Chapter 425

Within the walls of the Shadow Tower, flames erupted everywhere. The final stage of the defense plan, at least the part made public to everyone, had begun: street fighting and retreat.

With the rhythmic toll of the bells signaling the fall of the gates, the defenders on the walls began to withdraw in an orderly fashion, retreating into the keep. They lit the pre-prepared barricades and abandoned structures, using the fires and their intimate knowledge of the terrain to conduct a fighting retreat. Their formation shrank steadily inward in a crescent shape, converging toward the stairway that led to the top of the Wall.

The outcome of the battle was clear. The White Walkers had not entered the fortress alongside the tide of wights. Bann, armed with two Lightbringer arrows, never got his chance to kill a White Walker. Yet this also meant there would be no more eerie extinguishing of flames within the walls. In this relatively "normal" scenario, the advantages of their training and prearranged plans became evident.

Though everyone knew the fortress was lost, and that they would have to retreat up the stairs to the Wall and flee to other strongholds, the commanders of the Night’s Watch in their black cloaks maintained their composure. Their calmness inspired the mountain clansmen and New Gift soldiers under their command, who gritted their teeth and fought to buy time for the women, children, and non-combatants to escape.

Dennis Mallister directed the remaining soldiers to pile any remaining flammable materials—lamp oil, pitch, even cloth and firewood—beneath the base of the stairs. With a heavy sigh, he cast one last glance toward the fortress, now a sea of flames. Most of the non-combatants had been evacuated, but what troubled him now was whether his preparations would suffice. Could these materials truly destroy the stairway?
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The Wall had nineteen fortresses along its length, but only Castle Black, the original headquarters of the Night’s Watch, had been planned and built alongside the Wall itself. Brandon the Builder had included an ice-carved stairway leading to its summit in his design.

The other eighteen fortresses, including the Shadow Tower, had no such privilege. Their stairways were later additions, constructed by the Night’s Watch using massive round timbers driven deep into the Wall’s icy structure. Over time, these wooden stairs had become so weathered, repaired, and frozen that they were nearly fused with the Wall itself. Despite being made of wood, they were dense, cold, and resistant to fire. If the wights reached the base of the Wall before the Night’s Watch could destroy these stairways, what then?

As Dennis and his guards wracked their brains for more supplies to hasten the destruction, fortune finally smiled upon them: the second wave of reinforcements from Sentinel Stand arrived, bringing wildfire. The soldiers descended via the stairs and lifts to join the defense.

“Ser Mallister!” the leader of the reinforcements, a deputy commander formerly stationed at the Shadow Tower, immediately recognized his old superior. “We’ve brought two crates of explosives, ten crates of wildfire, and a hundred men. Where do you need us, sir?”

“Perfect timing! Stack everything around the base of the stairs. Once you’re done, retreat up the Wall and prepare to burn the stairway with wildfire!”

“What?” The deputy commander turned to glance at the burning fortress he had once served. “Are you sure you don’t need reinforcements here?”

“Return to the Wall! That’s an order!” Dennis bellowed with all the strength left in his body. Then, turning to his own guards, he added, “That goes for you too! Your new mission is to hold the Wall’s summit. Do not let a single enemy climb the stairs or scale the Wall. That’s an order—carry it out immediately. I’ll handle covering the retreat and lighting the fire here myself!”

“But—”

“But what? Which ear of yours didn’t hear me say, ‘That’s an order’? Get moving! Don’t block the stairs and hinder the retreat of our brothers!”

Dennis Mallister, a man known for his composure and gentlemanly conduct, rarely swore. His uncharacteristic vulgarity left the reinforcements stunned. Yet his resolve was unmistakable. The deputy commander, along with Dennis’s reluctant guards, exchanged glances and saluted. They understood the truth: their commander intended to remain behind and perish with the Shadow Tower.

The words “we’ll stay with you” caught in their throats, but none could muster the courage to say them aloud. Instead, they straightened their backs, saluted through tear-filled eyes, and responded in unison: “Yes, Commander!”
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Perish with the Shadow Tower? Nonsense!

Though Dennis Mallister’s white hair and wrinkles made him look every bit the stubborn old traditionalist, the truth was far from it. He had never been one to cling to rigid dogma or senselessly sacrifice lives. A fortress was stone and wood, lifeless and expendable. The men under his command, however, were living, breathing soldiers. To waste human lives on a symbolic gesture would be foolish.

Lighting the fire was a task that could be accomplished with a single arrow—there was no reason for him, the commander of the Shadow Tower, to do it personally. Surviving and preserving the strength of the Night’s Watch was the priority.

But survival required trade-offs. Of the nine hundred remaining defenders still retreating toward the stairs, Dennis knew they could not all escape. The wights pressing on their heels ensured that.

If the soldiers clogged the stairs in their desperation to flee, chaos would ensue, and few would make it to safety. Worse, the wights might infiltrate the retreat and swarm the Wall’s summit, threatening the entire defense. Dennis understood this the moment the vanguard of the undead breached the gates.

Though the soldiers were still fighting, they were already lost—“sunk costs” in the brutal calculus of war. To save them would risk the entire Wall, a price too high to pay.
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Dennis began his grim task. With trembling hands, he pried open crates of explosives, setting them alongside the piles of flammables. He opened jars of wildfire and poured their contents onto the lower sections of the stairway, ensuring the fire would burn hot enough to destroy the base.

Occasionally, stragglers—delayed by their duties—would rush past and offer to help, but Dennis shouted at them to continue their retreat. His orders were absolute: no one else would remain behind.

As he completed his preparations, a single kitchen dog from the Shadow Tower darted past him, whimpering in fear as it fled up the stairs without so much as a glance at its master. Dennis chuckled bitterly.

Then the first undead wolves and bears appeared, sprinting directly toward the stairs. Unlike their human counterparts, they ignored the soldiers still fighting and focused solely on their objective.

“So fast… so precise,” Dennis muttered in grudging admiration. The enemy’s efficiency was undeniable, as was the brilliance of the defensive plan—though not written by him, he couldn’t help but feel pride.

He smiled, baring his teeth, and released the torch in his hand. It fell, igniting the prepared piles in an instant.

“Come on, you bastards!” he roared, shouting a curse he’d never spoken in his seventy years of life.