The Other said something in a language that Will did not know;his voice was like the cracking of ice on a winter lake, and the words were mocking.Ser Waymar Royce found his fury."For Robert!" he shouted, and he came up snarling,lifting the frost-covered longsword with both hands and swinging it around in a flat sidearm slash with all his weight behind it.The Other's parry was almost lazy.When the blades touched, the steel shattered.A scream echoed through the forest night, and the longsword shivered into a hundred brittle pieces, the shards scattering like a rain of needles.Royce went to his knees, shrieking, and covered his eyes. Blood welled between his fingers.The watchers moved forward together, as if some signal had been given. Swords rose and fell, all in a deathly silence. It was cold butchery.The pale blades sliced through ringmail as if it were silk.Will closed his eyes. Far beneath him, he heard their voices and laughter sharp as icicles.When he found the courage to look again, a long time had passed, and the ridge below was empty.He stayed in the tree, scarce daring to breathe, while the moon crept slowly across the black sky.