Lymond Lychester raised an eyebrow, preparing to tell Suleiman to halt the march.
But Suleiman seemed not to have heard the old man's signal. He raised a hand and pointed ahead, signaling to his escort riders. In an unquestionable tone, he said:
"Let them catch up and come see me in the center of the army!"
The order was passed down. The messengers who had just arrived could only spur their horses onward, struggling to catch up with the marching army under the watchful eyes of thousands of soldiers.
A little while later, when they finally reached Suleiman and Lymond's horses, gasping for breath, every one of them wore an expression of anxiety and unease.
Most of them were the knightly representatives who had been sent to offer support earlier and had met him outside Deddings Castle. Now, facing Suleiman again, they all looked embarrassed. Some had even gone pale, afraid they would be punished in place of their lords for disobeying orders.
They hurried to greet him respectfully, their voices wavering.
"Lord Suleiman, Lord Lychester."
"We're deeply sorry for arriving late."
Suleiman's gaze was as cold and still as an icy winter cave. He didn't look at them, nor did he slow his horse.
His voice was not loud, but it carried clearly to every messenger, chilling them to the bone. "You've all received House Deddings' summons."
"Why did your masters send only you as their representatives?"
"And where are their armies?"
The messengers exchanged glances and began another round of explanations. Their reasons were much the same as those they'd given outside Deddings Castle, but this time they had a more convincing-sounding excuse.
"My lord, most of our people went to the front with Lord Balon. Now... their fate is unknown!"
"That's right, my lord. The people remaining