Lymond let out a long breath. It turned into a cloud of white mist in the chilly air. As if seeing the young man before him anew, he gazed at Suleiman with wonder and wariness.
The old man exclaimed from the heart, "You're wasted here."
"You should go to King's Landing and serve the king as his Master of Whisperers."
But Suleiman shook his head and reined in his horse. "Lord Lymond, you're only half right."
Lymond Lychester looked at him in confusion. Suleiman's gaze was deep, as if he could see through to the desires at the very bottom of a person's heart.
"I was the one who promised them those fiefs."
"If I die, or lose this struggle, who will petition House Deddings to grant them their lands?"
"Would House Deddings honor a promise made by a dead man? They would only be glad to have one less vassal taking a share of their power."
Suleiman continued, speaking each word carefully.
"So tell me: in this dangerous war engulfing the kingdom, how could they not risk their lives to protect me, and the future lands I promised them?"
Lymond Lychester's face paled. He understood completely now. This was a simple but effective scheme, woven from human greed—a chain binding the fate of the army led by House Deddings' landless knights to Suleiman himself.
Suleiman wasn't just making the knights do the hardest work for him. He was making them willing to do it. To ensure that their lord would honor his promise of land, they had no choice but to become Suleiman's most loyal swords and shields.
The young man before him didn't seem like a boy in his teens at all. He seemed more like a middle-aged man who had spent years navigating the game of power.