Outside Deddings Castle, the air was thick with the mingled scents of tension and sweat. Suleiman's army was assembling, the soldiers eagerly checking their equipment. The horses pawed restlessly at the ground, kicking up fine dust that mingled with the haze hanging in the air.
The grim atmosphere beyond the city walls grew more oppressive by the moment. Lymond Lychester stood in the gatehouse, watching the troops outside with a complicated look in his eyes. At last, he stepped forward and walked to Suleiman's horse.
Lymond Lychester lowered his voice, as though sharing a dangerous secret. "Suleiman."
"I advise you not to punish the vassals of House Deddings too harshly."
Suleiman drew in the reins and turned to look at the haggard old nobleman, who seemed half asleep. He waited for him to continue.
"Noble lords have always understood that on the battlefield, they should preserve their strength—and even stab one another in the back. You can punish them today and gain authority and fear for a time, but you'll be breaking the unspoken agreement they all share."
"Besides, they did fulfill their obligations to House Deddings, at least in name."
The old man paused, his tone growing more grave.
"The entire nobility of Westeros will see us as outcasts—two madmen who don't understand the rules. They'll shun us and be wary of us, and in the end, they'll hate us."
"That will do nothing to help your plans."
Suleiman listened to the old man's well-intentioned advice, but showed no sign of being persuaded. Instead, he smiled. The knowing smile sent a strange chill through Lymond Lychester.
He looked at the old man and spoke in a steady voice that carried an unusual force. "Lord Lymond, if we're to win at the gaming table, there's one thing we need to