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Clay was still stationed in Riverrun, and the position he found himself in was… awkward, to say the least.
The nobles of the Riverlands, for the most part, were willing to hand over military command to him. After all, the Lannisters had already bared their fangs right at their doorstep. Wasn't this the time to smash those lion's teeth before discussing anything else?
But Edmure Tully, now the Lord of Riverrun, was far less willing. No matter how much the lords below tried to drop hints — some subtle, some not — he remained unmoved, simply clutching his head and pretending not to understand.
Clay could understand that, of course. When you've got an army in your hands, that kind of power isn't something easily given up.
And power, at times, has a stronger pull on men than women ever could.
But understanding it didn't mean Clay agreed with it. He would never allow the Riverlands army to be handed over to that man. Even if he couldn't claim command himself, he'd rather it go to one of those Great lords who had real experience on the battlefield.
In truth, Clay had another thought buried in his heart… one he'd never say out loud. He was hoping the Tullys would lose their status as Wardens of the Riverlands in this war. Let them fall, and return to being just another noble house in the region.
Because the foundation of House Manderly's power lay either in the Riverlands or in the North. When the time came to break with the past, he would need both in hand.
True, his dragons would probably keep the other families in line. Anyone with sense would choose to stand with him. But still… it was a risk, and risks had to be managed.
What's more, House Tully and House Stark were tied by blood, a firm alliance in the world of politics.
If he ever ascended the throne, and these two stubborn, lingering houses still held control over the Riverlands and the North, it would spell nothing but trouble for his rule. He wouldn't even have a good reason to remove them outright.
That was why Clay hoped Edmure would go to war… and lose. Ideally, he'd suffer a crushing defeat, perhaps even be captured and publicly humiliated beyond repair, stripping House Tully of its last shred of dignity.
But that moment hadn't arrived just yet.
He had only just received word from White Harbor. The prisoner allocation policy had finally begun to bear fruit. The first batch of six thousand fresh recruits had already crossed the Bite and landed near the Twins, right in the Riverlands.
In his letter, the old man had asked how these six thousand barely-trained men should be handled.
The Twins had no shortage of horses. While there weren't enough to equip the entire force, outfitting two thousand of them would be no trouble. And if Clay included the two thousand cavalrymen already under his command, that gave him the potential to field a mounted force of four thousand once more.
Of course, things like that couldn't be done in a single day!
Especially not with cavalry.
A good cavalryman required extensive training. Learning how to control a warhorse, how to fight while riding, how to strike with precision in the chaos of battle — none of that could be achieved just by strapping on armor and handing someone a sword.
Meanwhile, back in Riverrun, he was surrounded day and night by nobles, both familiar and unfamiliar, all chattering about meaningless politics, or worse, scheming to push their daughters into his bed, hoping to cook some half-baked affair into a full-blown marriage.
Edmure Tully still refused to give ground. Lately, he had even started avoiding Clay altogether, clearly afraid that Clay might bring up the subject.
After a few rounds of this back-and-forth, Clay grew sick of it. That kind of indecisive, dithering personality was the last thing you wanted on a battlefield.
In real combat, a commander never had the luxury of perfect information.
This wasn't some strategy game where the entire map was revealed, where you could see every move your enemy made and track their formations in real time. On a real battlefield, your field of vision was limited to the men around you, and everything else — the positions, the numbers, the enemy's movement — came second-hand, through reports and runners.
And when that moment came, what could you do?
As the one commanding an army—sometimes of thousands, even tens of thousands—the lives of your men rested entirely on your judgment. A single order could lead them to crush the enemy and return home triumphant.
Or… it could drive them to collapse and death, sending them straight into the jaws of hell.
So what do you do in that moment?
The best answer is this: pick a direction. Once you've made up your mind, then damn it, follow through with everything you've got.
Because the moment you hesitate, the moment you hold back, you're choosing to stay exactly where you are. But your enemy? They're already making moves — moves that are designed specifically to counter the very state you're stuck in. The longer you hesitate, the easier it is for them to strike exactly where it hurts.
That was why Clay had come to despise Edmure Tully's skittishness—his constant second-guessing, his fear of loss, his unwillingness to commit. Men like that had no business leading armies.
So, after consulting with the Lord of Raventree Hall and the other major lords, Clay departed from Riverrun and made his way to the cavalry camp stationed just outside the castle walls.
There, he left behind the fifteen hundred cavalrymen that House Tully had recently reassembled, and took with him the two thousand knights provided by the allied noble houses. Without wasting any time, he led them eastward at full speed, embarking on a swift reconnaissance mission aimed at the three noble seats lying further east.
Since everyone in his party was mounted, as long as they stayed alert and avoided blundering into an ambush, the knights from the Vale wouldn't pose much of a threat. If the enemy approached, they could fall back. If the path ahead was clear, they could advance without hesitation.
