The rocky ridge carried them deeper into the heart of the Wolfswood.
For nearly an hour the riders moved in silence, leading their horses across the hard stone where no tracks could be followed. Snow continued to fall around them, dusting cloaks and shoulders in pale white.
Below the ridge, the forest stretched endlessly.
Dark.
Cold.
Watching.
Corvyn walked beside Shade, one hand resting lightly on the stallion's reins while the other brushed the hilt of Nightfeather.
Ser Halric broke the silence.
"You've hunted in these woods before."
It wasn't a question.
Corvyn nodded.
"Since I was a boy."
Halric grunted.
"Good. Because if I were Bolton, I'd keep pushing until morning."
Corvyn looked toward the distant treeline.
"So would I."
One of the riders near the back spoke suddenly.
"My lord."
Corvyn turned.
The man was staring down the slope beside the ridge.
"What is it?"
The rider pointed.
Movement.
Far below, between the trees.
Faint torchlight flickered through the forest.
Halric stepped beside Corvyn and squinted into the darkness.
"Boltons."
Several riders tightened their grips on their weapons.
Corvyn studied the lights carefully.
There were many.
Too many for a small patrol.
"They're sweeping the woods," Halric muttered. "Spreading out to find us."
Corvyn watched the pattern of the moving lights.
They moved slowly.
Methodically.
Like hunters driving prey toward a trap.
Halric noticed the same thing.
"They're pushing us somewhere."
Corvyn nodded.
"But they don't know where we are."
A raven cried again above the trees.
Corvyn's head lifted slightly.
The bird circled once before gliding west.
Halric saw it.
"You following that bird now?"
Corvyn's gaze remained fixed on the direction the raven had taken.
"No," he said quietly.
"Just thinking."
The riders continued along the ridge until it began sloping downward again.
Ahead, the forest opened slightly into a narrow valley between two hills.
Corvyn stopped.
Halric frowned.
"Something wrong?"
Corvyn studied the valley.
Snow lay untouched across the open ground.
Too perfect.
Too quiet.
He felt a strange unease settle in his chest.
"The woods are too still," he murmured.
Halric looked around.
The knight's expression slowly hardened.
"You're right."
Even the wind had gone silent.
No branches creaked.
No animals stirred.
Halric's hand slowly moved toward his sword.
"That's never a good sign."
Corvyn's eyes scanned the tree line at the far end of the valley.
Then he saw it.
A faint glimmer of metal.
Hidden between the branches.
Crossbows.
Waiting.
Corvyn's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Back."
But before the riders could move—
A horn blasted from the far side of the valley.
Bolton soldiers rose from the snow-covered ground like ghosts.
Dozens of them.
Crossbows lifted.
And in the center of the ambush…
Ser Roderic Bolton smiled.