Snow swirled through the trees as both sides paused.
The clash of steel had faded, leaving only the ragged breathing of men and the restless stamping of horses. Bodies lay scattered across the narrow clearing, dark shapes already being slowly covered by falling snow.
Corvyn stood still, Nightfeather lowered but ready.
Across from him, Ser Roderic Bolton sat comfortably in his saddle as if the battle meant nothing at all.
The torchlight behind him revealed a thin, pale face and eyes that glittered with amusement.
"Well," Roderic said lightly, "that was entertaining."
Ser Halric spat into the snow.
"You Bolton dogs wander far from your kennels," he growled.
Roderic chuckled.
"My lord would say the same about Ravaryn spies."
Corvyn stepped forward slightly.
"You cross into Ravaryn lands with an armed force," he said coldly. "That is not wandering."
Roderic tilted his head.
"Force?"
He glanced around the forest as though noticing the soldiers for the first time.
"These?" he said with mock surprise. "Merely escorts. The Wolfswood can be… dangerous."
Halric's sword lifted slightly.
"You have more than escorts hiding in those trees."
The Bolton knight smiled again.
"And you have fewer men than you think."
At that moment, more torches appeared deeper in the woods.
One.
Three.
Ten.
Bolton soldiers moved quietly between the trees, forming a loose half-circle around the Ravaryn riders.
Corvyn counted quickly.
Forty at least.
Maybe more.
Halric muttered a curse under his breath.
"Looks like we stepped into the wrong nest."
Corvyn's eyes never left Roderic.
"You knew we were here."
"Of course," Roderic replied.
He gestured casually toward the forest.
"You think Bolton men wander blindly through the Wolfswood? No, young lord. We were waiting."
Corvyn felt a cold weight settle in his chest.
"A trap."
Roderic spread his hands slightly.
"Such an ugly word."
Halric leaned closer to Corvyn.
"We cut through before they close in," he whispered. "Fast and hard."
Corvyn considered the idea.
Possible.
But risky.
Very risky.
Roderic seemed to sense the thought.
"Oh, by all means," he said cheerfully. "Try."
More Bolton soldiers stepped into the clearing.
Crossbows were raised.
"Bolton men do enjoy a good chase," Roderic continued. "But sometimes it is pleasant when the prey comes willingly."
Corvyn slowly lifted Nightfeather.
The dark blade gleamed under the torchlight.
Several Bolton soldiers shifted uneasily.
Even they recognized Valyrian steel.
Roderic's smile thinned slightly.
"A fine sword," he admitted.
Corvyn's voice was calm.
"So is the hand that holds it."
For a moment the forest was silent again.
Snow continued to fall.
Halric tightened his grip on his sword.
Corvyn glanced briefly at the riders behind him.
Twenty men.
Outnumbered.
Surrounded.
But not beaten.
He lifted the blade slightly.
"Ravaryn riders," he said quietly.
Every man straightened.
"Break their line."
Halric grinned like a wolf.
"Now that," he said, "sounds like a plan."
Across the clearing, Roderic Bolton sighed.
"Very well," he said.
Then he raised his hand.
"Kill them."