At that moment, a scout rider reported again. A relatively intact force of around three hundred men had appeared ahead, flying the banners of House Mooton of Maidenpool.
Suleiman waved a hand and unceremoniously folded the House Blackwood men-at-arms into his ranks.
A short while later, the two forces met at a fork in the road.
At the head of the force was William Mooton, lord of Maidenpool. He was a soft, rotund man, his pale face beaded with sweat. Mud spattered his ornate, finely decorated armor, and he looked like a frightened quail.
When he saw the large force led by Lymond and Suleiman—especially its strange direction of travel—his eyes widened until they were as big as plates.
Still, he was safe now that he'd run into a large force. The fat lord immediately rode up, wiping his forehead again and again with a handkerchief. His voice was filled with the relief of having survived a disaster, along with bewildered shock.
"Lord Lymond? Is that really you?"
Lymond Lychester nodded, wearing his trademark, inscrutable smile. Suleiman could tell at a glance that the old man's mind was probably still muddled.
William Mooton's voice grew shrill, though it was hard to tell whether he was delighted or astonished. "Gods! My friend! You... where are you going? The west is lost!"
"The Ironborn have split into two forces! One is following the Green Fork! The other is following the Blue Fork!"
"Fairmarket, by the Blue Fork, has been burned to the ground! I saw it with my own eyes! Their next target is bound to be House Blackwood's Raventree Hall! Then they'll split up and lay siege to Riverrun!"
He gasped for breath, panting loudly as if speaking were hard work. His thick fingers pointed west, as though some man-eating monster