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Pulling the enemy along was an art — and on this point, the fishermen of the world would've given their nods of approval.
Clay had never intended to clash head-on with the thousands of Vale riders chasing after him. But that didn't mean he hadn't thought about killing them.
It was just that he wasn't a god. On a battlefield where entire legions moved as one, individual valor—even the sharpest sword in the steadiest hand—could only go so far..
One man and one blade, no matter how skilled or ruthless, was not enough to turn the tide of war.
"Lord Clay, we've crossed the Red Fork," came a voice behind him. "We made sure to leave traces behind too, just enough to bait those fools who only know how to chase sheep."
The speaker was none other than Jason Mallister, the lord who now held dominion over Seagard, and who had ridden south with Clay.
That remark about chasing sheep? That barb was squarely aimed at Prince Daemon Targaryen—ever the Mad Dragon—whose reckless campaign during the Dance of the Dragons had earned no shortage of mockery.
After the Manderlys seized control of Twins, their sheer size and might had allowed their influence to spill far downriver, all the way to Seagard.
And in this delicate moment, the Mallisters of Seagard had no choice but to rise and fall alongside the powerful House Manderly.
Jason pulled his cloak tighter against the wind, casting a long glance at Clay Manderly, who sat motionless atop his horse by the softly murmuring waters of the Red Fork. Silent, thoughtful, Clay was already planning his next move.
The spot they stood on now was called Mummer's Ford — a shallow crossing on the Red Fork. The river itself was fickle, its current shifting between gentle flow and violent rush, making safe fording points few and far between.
And that was exactly what Clay had been counting on.
His overall forces were outnumbered. If he wanted any hope of beating a superior enemy, he had to concentrate his men in just the right place, at just the right time — strike hard, and sever one of the enemy's fingers before the rest could close around him.
But for that to happen, he first needed to find a way to split apart the five thousand Vale cavalrymen. If he could divide them into three separate columns, then he would have a real chance of picking them off, one by one.
As luck—or perhaps the gods—would have it, the three great rivers of the Trident could do exactly that. The Green Fork, the Blue Fork, and the Red Fork. With only a handful of usable crossings and swift, treacherous currents everywhere else, there were precious few places where men and horses could ford safely.
Hearing Jason Mallister's voice, Clay snapped out of his thoughts. He turned and gave the lord a nod before speaking calmly:
"Thank you for leading your men north, Lord Mallister. Just remember, keep the bait at the perfect distance. Not too close, not too far. The farther you can draw them away from the real battlefield, the better. I need time, so buy me as much of it as you can."
Jason Mallister gave a firm, emphatic nod. Back when Clay had first shared this plan, Jason hadn't been able to say a single word in response — his only reaction had been one of sheer admiration.
This Lord Clay still had the same appetite he'd always had — unrelenting and ambitious. Jason remembered the very first time he'd met him: Clay had boldly declared that he would devour Jaime Lannister's army of over ten thousand with just five thousand men of his own.
And now, with just two thousand Riverlands cavalry under his command—soldiers neither as well-trained nor as well-equipped as the knights of the Vale—he had already crafted the perfect plan to destroy the enemy that rode hard on his heels.
Clay had chosen to stop here for a reason. He was deliberately waiting for the Vale riders to catch up. Those men had been wary of an ambush from the very beginning, and because of that, their pursuit had been slow and cautious. Every time Clay accelerated, they lagged further behind.
After all, the tale of how Clay Manderly had captured Jaime Lannister alive, and how he had won the Battle of Maiden's Valley, was no longer a secret. Every lord in the land now associated Clay Manderly with one word—ambush.
That was why, even here on the open plains of the Riverlands, the Vale cavalry had grown cautious. After slipping a spy into Riverrun and learning that Clay was the one leading the troops out of the castle, their arrogance had vanished overnight. What followed was a careful, wary pursuit.
But they had to keep chasing him… because none of them could afford the consequences of letting Clay's two thousand riders slip past them and strike deep into their rear.
The only smart decision Edmure Tully had made throughout this entire war was to carry out a scorched earth policy across the eastern Riverlands, ordering his men to seize as much grain as possible from the local farmers.
After all, Vale cavalry were human too. They couldn't rely on plundering — there was nothing left to plunder. So all their food had to be hauled up from the rear in wagon loads at a time. Without those supply lines, the troops would have scattered long ago. Who's going to fight a war on an empty stomach?
If Clay's two thousand men managed to break through the blockade and slip into the Vale cavalry's rear, all they had to do was scatter and start tearing apart the supply lines. The war would grind to a halt — because without supplies, the frontlines would be frozen in place.
The Vale had chosen to side with Tywin Lannister, all thanks to Littlefinger's coaxing and whispered promises. But now, in the situation they were in, if Tywin couldn't take Harrenhal within the next day or two, then the Vale army would be stuck guarding the three eastern castles, too afraid to let Edmure Tully slip around and bite Tywin's ass.
"Let's move," Clay said suddenly, his voice light and casual. "The Vale riders should be catching up soon. Let's see what they choose. Think they'll come after you, or me?"
