Solomon's gaze moved over the parchment map, his finger resting flat against the ink marker for Seagard.
"Lord Lymond Lychester and I have reached our decision," Solomon said, his voice level. "We are marching our spears west, directly toward the front lines."
"We intend to gather the routed remnants of the host and locate my liege, Lord Balon Deddington. We shall see if our iron can offer some aid to the vanguard."
Lord Norbert Vance froze. His mouth parted slightly as he stared at Solomon, looking completely unable to process the words.
In his decades of navigating the subtle betrayals of the river valleys, he had never encountered a lord who spoke with such absolute, unyielding devotion. Especially not a secondary lord whose footing was still so fragile that a single bad turn of the winter could sweep his name away.
To ride toward the coast now, to look for broken units in the teeth of a total defeat, it was madness. It was no different from walking up to an ironborn captain and placing one's neck beneath his axe.
A dozen dark calculations flashed through Norbert's thoughts, but alongside them came a sudden, unwelcome sting of shame.
He was a great lord of the Trident, a master of vast lands, and he was currently preparing to lead thousands of lances back to the security of his own walls like a scolded hound. Meanwhile, this nameless second son and a mad old man were taking a handful of common levies into the slaughter for the honor of the realm.
If he simply rode away and left these two loyal lunatics to die in the brush, the story would eventually reach the high courts. House Vance would never survive the stain.
The other lords of the river would speak of him in every tavern. They would label Norbert Vance a coward who abandoned his fellows when the longships breached the harbor. That manner of political ruin was far more expensive than losing a few hundred common foot soldiers. Caught between immediate guilt and long-term profit, the old lord made his choice.
Norbert looked at Solomon, the embarrassment leaving his features, replaced by an expression of solemn reverence.
"Your loyalty does honor to your blood," the old lord said, his voice dropping into a deep register.
"If your mind is set, I cannot allow you and Lord Lymond to face the sea-axes alone."
He strode to the threshold of the pavilion, shouting an order to the household knight standing guard outside.
"爵士! Go to the lines at once. Select two hundred of our finest veteran infantrymen. Give them our heaviest iron, full kits, and ten days of hard rations."
He turned back around, his milky eyes fixing on Lymond Lychester as he adjusted his phrasing to fit the protocol.
"These lances will integrate into Lord Lymond's column. They shall answer to his command as you move west to complete this heavy duty."
"Secure the roads, gather the smallfolk refugees, and look for the missing lords of the river."
"For the Seven, and for the peace of the Trident."
It was a clean maneuver. If Solomon actually achieved some notable success along the tracks, the banners of Atranta would share the credit. The arrangement preserved his honor while placing a massive political debt on the young lord's ledger.
A perfectly measured look of profound gratitude finally showed on Solomon's face. The strategy was working, every parley was adding more steel to his column without costing a single copper from his own chest.
He offered Norbert a deep, humble bow. "Your generosity will be remembered by every hearth along the forks, my Lord. The river does not forget those who offer a shield in the dark."
Inside the solar study of Deddington Castle, the hearth fires had burned down to cold gray ash, leaving the air heavy and still.
Lady Roslin slammed a handful of crumpled parchment sheets onto the oak table, her fingers trembling with a rage she could no longer hide. Her cheeks were flushed red, the calm, gentle dignity she usually maintained completely shattered by the ink.
Her voice rose into a sharp rasp, breaking the quiet of the room. "Look at their marks!"
"These are the men who swore upon their swords to guard our blood and our walls when the summons came!"
Solomon stood by the window casing, his dark eyes watching the Willowdale squads check their harnesses in the courtyard below. He did not turn around, the responses of the secondary houses were exactly what his ledger had anticipated.
"I dispatched the ravens in the name of House Deddington, ordering every bannerman to bring his spears to the gate," Roslin continued, her voice thick with disgust as she ripped the top scroll into pieces, throwing the scraps into the ashes.
"I informed them their true overlord was missing beneath the cliffs of Seagard, that his seat required their iron."
"Only House Morrison sent a true reply, claiming their lances are already on the road to join your column."
She paused, taking a long, ragged breath to steady her posture.
"As for the remaining keeps."
She grabbed another parchment from the pile, reading the text with a sharp, mocking bite in her tone.
"To the honorable Lady Roslin, our own borders are facing immediate infiltration by the sea-rats. We cannot spare a single shield from our gates. May the Mother watch over your walls."
She threw the sheet aside, snatching the next.
"My father led our entire strength to follow Lord Balon, and we have received no raven. Our feudal obligation is complete until his return."
She lifted the final letter, letting out a short, bitter laugh that carried no mirth. "And this one, this is the finest jest of the lot!"
"The master of the hall advises me to remain behind my mortar and wait for a unified decree from Riverrun! He commands me not to overextend my household lances!"
The study returned to a dead silence, broken only by the sharp, heavy sound of Roslin's breath. She had lost her footing entirely, but the betrayal was too large to manage. In her worldview, these minor families owed their very names to the favor of House Deddington, their keeps, their titles, and their fields had all been granted by her husband's ancestors.
Now, with the master of the house missing in the brush, they chose to sit on their gold rather than answer her call.
Solomon finally turned his bulk away from the window. His features were an unreadable mask, his dark eyes deep and still.
He spoke with a quiet, regular tone that seemed to take the warmth out of the room. "And your determination, my Lady?"
"How do you intend to settle the account with these vassals who ignore your seal?"
Roslin went still under the inquiry. Her lips parted, but no answer came. Settle the account? What cards did she hold? Send another courier to shout at their gates? Write a sharper line of prose for the ravens?
The reality was that she had no method to enforce the law.
Solomon stepped forward, stopping two paces from her chair as he looked down at her pale face.
"If I were to request that this ledger be transferred entirely to my command."
His voice remained steady, carrying a heavy, metallic certainty that brooked no argument.
"Regardless of what strategy I deploy along the tracks, will you ensure that House Deddington stands behind my mark with its full authority?"
Roslin stared up at him. She remembered the young second son who had come to her hall months ago, speaking humbly of his poor valley and his small needs. Now, the quiet stare he fixed upon her possessed a sharp, unyielding edge that made her pulse quicken.
She considered her own isolation, her missing husband, and the smooth, indifferent excuses of her bannermen. She understood what he was buying with his breath. He was not asking for counsel or an exchange of opinions, he required her signature on a blank sheet of vellum, a mandate to act as the hand of her house.
But Balon was still in the thickets, waiting for steel to reach him.
Within three breaths, the hesitation left her eyes, replaced by the grim resolution of a woman who had reached the edge of the cliff. She rose from her seat, stepping around the table to stand directly before his cloak.
She straightened the wool of her gown, lifting her chin to meet his dark stare with absolute seriousness.
"The mandate is yours."
"Lord Solomon, if you deliver my husband back to these gates whole."
Her voice was clear and powerful, echoing off the cold stone of the solar.
"From this hour until the line breaks, whatever your sword cuts represents the explicit will of House Deddington."
Solomon offered her a slow, formal nod, his promise landing with the weight of iron.
"I shall bring Lord Balon back to his hall."
30+ chapters are available now and daily updates!
@patreon.com/AgentTwilight