After the landless knights who had bravely pledged their service rode off, burning with fervor and greed, those who remained in the party breathed with newfound caution. An intangible sense of oppression hung in the air.
The decision Suleiman had just made on behalf of House Deddings—to strip House Pyle of its lands—seemed to have landed like a boulder in the hearts of every vassal's envoy present. The punishment they had once considered the most terrifying now seemed like nothing.
It was no more than beheading the lord while allowing his bloodline to inherit the fief, carry on the house, and continue the family line.
Several envoys from House Deddings exchanged glances, their faces filled with alarm. The young man before them hadn't mentioned what he would do to the family members. Instead, he had simply declared their lands forfeit. In Westeros, taking away a fief was tantamount to ending a house's line. Even if they were all released afterward, it would be no different from death in noble society.
They finally understood that he wasn't Balon Deddings, that old do-gooder. This young man didn't follow the unspoken rules among Riverlands nobles. He was like a starving wolf that had burst into a sheep pen, announcing his presence in the most direct and primitive way possible.
One envoy rode forward, his voice dry. "Lord Suleiman, Lord Lymond."
"I... I must return at once and deliver your call to my lord in person."
Another stepped forward immediately after him.
"Yes, Lord Suleiman. I must return and persuade... the lady ruling in my lord's stead, so she understands that your will cannot be defied."
The others stepped forward one after another, asking to leave. They no longer made excuses or talked about difficulties. Sometimes fear was the best persuader.
"I'll return at