He gave a relaxed laugh and swung himself easily into the saddle.
Clay would march east with fifteen hundred men, while Jason Mallister would take five hundred and head north — leaving behind tracks that mimicked the movement of a full thousand-strong cavalry force, baiting the enemy toward Twins.
This maneuver had only one goal: to force the Vale cavalry to split their forces. When five thousand men moved together, they were a clenched fist—hard, heavy, and deadly. In that form, Clay had to steer clear of them and avoid a direct clash. But the moment that fist opened into a hand, spreading its fingers to chase two targets, Clay would have the perfect opportunity to strike. One by one, he could break each finger apart.
As the warhorses galloped away across the plains, a single letter, carried by a swift rider, arrived at the Twins before Clay had even fully left the area around Riverrun.
In that letter, Clay gave the order: the two thousand elite Manderly cavalry garrisoned inside Twins were to set out at once, riding southward down the Kingsroad.
At the same time, around three thousand captured wildling men were merged into a mixed force with four thousand of the six thousand recruits gathered from White Harbor. The latter had been equipped with long weapons specifically designed to counter cavalry. Once this improvised army had been formed, it too began marching boldly southward.
And so, in the span of a single morning, the shadow of war swept across the entire Trident.
But the Vale riders — one of the key players in this grand confrontation — had no idea what was coming. They didn't know what Clay Manderly was truly planning. They didn't realize that this heir to House Manderly had already set the table, and they were the main course.
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"Damn it! Seven gods above—do those Riverlands riders know nothing but how to run?! No backbone at all!"
With a furious snarl, Yohn Royce flung his helmet to the ground. He had just crossed the Red Fork, and now stood glaring at the two diverging sets of cavalry tracks stretching out before him. His thick brows furrowed tightly as he studied the ground.
That wretched Littlefinger had summoned him in person, hammering home one point over and over again: under no circumstances were any enemy riders to be allowed past the blockade. Yohn had left that meeting half mad with frustration, slamming the door behind him as he stormed out.
But as a Great noble commander leading men in battle, Yohn understood perfectly well just how fragile the current situation was. They had come down from the Bloody Gate, and now the supply lines that sustained both Tywin's army and the Vale forces stretched thin behind them—those lines were the very lifeblood of the campaign. They couldn't afford even the slightest disruption.
"My lord," one of his scouts reported, "we've checked the ground. Both trails were left by cavalry groups over a thousand strong. Looks like those cowardly Riverlanders figured out we were chasing them and decided to split up and run in different directions."
"Ran?" Yohn snapped, narrowing his eyes. "Which directions did they go?"
"One group headed north. If they keep going that way, they'll end up near either Seagard or the Twins. If I had to guess, I'd say they're making for Twins."
"And the other group?"
"The other one went east. We're not exactly sure where they're headed, but… maybe they're looking for a ford along the Blue Fork to cross?"
Yohn Royce frowned instinctively. Something didn't feel right, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
Everything visible to his eyes suggested the enemy was panicking, scattering in every direction under the pressure of his pursuit. If the eastern group failed to find a ford, they'd end up trapped between the Blue Fork and the Green Fork, and he could surround and crush them with ease.
But still, a voice deep in his mind kept asking… why?
Why would they do that? These riders had no reason to make such a reckless move. Yohn knew exactly how fast his men were moving. There was no way their pursuit had pressured the enemy to the point of desperation.
And yet, he couldn't shake the thought that if those cavalrymen heading east did somehow find a way across the river, and if they managed to get past the Green Fork too, they would end up deep behind his lines — in the heart of his undefended rear. That was something Yohn Royce absolutely could not allow.
Although his past experience told him there weren't any fords near here along the Blue or Green Fork. The waters were too fast, too deep. There simply weren't any places to cross.
But even so, the smallest chance was worth fearing… especially when the man leading the enemy troops was Clay Manderly.
Yohn didn't believe someone like Clay would give an order that seemed so suicidal on the surface. There had to be a reason. He was sure of it.
After weighing everything in his mind, Yohn Royce turned to his second-in-command, the Lord of Heart's Home, Leonel Corbray, and issued a decisive command:
"Lord Leonel, take two thousand men and ride north. Track that group and keep your eyes open. I don't care if they retreat all the way back to Seagard or Twins… just make sure nothing goes wrong on your side."
Leonel Corbray nodded. He understood exactly what Yohn Royce was thinking.
"And you, my lord?" he asked. "You're going after the Riverlands riders who went east?"
"That's right," Yohn replied, his eyes narrowing. "I want to see what kind of tricks they're trying to play."
With a tug of his reins, he lowered his voice and added,
"I've got a feeling Clay Manderly might be somewhere along the eastern route. That boy doesn't strike me as the type to run without a fight."
Behind them, the Red Fork continued to flow steadily. Its icy waters carried away the filth and mud, drifting down toward the Narrow Sea, as if nothing in the world could ever stop it.
"Let's move!"
With that sharp command, the two commanders parted ways, turning their horses in opposite directions. Since their enemy had split into two groups, the only choice left to the hunters was to do the same.
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