterhouse where every tree and stone was drenched in red.
Jon fought at the very front, his bladework sharp and lethal, holding firm against the frantic counter-attack of Euron's troops.
He knew that every second he stalled Euron was a second gained for the main battle below.
Time bled away. The killing had lasted for hours.
On the main battlefield, the narrow pass was nearly choked with corpses. Blood gathered into small streams, flowing along the ruts of the road.
Galon organized his army into a tight shield wall, sealing the gap. When a soldier fell, another immediately stepped up to take his place.
Whenever Victarion led a charge, long spears would thrust out from behind the wall of wood and steel.
Even though Victarion fought like a tireless giant, Galon used the terrain and the mounting piles of dead to pin the Ironborn in place, steadily bleeding their strength.
No matter how savagely Victarion charged, he was repeatedly forced back by the spears beneath the shields.
By now, the sounds of fighting from the western slopes were growing louder and closer.
Victarion's unease and frustration reached a breaking point.
After being repelled by the spears yet again, he looked at the carpet of dead Ironborn and realized this couldn't continue.
'Euron is being held up.'
'Fuck. I knew I couldn't rely on him. We can't keep fighting like this!'
He wiped the blood from his face, his eyes turning cold and analytical. He stared at the Northerners holding the narrow road.
'My men can't deploy properly here. They're just getting skewered like rats.'
'I have to draw them out of that hole. Then I can crush them all at once!'
Victarion gathered his remaining thousand crewmen, intending to feign a movement to lure the Northerners out.
But in that exact heartbeat, Galon sensed the shift.
'The Bolton men are almost gone, and the Ironborn aren't doing much better. If I wait any longer, something might go wrong with Jon.'
'Now is the time to gamble. One strike to decide it all!'
A fierce light flashed in Galon's eyes. He drew his greatsword, pointed it at the Ironborn, and bellowed.
"The enemy is wavering! All units, advance!"
"Slaughter them all!"
"For the North!"
The Northern war horns sounded the charge.
Galon personally led his most elite Glover soldiers as they surged out from behind the spear formation.
Following Galon's lead, the armies of Umber, White Harbor, and Hornwood poured forward. Even Ramsay led the battered remnants of the Bolton forces back into the fray.
For a moment, many of the Ironborn began to panic.
But Victarion, instead of being dismayed, let out a roar of delight and raised his massive axe.
"Kill these Northern rats!"
He swung his axe and charged to meet them. Behind him, the Ironborn surged forward like a black tide, colliding with Galon's army.
Galon hacked his way through the Ironborn, his eyes fixed on a single figure standing like a black reef in the middle of the sea: Victarion Greyjoy.
Victarion's eyes were likewise locked onto Galon, whose red eyes burned like flame. The two of them saw nothing else on the battlefield but each other.
"Victarion! Your journey as a captain ends here!"
"Bear-Slayer! I'll take your head to consecrate my axe!"
Victarion, relishing the challenge, left his crew behind and strode toward Galon.
Galon, refusing to be outdone, cut down another Ironborn and moved to meet him.
A moment later, the two of them swung their weapons and collided.
__________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/Xorath