The Dread Bear-Hunter

"Seven above, what happened here?" one soldier muttered, staring at the scene before him in open horror.

No one answered. Every man around him was watching the trees, afraid that the harmless-looking branches might suddenly turn into killing tools.

"Go and look," Ryman ordered, pointing to one of the soldiers.

The chosen man clearly wanted no part of it, but he had no choice. He stepped out from the group, edged toward the corpse with care, and gave it a quick inspection before shouting back, "A trap, my lord. Some kind of trap killed him."

"Some kind of trap?" Once he saw there was no immediate danger, Ryman led his men closer. He studied the corpse and frowned. "What sort of trap has enough force to drive through a man and leave him hanging from a tree?"

The question left the soldiers speechless. The only traps most of them had seen were snares and small devices meant for rabbits. A man-killing engine with that kind of power was new to them.

When no answer came, Ryman did not press. He could feel that the traps had been placed for the outlaws, which meant the trapmaker should be on his side. Even so, his cautious nature would not let him relax. "Keep your eyes open and move on." Then he turned on his own household men. "Why are you standing there? Shields out. Around me."

At the order, the soldiers fumbled their shields up and formed a ring around him.

The Coldmoat men assigned to the search had no such privilege. They stayed on the outside and picked their way forward.

The deeper they went, the more bodies they found. Some had died in traps like the first corpse. Others had clearly been cut down by weapons. The veterans in the company could tell at a glance that every one of the weapon-killed outlaws had died from a single strike, and not one of them had known where the blow came from before death took him.

Fear tightened the whole party. In their minds, the forest became the haunt of some invisible spirit from childhood tales. Hands trembled on spear hafts and sword grips.

That dreadful mood made their pace quicken. The wood was not large, and before long the front rank could see open ground through the gaps between the trees.

Just as the leading soldier was about to hurry out of that dangerous place, a short sword came flying from nowhere. It passed straight in front of his face and buried itself in the trunk beside him.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!" Startled out of his wits, the soldier stopped, shouted, and scrambled back into the line. He clutched his spear and yelled again, "Someone attacked me. Someone just attacked me!"

"Shut up. I saw it." Ryman could not endure the man's shouting, especially now that panic was spreading through the ranks. He raised his voice at once. "Hold formation. Spears out, shields up. Do not panic. We have more men, and our weapons are better."

As he shouted the men steady, no attack came. Instead, a warrior in leather armor stepped from the thick trees ahead, two swords at his waist. He walked at an easy pace to the short blade pinned in the trunk, pulled it free, and slid it back into its sheath.

Then he turned to the tense hundred-man company. His gaze passed over the banner-bearer and the white, red-spotted spider of House Webber upon a silver web over black before settling on Ryman, whose dress marked him apart from the men around him.

"My lord of House Webber, you came late," the warrior called. "These men have already been dealt with. I have not had time to collect their spoils, though. If you do not mind, would you help me clear them? There are too many for one man. Naturally, I would not ask for help without payment. Half the spoils would be yours."

Only then did Ryman see the warrior's face clearly, and memory supplied the name. "The Bear-Hunter. You are Alden of White Village."

Alden bowed slightly. "I am honored that you have heard of me."

Ryman remembered what he had learned about him. The night before, Joel's odd arrangement for Alden and the common-looking swordsman's presence in the council hall had drawn House Webber's attention. After the meeting, they had sent men to ask about him, and Ryman had been the one responsible for gathering the news.

That was when they learned that the common warrior with the twin swords was the very Bear-Hunter the singers had been praising in the taverns.

At the time, the Webbers had not taken him too seriously. In their eyes he was still a boy of fifteen. They admired the courage and filial devotion in the tale, a son avenging his father and hunting a mountain bear alone, but they believed the song had exaggerated the details for drama. To them, the bear had likely been brought down with help from White Village's hunters, and those same hunters must have saved Alden from the beast.

Ryman had thought the same. He had seen mountain bears with his own eyes. He had also seen a maddened mountain bear tear apart a hunting party of a hundred men. He had found it almost impossible to believe that Alden had killed one alone.

Now he was beginning to believe the singer's tale. The outlaws mutilated by traps, the men cut down before they ever saw the strike, all of it had been done by this single youth. A warrior like that killing a mountain bear alone no longer seemed impossible.

He also understood why Ser Joel Flowers had accepted Alden's outrageous demand to hold this area by himself. Joel must have known the boy had the ability to do it.

Once Ryman confirmed who stood before him, he motioned for his men to lower their weapons. Then he asked urgently, "Earlier, two outlaw leaders in plate came this way with their men. Where are they now?"

"The Stranger has taken them." Alden sheathed his swords and pointed toward the ground beyond the trees. "Their bodies are outside. I will have to trouble you to gather them."

