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fallen back to defend it； the only safety was on top of the Wall； seven hundred feet up the crooked wooden stairs。
〃What gods do you pray to？〃 Jon asked Satin。
〃The Seven；〃 the boy from Oldtown said。
〃Pray； then；〃 Jon told him。 〃Pray to your new gods； and I'll pray to my old ones。〃 It all turned here。
With the confusion at the trapdoor； Jon had forgotten to fill his quiver。 He limped back across the roof and did that now； and picked up his bow as well。 The kettle had not moved from where he'd left it； so it seemed as though they were safe enough for the nonce。 The dance has moved on； and we're watching from the gallery； he thought as he hobbled back。 Satin was loosing quarrels at the wildlings on the steps； then ducking down behind a merlon to cock the crossbow。 He may be pretty； but he's quick。
The real battle was on the steps。 Noye had put spearmen on the two lowest landings； but the headlong flight of the villagers had panicked them and they had joined the flight； racing up toward the third landing with the Therms killing anyone who fell behind。 The archers and crossbowmen on the higher landings were trying to drop shafts over their heads。 Jon nocked an arrow； drew； and loosed； and was pleased when one of the wildlings went rolling down the steps。 The heat of the fires was making the Wall weep； and the flames danced and shimmered against the ice。 The steps shook to the footsteps of men running for their lives。
Again Jon notched and drew and loosed； but there was only one of him and one of Satin； and a good sixty or seventy Therms pounding up the stairs； killing as they went； drunk on victory。 On the fourth landing； three brothers in black cloaks stood shoulder to shoulder with longswords in their hands； and battle was joined again； briefly。 But there were only three and soon enough the wildling tide washed over them； and their blood dripped down the steps。 〃A man is never so vulnerable in battle as when he flees；〃 Lord Eddard had told Jon once。 〃A running man is like a wounded animal to a soldier。 It gets his bloodlust up。〃 The archers on the fifth landing fled before the battle even reached them。 It was a rout； a red rout。
〃Fetch thf torches；〃 Jon told Satin。 There were four of them stacked beside the fire； their heads wrapped in oily rags。 There were a dozen fire arrows too。 The Oldtown boy thrust one torch into the fire until it was blazing brightly； and brought the rest back under his arm； unlit。 He looked frightened again； as well he might。 Jon was frightened too。
It was then that he saw Styr。 The Magnar was climbing up the barricade； over the gutted corn sacks and smashed barrels and the bodies of friends and foe alike。 His bronze scale armor gleamed darkly in the firelight。 Styr had taken off his helm to survey the scene of his triumph； and the bald earless whoreson was smiling。 In his hand was a long weirwood spear with an ornate bronze head。 When he saw the gate； he pointed the spear at it and barked something in the Old Tongue to the half…dozen Therms around him。 Too late； Jon thought。 You should have led your men over the barricade； you might have been able to save a few 。 。 。
Up above； a warhom sounded； long and low。 Not from the top of the Wall； but from the ninth landing； some two hundred feet up； where Donal Noye was standing。
Jon notched a fire arrow to his bowstring； and Satin lit it from the torch。 He stepped to the parapet； drew； aimed； loosed。 Ribbons of flame trailed behind as the shaft sped downward and thudded into its target； crackling。
Not Styr。 The steps。 Or more precisely； the casks and kegs and sacks that Donal Noye had piled up beneath the steps； as high as the first landing； the barrels of lard and lamp oil； the bags of leaves and oily rags； the split logs； bark； and wood shavings。 〃Again；〃 said Jon； and； 〃Again；〃 and； 〃Again。〃 Other longbowmen were firing too； from every tower top in range； some sending their arrows up in high arcs to drop before the Wall。 When Jon ran out of fire arrows； he and Satin began to light the torches and fling them from the crenels。
Up above another fire was blooming。 The old wooden steps had drunk up oil like a sponge； and Donal Noye had drenched them from the ninth landing all the way down to the seventh。 Jon could only hope that most of their own people had staggered up to safety before Noye threw the torches。 The black brothers at least had known the plan； but the villagers had not。
Wind and fire did the rest。 All Jon had to do was watch。 With flames below and flames above； the wildlings had nowhere to go。 Some continued upward； and died。 Some went downward； and died。 Some stayed where they were。 They died as well。 Many leapt from the steps before they burned； and died from the fall。 Twenty…odd Thenns were still huddled together between the fires when the ice cracked from the heat； and the whole lower third of the stair broke off； along with several tons of ice。 That was the last that Jon Snow saw of Styr； the Magnar of Thenn。 The Wall defends itself； he thought。
Jon asked Satin to help him down to the yard。 His wounded leg hurt so badly that he could hardly walk； even with the crutch。 〃Bring the torch；〃 he told the boy from Oldtown。 〃I need to look for someone。〃 It had been mostly Thenns on the steps。 Surely some of the free folk had escaped。 Mance's people； not the Magnar's。 She might have been one。 So they climbed down past the bodies of the men who'd tried the trapdoor； and Jon wandered through the dark with his crutch under one arm； and the other around the shoulders of a boy who'd been a whore in Oldtown。
The stables and the mon hall had burned down to smoking cinders by then； but the fire still raged along the wall； climbing step by step and landing by landing。 From time to time they'd hear a groan and then a craaaack； and another chunk would e crashing off the Wall。 The air was full of ash and ice crystals。
He found Quort dead； and Stone Thumbs dying。 He found some dead and dying Therms he had never truly known。 He found Big Boil； weak from all the blood he'd lost but still alive。
He found Ygritte sprawled across a patch of old snow beneath the Lord mander's Tower； with an arrow between her breasts。 The ice crystals had settled over her face； and in the moonlight it looked as though she wore a glittering silver mask。
The arrow was black； Jon saw； but it was fletched with white duck feathers。 Not mine； he told himself； not one of mine。 But he felt as if it were。
When he knelt in the snow beside her； her eyes opened。 〃Jon Snow；〃 she said； very softly。 It sounded as though the arrow had found a lung。 〃Is this a proper castle now？ Not just a tower？〃
〃It is。〃 Jon took her hand。
〃Good；〃 she whispered。 〃I wanted t' see one proper castle； before 。 。 。 before I 。 。 。〃
〃You'll see a hundred castles；〃 he promised her。 〃The battle's done。 Maester Aemon will see to you。〃 He touched her hair。 〃You're kissed by fire； remember？ Lucky。 It will take more than an arrow to kill you。
Aemon will draw it out and patch you up； and we'll get you some milk of the poppy for the pain。〃
She just smiled at that。 〃D'you remember that cave？ We should have stayed in that cave。 I told you so。〃
〃We'll go back to the c