Bronn leaned against a supply wagon piled high with hay.
A withered yellow grass root hung from his lips, and he chewed it idly.
The sunlight was warm enough to make a man want to doze off.
William Mooton's army was camped on a broad plain outside Duskold Town.
As far as the eye could see, there were tents and fluttering banners of House Mooton.
He now went by "Cabray," a false name no one would care about.
He liked this new identity very much.
Surely Suleiman would never notice a nobody among tens of thousands of soldiers.
He had discovered that whenever he was with Suleiman, good fortune always came his way.
Without him, however, he suffered terrible luck.
So he had simply changed his identity, joined House Mooton's army, and taken up soldiering in the Riverlands.
Winning rank and power through military merit was a good thing. A truly good thing.
With his own sword, he had earned himself nearly three hundred and fifty mu of fertile land.
Three hundred and fifty mu-the lands of a small knightly estate.
Every time Bronn thought of that figure, he wanted to laugh aloud.
Once this war was over, he would build a house on his land.
Then find a few girls he liked the look of.
That would see him through the rest of his life.
As for Suleiman, it would be best if they never met again.
Yet from early that morning, something had felt wrong in the camp.
A stifled unrest spread through the air, like the oppressive heat before a storm.
"Hey, have you heard?"
Two soldiers nearby were talking in hushed voices as they wiped down their longswords.
"Walter He An and Gyles Leger have mobilized their armies."
"Mobilized? Where are they going? Another battle?"
"Don't