Cyberdyne of the Night's Watch

Chapter 6

"What else..." Jon mused to himself as their horses trotted down the King's Road. The uniform forest of pines closer to the Wall was now interrupted by the occasional beech or oak; a sign that they were getting further south. "Oh! Most of the major houses have a sword of 'Valyrian Steel.' Ours is called 'Ice.'" Technically not Jon's, as he didn't belong to House Stark. But his lessons to help Cyberdyne understand Westerosi society had not yet included the concept of 'bastards,' and he had no intention of explaining that bit until absolutely necessary.

"I do not know the term 'Valyrian,'" Cyberdyne said. "Please define."

"Valyrian... it's a way of making steel," he answered. "There used to be a land called Valyria, a long time ago."

"Origin of House Targaryen," Cybderdyne supplied. One of the first things that Jon had taught him was all of the major houses, and of course the story of Robert's Rebellion. Including many personal anecdotes about one of the true heroes of that war, Lord Eddard Stark.

"Right," Jon confirmed. "They used spells and magic to make their steel strong and sharp, but now the way is lost. Valyria was destroyed in the Doom. No one knows how to make their steel anymore, except for maybe a few people."

Cyberdyne remained silent. Over the past few days of their journey, Jon had told him a lot about magic: dragons, psychic connections to animals, children in forests that wielded enough power to sever two continents. Each time, Cyberdyne had reminded Jon that magic was a fictional concept and did not exist. Finally Jon had lost patience and told Cyberdyne that he didn't want to hear that anymore. He was, after all, talking to a living machine from another world; what further proof of 'magic' did he need?

"So, anyway," Jon continued. "Valyrian steel is very rare, and very..."

"Valuable?" a voice said from above them. Jon looked up in time to see a man in the branches above them drop down into the road. He wore a coat made of the thickest fur Jon had ever seen; even thicker than the bear skin that lay across the floor of his father's study. And the coat was the same yellow-ish tan color as the man's remaining teeth. The top of the cloak was fastened around the man's neck with what looked like a rat's skull painted red. "You lot look high born to me, with yer clean skin and all yer teeth and whatnot. Don't suppose either of you'd have one of those swords on you?"

Jon immediately reached toward the hilt of his sword, but the man held up a hand. "I wouldn't, Southerner. I've got a dozen archers pointing arrows at you right now."

"You're a wildling." Jon declared, stunned to see one behind the Wall. How had they gotten past the Night's Watch? he wondered. Next to him, Cyberdyne dismounted from his horse and took a step forward. But Jon put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

The man gave a hearty, deep laugh. "We go by 'Free Folk,' but call me what you will, boy. I'll still be taking that horse of yers. Come on." He drew a knife from his belt and shook it at them, motioning to dismount. "Don't try anything stupid now."

"Just calm down." Jon began to climb out of the saddle. "We don't want any trouble."

"We don't neither," the man said. Behind him, six men climbed out of the bushes by the side of the road, each carrying a bow in hand. They looked just as ragged and beaten up; maybe even more so. Instead of shaggy coats, they wore nothing but tattered rags that couldn't insulate against a stiff breeze much less a chilling wind. "We just want yer horses, weapons, food, and pretty much e'erything else you're carryin'." He took a step closer. "That cloak of yers, though..." The wilding reached forward and grabbed a handful of the black fabric. "Well, well. What do ya' know?"

Jon stiffened. He hadn't really considered that he and Cyberdyne were both wearing the obvious uniforms of the Night's Watch. Not exactly known to be friends of wildlings, particularly ones south of the Wall.

"Now that I think 'bout it a bit more..." the wildling said after a long pause, "all that I said about us not wanting any trouble...' He flipped the knife into the air and caught it again. "That doesn't really apply to crows." He lunged forward, straight toward Jon.

His arm was snapped in half before Jon could even react; the crunch seemed to bounce of the nearby trees and echo back from the darkness. Cyberdyne's massive fist was wrapped around the wildling's arm, now bent in the wrong direction with a dark blood stain spreading out from under Cyberdyne's fingers. And a moment later, there was a simultaneous twang of bowstrings and the thud of four arrows burying themselves in Cyberdyne's broad chest. That didn't seem to slow him down for a second, though. He wrenched the long knife from the wilding's now-limp hand and used it to slice through the man's throat to unleash a torrent of thick blood. By the time Jon had gotten down from his horse, Cyberdyne had crossed the distance to the archers and sank the knife into the closest one's heart.

Jon rushed over to aid his friend, but two more of the wildling bandits were dead before he got there. One of the few remaining archers managed to get a last arrow off, but the shot went wild with panic. He quickly dropped the bow and turned to run, but Cyberdyne was too fast for him. His corpse fell beside the rest of his comrades, felled by a knife wound to the back.

The final two immediately dropped to their knees on the road. "Yield!" One of them screamed. "We yield!" Jon raised his sword, relieved that the battle was over so quickly. But Cyberdyne didn't stop: he approached one of the yielding wildlings with knife raised and slashed it through the man's throat.

"Cyberdyne!" Jon shouted. The corpse toppled over onto the road, staining the flagstones crimson. "What are you doing?!"

"My orders are to protect you from all threats," Cyberdyne said. "These men are threats." He was calm and collected as always, not even out of breath from the battle. And even as he answered, he advanced on the final wildling, now laying prostrate in the road sobbing into the dirt. His motions were mechanical, like the butchers slaughtering hogs before a Winterfell feast. Cyberdyne raised the knife high, aiming straight for the man's neck.

"Cyberdyne, stop!" Jon commanded.

The knife froze in mid-air right as it was about to break the skin. Beads of blood flew off the blade and spattered the wildling's neck and hair. Cyberdyne remained like a statute for a moment holding the knife in place, then stood back up. He turned and waited for more orders from Jon.

"We don't just kill people like this." Jon had certainly seen death before; Ned had made sure that his sons understood the true weight of justice even from a young age. But justice requires a rigid set of rules as well, and once a man yielded in combat, he was not to be harmed. "Don't you have a sense of honor?"

Cyberdyne looked at Jon with those cold, emotionless eyes. "No," he answered in the same monotone voice he always spoke with. Only this time, it sent a chill down Jon's spine.