Harwin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "To be honest, I don't know where Lord Beric is. King Robert died on a boar hunt. Lord Eddard died by treachery. Lord Beric... he almost died in an ambush at the Mummer's Ford. But he lived."
Harwin's voice took on a reverent tone. "When Tywin Lannister branded us outlaws for upholding the King's Justice, Lord Beric said: 'We are the King's men. The lions are butchering the King's people. If we cannot fight for Robert, we will fight for his people, until death takes us.' We swore an oath."
"Strange things happen around him," Harwin continued. "When a man falls, two more take his place. Knights, squires, farmers, fiddlers, innkeeps... even a septon or two. We have no coin, no castles, no harvest. But the smallfolk feed us because we protect them. We are scattered across the Riverlands in small bands."
"So you don't know where he is," Aldric said.
"No. But if you wish to meet him, I can send runners. Pick a place and time."
Aldric nodded. "I need allies in the dark. You pick the place. I don't know this land well enough."
Harwin looked northeast, his eyes distant. " The Isle of Faces. In the God's Eye. It is sacred ground. The Pact was signed there. If you agree, we meet there in a month."
"Done," Aldric said. "I look forward to it."
Harwin departed with his share of the loot and the bodies of his fallen comrades.
"Will he give that grain to the people?" Jon asked, watching them go.
"Likely," Aldric said. "But that's his burden. Ours is to move. Let's go, brothers. Back to the Riverlands."
They hadn't gone far when Kevin rode up.
"Teacher," he said, looking troubled. "Three of the Westerman prisoners won't leave. They want to come with us."
"Why?" Aldric asked. "Do they not have homes?"
"They say they have no homes left. And if they go back, they'll be hanged as deserters."
Aldric rode to the rear of the column. Duncan Beck and his men had the three prisoners surrounded.
"Commander," Duncan said, kicking the dirt. "They're stubborn. Like stray dogs."
Aldric laughed. "Funny. That's exactly what you looked like when you followed me out of Stonebridge."
Duncan scowled. "That was different. These are Westermen."
"Peasants are peasants," Aldric said, dismounting. He sat on the ground in front of the prisoners. "Talk. Why do you want to join?"
A thin youth with missing teeth spoke first. "Your healer saved me. I was stabbed in the chest, but he... he fixed it. He said you fight for the smallfolk. If I go back to Morell, the Osgrey levy master will hang me. I don't want to die."
Aldric nodded. "And you?"
A red-bearded man spoke up. "I'm Marcus. A baker. I made the best baguettes in Morell. Then the war started. The levy master demanded five dragons to let me stay. I didn't have it. He took my shop. He took my daughter... they used her until she died. I want to kill them. If you march on the West, I'm yours."
Aldric's eyes hardened. "You'll get your chance. And you?"
The last man, a dark-skinned youth, shrugged. "I'm Xavier. A sailor. I was in Lannisport for a good time, got pressed into service. I don't care about lions or wolves. But your magic keeps men alive. I like being alive."
"Can you fight?"
"I'm handy with a cutlass."
Aldric stood up. "Take off those red cloaks. If anyone asks, you're Rivermen now."
He clapped Duncan on the shoulder. "Train them. If they break the rules, they die. And you take the blame."
"Understood, Commander," Duncan said solemnly.
They moved the convoy off the Goldroad and onto the Harver Road—a dirt track beaten into existence by thousands of years of peasant feet. It was rough, but it hid their tracks.
To avoid attention, they disguised themselves as a merchant caravan. The Sunwalkers posed as guards; the weaker recruits acted as drovers. In these times, a heavily armed caravan wasn't suspicious—it was necessary.
Days turned into a routine. March by day, train by night.
Aldric's training was brutal. Now that he had mana to spare, he forced the men to spar with real weapons. Cuts healed. Bones mended. Pain was the only teacher that stuck.
A few days later, trouble found them.
It was a sunny afternoon near the God's Eye. Aldric was on the lead wagon, chatting with Ser Roger Hogs, when he saw a felled tree blocking the road.
Classic.
Aldric jumped down to inspect it.
Thwip.
An arrow flew from the treeline, aiming for his temple.
Divine Shield.
A shimmer of golden light deflected the shaft.
"Ambush!" Aldric roared, vaulting onto his horse. "Counter-attack!"
A ragged mob burst from the woods—men, women, children armed with pitchforks and clubs. A few rode sway-backed horses.
"Hold!" Aldric shouted. "Don't kill them! Subdue only!"
The mob charged, screaming.
It was over in ten minutes. The Golden Dawn, disciplined and armored, swept through the attackers like a scythe through grass. But true to Aldric's order, they used pommels and shields.
The ground was littered with groaning bodies.
Aldric wiped blood from his sword—Serpent's Striker—and walked over to a captured rider. The youth was pinned by Miles, a Golden Dawn soldier.
"Who is your leader?" Aldric demanded.
"Go to hell!" the boy spat. His stomach growled loudly, betraying his defiance.
Aldric looked around. The "bandits" were starving. Their clothes were rags. Their faces were gaunt.
He realized what this was. Not a bandit raid. A desperate mob of refugees.
"Who is the leader?" Aldric shouted to the crowd. "I have food. I have medicine. Step forward, and I feed your people. Stay silent, and they die of their wounds."
"I am!" the boy screamed. "Kill me!"
"I am!" a man with a chest wound shouted.
"No, I am!" an old woman with a rolling pin yelled.
One by one, the captives stood up, claiming leadership to save the others.
The Golden Dawn soldiers looked at Aldric, their eyes pleading. Are we the bad guys?
Aldric felt a pang in his chest. Forced charity.
"You all want to be martyrs?" Aldric bellowed. "You think robbing a caravan is noble? You think dying here helps your families?"
The crowd fell silent.
A tall man with a beard stood up shakily. He was covered in bruises.
"Enough," he rasped. "Don't hurt them. It was my idea. I gathered them. If there is a crime, it is mine."
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