Dust billowed along the dirt road outside Deddings, shrouding the returning troops in the distance. Suleiman sat astride his horse on a small hill, his gaze cutting through the haze to land precisely on the Vance banner, with its green dragon on a white field and white tower on a black field.
The troops' banners drooped. The soldiers trudged along with their heads down, weary and dispirited, their armor caked with mud and grime. Their ranks were scattered, nothing like the force that had set out to war.
Suleiman turned to Lymond Lychester beside him. The old man was muttering to himself, seemingly conversing with some phantom in the air.
Unsure whether he could bring the old man back to his senses, Suleiman tried speaking to him. "Lord Lymond."
"Lord Norbert Vance has returned."
The old man didn't respond. Suleiman sighed and turned to look at the approaching army, estimating its numbers. The allied army had numbered over four thousand when it set out, but there were probably fewer than two thousand following Norbert Vance now.
The Riverlands lords—the houses of Blackwood, Brune, and Frey—had probably heard that Seagard had fallen and the relief force had been defeated outside its walls. They had likely all rushed back to their own lands.
Suleiman turned his horse and galloped down the hill. "Lord Lymond! We have to go!"
"We're going to meet Lord Norbert Vance!"
Lymond Lychester stopped talking to himself. His vacant gaze shifted to Suleiman, then he silently followed. The two mounted up and rode straight into Norbert Vance's disorderly, noisy camp without hesitation.
Inside the Vance command tent, Norbert Vance was fretting over a map of the Riverlands. His graying hair was disheveled, and dust stained his fine robes.
When he saw Lymond Lychester and Suleiman enter, the weariness