The Ironborn invasion spread through the Riverlands like a plague. Panic and chaos followed everywhere, and one bizarre rumor after another filled the air.
The council hall at the Lion's Den was no calmer.
Solomon sat in his chair, thinking through whether there was anything left undone.
Lushen had already led four hundred untrained new settlers to Deddington Castle.
For the sake of the bigger picture, once war broke out, those four hundred men would only drain his supplies if they stayed in his land. Sending them to Deddington to eat their fill and earn some goodwill was the better move. Harsh, maybe, but the Ironborn might not even dare attack the castle, so the men might not be in danger at all.
Solomon kept turning the matter over in his head.
He had strategic depth. If things became desperate, he could retreat into the mountains and hold there. Chaos was a staircase. The Riverlands were collapsing. Even if Seagard was lost, that might not even be a bad thing.
Could he use disorder to his advantage?
Evelyn's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Here's Hec's report."
She handed him a sheet of parchment.
Solomon looked down at it, his face twitching slightly.
The page was covered in strange little drawings, but the meaning was clear enough. It was a report on the latest movements in the mountains.
Fortunately, he could read it.
The stick figures with lines for limbs were clearly wildlings. The round shape probably marked the mountain fort at Cliffside.
His fingers tapped lightly on the table as he swept his gaze over Brin and Rosso, his officers.
"The wildlings are back."
Brin frowned. He had lived in the mountains for years and knew exactly how dangerous they were.
"They're like rats in the dark. Creeping through the woods and spying on our new Cliffside military town."
Rosso Brun, the knight who desperately wanted to win honor and land through battle, immediately stood.
"My lord, give me a hundred men and I'll cut off every last one of their heads!"
He had already forced many of the retainers into line with strength, but inside a unit of battle-hardened men built entirely on military merit, he still felt that they looked down on him a little.
Solomon shook his head and walked to the huge Riverlands sand table map. Colored stones marked enemy and friendly positions.
He ignored the black stones representing the Ironborn.
He ignored Seagard.
His eyes went to the rugged eastern edge of his lands, the Moonstone Mountains.
Then he turned to his knight captain.
"Rosso, gather all the mounted retainers."
"Yes!" Rosso answered at once, excited.
Solomon turned to Brin.
"Brin! From the military towns, pick three hundred settlers who know mountain terrain best."
"Then take one hundred of the new settlers and recruit them. Teach them to use crossbows. Give them ours."
He exhaled softly.
Before the war fully arrived, he had to let as many of his people taste blood as possible. That way they would be ready later.
It was a pity. His carefully built progress was about to stall again.
Brin thumped his chest.
"By your command, my lord!"
Solomon's eyes turned cold.
"We're not waiting for the Ironborn."
"Before the flames reach our doorstep, we clear the back yard first."
Evelyn stayed quiet for a moment. She did not fully understand the decision, but eventually she spoke.
"Two to three thousand Ironborn, and our forces are already stretched thin. And you still want to split men off to deal with wildlings?"
"Maybe... we should contract the line instead. Gather all our strength in the mountain forts and prepare to defend."
"No," Solomon said.
He pointed at the Lion's Den on the map, then swept his finger across the whole mountain region.
His voice was low, but absolute.
"Because the Ironborn may come, we have to act now."
"Otherwise, we'll still have a pack of wolves behind us, ready to bite at any moment."
"Only when the rear is completely safe can we move freely in the chaos ahead."
"The Ironborn are strong, but they're still sea pirates. They can't fight in the mountains."
"The highland wildlings, though, are tumors grown into the mountains themselves."
"They have to be cut out first."
His words were like a blade coming down.
No one in the council hall dared object again.
Everyone understood.
Solomon had made his decision.
Deep in the Moonstone Mountains, inside a damp cave, a campfire cracked and popped.
Coby, son of Gern, chieftain of the Tree Men tribe of the highland clans, was sharpening his battle axe on a whetstone.
The scar on his face had been left when Solomon's army crushed them before. It still ached on rainy days.
