Bullhorn Mountain lay west of Sheepshead Hills, east of Torrhen's Square, and south of Cerwyn.
The Kingsroad ran through it, dividing the range into two halves. The Northmen called them East Horn Mountain and West Horn Mountain.
East Horn Mountain bordered the Sheepshead Hills.
A tributary of the White Knife flowed through the valley where the mountains met.
The terrain there was steep and treacherous, with bare rock faces rising almost vertically into the greater mountain range.
It was an intimidating sight.
West Horn Mountain, however, was much gentler.
It stood alone on the plains of the North, rising only three or four hundred meters high.
Dense sentinel trees and oak trees covered its slopes, giving the mountain a gloomy appearance in the fading days of late summer.
The thick forest and long slopes made it an ideal place for an ambush.
When Wyman had informed Galon that the Ironborn were marching toward Bullhorn Mountain, Galon immediately realized he had to secure the northern entrance of the pass as quickly as possible.
If the Ironborn took control of the entire mountain range first, Galon would lose all defensive advantages.
At that point, he would either be forced to retreat to Winterfell or lure the Ironborn out of the mountains and fight them in the open plains.
Either option would come at a far greater cost.
Therefore, after parting from Wyman, Galon wasted no time and drove his army forward in a forced march for two consecutive days.
At last, that afternoon, Galon's army arrived ten kilometers north of the pass.
Under a dark and heavy sky, sixty cavalry scouts rode ahead to investigate the northern entrance, checking whether the Ironborn had already arrived and whether any ambushes awaited them.
Soon one rider returned with a report.
The northern entrance was clear.
Galon breathed a quiet sigh of relief, though he remained cautious.
After a moment of thought, he turned toward the Northern lords behind him.
"Lord Umber, take three hundred men as the vanguard and secure the northern entrance."
"Remain vigilant."
Hother, the acting lord of Last Hearth, nodded immediately. Without hesitation, he rode back to his troops and led them forward toward the pass.
After several days of serving together, the older lord had already come to respect Galon's leadership and ability.
He followed Galon's orders without question.
Once the Umber troops set out, Galon issued another command and personally led the rest of the army behind them.
Three hours later, the entire force reached the northern entrance of Bullhorn Mountain.
Galon surveyed the terrain carefully.
The eastern mountain was covered with jagged rocks and sheer cliffs that were impossible to climb.
The western mountain, however, was hidden beneath dense forests that concealed whatever might lie within.
"Mihawk, take your men and occupy the high ground on the western slope. Remain alert at all times."
"Lord Umber, cut down trees and build barricades. Block the road completely."
"Jon, send all cavalry scouts out. I want to know where the Ironborn are, how many they have, and exactly where they are marching."
"The rest of you, establish camp here."
Galon issued his commands calmly and methodically.
The Northern army moved like a great war beast suddenly awakened.
Axes began chopping down trees. Soldiers shouted orders to one another. Warhorses neighed restlessly.
The quiet valley was filled with the sounds of preparation.
Rough but deadly barricades were erected across the road.
Archers climbed to higher ground, their cold arrows aimed down the Kingsroad that led toward the southern pass.
Once the camp began to take shape, Galon personally led a group up the western mountain to inspect the terrain more closely.
Meanwhile, the cavalry scouts spread out across the Kingsroad and through the forests of West Horn Mountain.
Among them, Shanks led a detachment along the Kingsroad to scout ahead.
They rode for more than two hours without finding any sign of the enemy.
By then, darkness had begun to fall.
"My lord, should we continue forward?" one scout asked quietly.
Shanks glanced toward the shadowy forests of West Horn Mountain. The trees looked like dark figures hiding something dangerous.
"Our mission is to get as close as possible to the Ironborn camp," he said. "We need to learn their numbers and movements."
"Brothers, for the sake of the North, we go a little farther."
He kicked his horse forward and rode toward the southern entrance of the pass.
The other scouts followed in silence.
The cold evening wind cut across Shanks's face like a blade.
He leaned low over his horse's neck, trying to blend into the darkness beside the road.
The horses' hooves were wrapped in thick cloth, producing only dull sounds against the hard ground.
The only noise around them was the wind.
Suddenly Shanks's horse snorted uneasily, its ears twitching in alarm.
Shanks raised his hand instantly. The squad stopped at once, listening carefully in the darkness.
Then it came.
A faint metallic sound from the shadows ahead.
"Something's wrong. It's an ambush."
"Fall back!"
Shanks shouted instinctively as he pulled his horse around.
At that very moment, terrifying war cries erupted from the darkness on the western slope.
"Kill them!"
"Leave a few alive. I want to question them myself!"
High on the forested slope of West Horn Mountain, Euron watched the scouts below.
His single dark eye burned with murderous intent.
In the next instant, countless shadows burst out from the forest like demons rising from the earth.
Torches flared to life, illuminating twisted faces and the kraken sigil of the Ironborn.
The Ironborn had set their ambush far closer than anyone expected.
Throwing axes whistled through the air.
Shanks whipped his horse forward desperately.
Behind him he could hear the shouts of his men, the screams of the wounded, and the terrible clash of steel.
One rider's horse was tripped, and both horse and rider vanished beneath the swarm of attackers.
Another man turned to fire an arrow but was struck in the back by a flying axe and fell silently from his saddle.
"My lord, go!"
"We'll hold them off!"
"The North does not fear death!"
"Brothers, charge!"
Seeing Ironborn riders closing in, the remaining dozen men realized someone had to stay behind.
Without hesitation, they chose to sacrifice themselves.
They drew their swords and charged toward the Ironborn...Within moments they were swallowed by the enemy.
Tears filled Shanks's eyes, but he did not look back.
He lashed his horse forward and rode faster.
Five Ironborn riders pursued him relentlessly. The shadow of death clutched at his heart.
He dared not look behind him. He relied only on his knowledge of the terrain and the speed of his horse as he fled northward along the road.
The curses of the Ironborn and the thunder of their hooves echoed behind him like the tolling of death.
After what felt like an eternity, the sounds of pursuit gradually faded.
Perhaps the Ironborn feared riding too far into unfamiliar darkness.
Shanks slowed slightly, breathing heavily, and glanced back.
Only darkness and silence remained.
His entire squad was gone.
Only he and his horse had survived.
Grief and terror surged through him, but he clenched his teeth. 'This is not the time to mourn. I must deliver the news.'
'Lord Galon must know the Ironborn are here... and that they are already moving toward our camp.'
He kicked his horse hard and raced toward the northern pass, riding desperately toward Galon's camp.
__________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/Xorath