Ryman had already guessed as much from the bodies in the wood, but hearing the answer from Alden finally let him breathe easier. He ordered his men to help collect the corpses and spoils. All of it would become military merit in the final accounting.

If the dead had belonged to anyone else, he might have been tempted to claim the merit for House Webber. This time he would not. Part of that was the unknown connection between Joel Flowers and the Bear-Hunter, but a greater part was the shock and fear the corpses had left in him.

He had the advantage in numbers, yet for some reason he felt certain that if he turned against the Bear-Hunter, he would end up like the men they had just found, left in the forest forever.

Alden did not know what Ryman Webber was thinking, though he had already considered the possibility that Ryman might seize his battle credit. Old Baine had warned him more than once about such things.

If it happened, he had no good way to stop it. He might be able to kill Ryman and use the terrain to kill these Webber soldiers as well, but after that he would have no place in the Reach, and likely no place in Westeros. He would be forced to run to Essos. That was not what he wanted.

He soon thought it through. Even if Ryman took the merit by force, it did not truly matter. What he needed was Joel's recognition. The merit itself was less important than Joel's recommendation. As long as Joel believed he had killed so many outlaws, Alden's purpose would be achieved.

Once he understood that, the tension in him eased. While the soldiers carried bodies away, he moved through other parts of the wood and dismantled every trap that had not been triggered.

He did not know how the battle at the front had gone, but now that Ryman had brought a hundred men here, the duty of holding the area had naturally passed to him. Alden only needed to assist from the side. The lethal traps were no longer necessary.

With more than a hundred men working together, the corpses in the trees were soon cleared out and laid neatly beside those outside the wood.

The sight of dozens of dead men left everyone, Ryman included, struck silent. Their eyes drifted toward Alden, who sat not far away cleaning his weapons, and respect mingled with fear in every stare.

The histories of the Seven Kingdoms were full of tales in which a knight fought a hundred men alone. Legends of that sort lived everywhere in Westeros. After Ser Arthur Dayne and the others hunted the Kingswood Brotherhood, people had even claimed that the Sword of the Morning slew hundreds of brotherhood men with Dawn in his hands.

Men who understood war knew that such stories rarely survived scrutiny. Many such victories were won by a knight leading his squires and soldiers, only for the famous man's name to gather every kill afterward.

Here, however, they were seeing a living example. One man had dealt with dozens of outlaws. He had used hunting traps, yes, but the feat remained extraordinary. More than that, the fight seemed to have cost him nothing. They could not find a single wound on him.

Looking at Alden's calm face after such a battle, Ryman felt a strange certainty that this lowborn hunter's son would one day become a great man.

That feeling made him decide to befriend Alden, to place an early wager on the boy's future.

Having made up his mind, Ryman walked over and pointed at the broad hand-and-a-half sword in Alden's hand. "I have never seen a sword shaped quite like that. May I look?"

Alden handed over the blade he had just finished wiping clean.

Ryman weighed it and studied the lines. "It is broader than a normal bastard sword, which makes it better for cutting and even useful for parrying. Its only flaw is length. You must close with an enemy before it can truly show its worth."

Alden listened with some surprise. Seeing the strengths and weaknesses of a broad hand-and-a-half sword was not difficult, but Ryman had grasped them from one casual look. He clearly knew something about weapons and forging.

"Did you design this sword yourself, Lord Alden?" Ryman asked as he returned it, deliberately giving him a noble form of address.

"Yes. I designed it for my swordsmanship." Alden did not hide the truth. Then he corrected him. "Lord Ryman, you are giving me the wrong title. I am a commoner, not a noble. You should not call me lord."

Ryman smiled. "No, no. With the strength you have shown, you will surely become a noble before long. I am only getting used to it early."

In that moment he seemed less like a nobleman than a merchant, and he made no attempt to hide his desire for friendship.

Alden did not understand why a landed knight with his own estate would take the initiative with him, but he could feel no malice. He weighed the benefits and drawbacks of befriending Ryman in silence.

In the matter of the Red Lake Forest outlaws, House Webber had acted less than honorably, but they had perfectly erased the traces of their wrongdoing. They should not be punished by House Rowan, their overlord, and their strength would remain intact.

House Webber might only be a second-rank noble house in the Reach, but like most Reach houses, it possessed a long inheritance and marriage ties with many noble families across the Seven Kingdoms. The Lannisters of the westerlands, for example, had ties by blood. Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock, carried Webber blood through his grandmother.

It was precisely because House Webber had such deep roots that House Rowan had not openly exposed its error. Instead, the Rowans had allowed the Webbers to join the campaign and wipe away the evidence themselves.

So whatever purpose lay behind Ryman's approach, Alden felt it could only benefit him.

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