His fear of that plains-born lord had sunk deep into his bones.
But so had his longing for home.
A young clansman leaned closer and asked uneasily, "Chief, are we really going back?"
"That Black Lion is terrifying. He uses black magic. He can turn into a lion!"
Coby stopped sharpening and glanced toward the cave mouth. He was uncertain too.
Not long ago, a messenger from the Vale had found them, those exiles who had once lived along the Moonstone side of the Riverlands.
The messenger brought wine and smoked meat, along with the grain they needed most, and more importantly, the news they had been craving.
"The plains lord named Solomon has already taken all his troops and is heading to the plains to fight the wildlings from the sea."
The Vale man's smile had been polished and contemptuous, the kind that made Coby want to knock his teeth out. But the promise of home had forced him to listen.
"When the war on the plains begins, the mountains are yours, and your homes are yours too. This is the best chance you'll ever get to take everything back."
That message had gone down like strong liquor.
It burned through his throat and the throats of his desperate people.
The fire of revenge and the hope of reclaiming home had already made many of them forget their fear for a while.
Coby gripped his axe hard, stood, beat his chest, and shouted to the uneasy clansmen.
"That devil's gone! The mountains gave us our chance!"
"Gather the men! We're burning their wooden forts and taking every grain they have!"
On the mountain paths, Solomon unfolded a map made by Evelyn and Brin together.
Its detail was astonishing.
Every hidden trail, every usable spring, every possible cave for hiding was marked clearly.
Rosso, Brin, and the mounted retainers were all changing into tougher boots, confused.
Rosso couldn't help asking, "My lord... we're not riding?"
Solomon pointed at the map and looked at him.
"In the mountains, horses are a burden."
Led by Brin and his brothers, the force did not take a single main road.
They moved like animals through the forests and cliffs. The soldiers suffered for it, especially the mounted retainers, who now had to haul their heavy armor along on foot.
But the advantage of their detailed knowledge of the terrain, plus the long period of scouting, let them move like a precise blade aimed at the wildling clans that had only just returned and were still gathering strength.
The first clash came in a cave behind a waterfall, where a small wildling tribe was resting.
When Rosso led the dismounted riders in full plate to block the entrance, the wildlings barely had time to react.
It wasn't a fierce battle.
It was more like a massacre.
The armored riders formed an impassable wall at the front. The wildlings fought back with all they had, but could not break through. They didn't even need the three hundred settlers to engage.
The new crossbowmen moved into position behind the rocks on the flanks and started picking targets one by one. They fired with all the frustration of the march behind every shot, cursing as they did it, then laughing wildly as one wildling after another was struck down.
The wildlings wore no armor. One bolt was enough.
The hiss of crossbow bolts through the air drowned out the wildlings' last cries.
By the time Solomon arrived, the fight had already ended.
It was almost over the moment it started.
He looked at the prisoners kneeling and trembling on the ground, expression unreadable.
Then Solomon turned away and gave the order in a cold voice.
"Leave none alive."
The command froze the air around them.
Even Rosso Brun, who considered himself vicious and battle-hardened, blinked in shock and looked after Solomon as if seeing him anew.
What shocked him more was what happened next.
Once the order was given, the soldiers didn't hesitate.
They charged forward with obvious pleasure.
Steel came down.
Then they cut off every head of the executed wildlings and raised them on swords or spears, some even dancing in a strange frenzy.
The wind swept through the valley, tossing the hair on the severed heads and carrying away the thick smell of blood.
Rosso, who had spent years in Westeros as a free rider-for-hire and thought he had seen everything, felt genuine horror.
These men were demons straight out of the Seven Hells.
Had they no Seven in their hearts at all?
Then one of his mounted companions, a man he got along with well, kicked away two soldiers who were about to step in and drag forward two wildlings, both of them already shaking with terror.
The rider grinned at Rosso.
"Lord Rosso, military merit is counted by heads. You cut these two down."
Rosso Brun fell silent.
70+ chapters are available now and daily updates! @patreon.com/agenttwilight