The Vale troops, who had been camped beneath the walls of the three eastern keeps for some time, perked up the moment their scouts reported that a force had departed from Riverrun. The cavalry stationed closest — those near Stone Hedge and Acorn Hall — immediately split off two thousand men to maintain the siege.
The rest, roughly five thousand riders, mounted up their warhorses and charged full force in Clay's direction.
This time, Clay didn't have the home-field advantage. The Vale cavalry had long since wiped out all the scouts Riverrun had deployed nearby, and Edmure Tully was still holed up in his keep like a turtle.
As a result, the intelligence network was basically dead. No one had even attempted to put one in place.
The latest update Clay received after leaving Riverrun was this: the forces at the three eastern castles had spotted a large host heading west and immediately realized what was happening. A message was dispatched to Riverrun without delay, and the castle promptly sent riders galloping out at top speed to catch up with Clay and deliver the news.
Of course, Clay had already guessed the Vale of Arryn wouldn't be blind to his movements.
But… it didn't matter.
He had never intended to engage them head-on in the first place.
Doing what you know is doomed to fail might, in rare cases, make for a legendary moment — but only if you win.
Most of the idiots who charge into hopeless battles end up dying because of their own stupidity. And those who fail, who fall on the field? No one remembers their names. No songs are sung for them.
Clay wasn't one of those fools.
He was a cool-headed battlefield commander, and he wasn't about to throw his life and his men's lives away on a whim.
If Edmure Tully refused to hand over command, so be it. Clay couldn't force him anyway. After all, House Manderly was still nominally part of the Northern bloc, and there were certain lines that couldn't be crossed too soon.
He didn't object to Edmure's turtle strategy either. As long as twenty thousand men were pinned down at Riverrun, that meant Jaime Lannister, out west, would be forced to stay put and mind his own territory.
And the knights from the Vale, stationed in the east, wouldn't be able to withdraw so easily either. If they pulled back now, they would be exposing the lion's entire rear flank to both Clay and Edmure Tully. And no matter how strong the Lannisters were, with enemies coming at them from two sides—plus the remnants of the Northern army still holding on inside the Harrenhal, there was no way they'd be able to hold their ground for long.
And besides, when it came to defending a castle, cavalry was useless.
Cavalry, by nature, was an offensive force. It wasn't meant to be cooped up inside castle walls, trotting in circles like show ponies.
After conferring with the Riverlands nobles who actually understood the situation, Clay made up his mind. He would take every cavalry unit available—except for the ones that still technically belonged to House Tully.
That gave him two thousand knights. On top of that, there were the two thousand Manderly cavalry stationed at the Twins, and the six thousand new recruits who had just landed.
And just like that, before he'd even had time to reflect, Clay found himself no longer in command of a few scattered riders. He now held the reins of a full division. No—more than that—he was leading an army ten thousand strong.
Granted, more than half of them were green and untested. But the truth was, the only real difference between raw recruits and seasoned veterans… was surviving their first battle.
Clay couldn't care less if Edmure Tully was throwing a tantrum back in Riverrun. The moment Edmure had been half-coerced by his own vassals into bringing Clay in as a decision-maker, he should have known his authority was already hanging by a thread.
Now the three eastern seats were under siege, and the reinforcements he'd sent had been completely wiped out on ground the enemy had prepared in advance. After that failure, he'd simply curled up inside Riverrun and refused to come out. From the outside looking in, anyone could see it plain as day—this so-called leader had already lost all credibility.
And once Clay arrived in Riverrun, the truth became even clearer through his conversations with the Riverlands nobility. That was when he began to devise a way to break away.
There was no point staying in Riverrun. Edmure Tully was too timid to fight, and what could Clay do? Shove him out of the castle and drag him onto the battlefield by the head?
Clay was a master of cavalry warfare, and the Riverlands — this lush stretch of the Trident — was made up of broad, open plains. Under such ideal conditions, how could anyone blame him for taking Edmure's two thousand cavalrymen for himself?
He sent out his scouts first. Same tactic as before: sweep the area clean of spies, then abruptly halt the eastward advance and turn the entire army north, racing at full speed toward the Red Fork.
When the Vale knights arrived and found nothing, they quickly realized they'd been tricked. They spotted the trail Clay's forces had left and turned north without hesitation to give chase.
They were no fools. The Vale knights were experienced warriors, and their commander — Yohn Royce — immediately understood what Clay was trying to do.
There was no way he would let a full cavalry army circle behind him and appear at his rear from another direction.
Because if that happened, his own army would be caught between two fronts.
They had already bled heavily trying to take the three noble seats. The siege had dragged on without progress. If their retreat path were cut off on top of that… with the way morale worked in armies of this era, the consequences would be hard to predict.
So, the head of House Royce spurred his five thousand men onward, galloping with everything they had, determined to intercept Clay before he could reach the Twins.
Little did he know, Clay had already prepared a trap just for him. He was waiting — calm, patient, and ready to spring it.
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[Chapter End's]
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