The cold wind swept over the high slope, stirring the grasses and trees of the plain and carrying the scents of earth and vegetation.
Suleiman stood atop the rise, looking out over the vast, sprawling plain before him.
A gleaming silver-white river wound its way through the land, nourishing the fertile fields along both banks. To the right, the white outline of a mountain range loomed hazily—the natural barrier separating the Riverlands from the Vale.
This was Vicon Gorge, with the Green Fork to its left and the Mountains of the Moon to its right. Three streams flowed down from the High Mountains, crossing this land before emptying into the Green Fork.
And there was even a long-completed highway—the Kingsroad. There was no need to build roads at all.
"Perfect. Absolutely perfect," Suleiman murmured. This land stirred something instinctive deep within his soul; the soul of an ancient civilization five thousand years old could scarcely resist such a plain.
He had already begun imagining irrigation works and vast new fields being opened across this land.
"My lord?" Roslyn interrupted Suleiman's fantasy as he stared wide-eyed.
Suleiman abruptly came back to himself, and his head immediately began to ache. Lady Roslin had not broken her word. She had given him fertile land—only, the minor problems on that land were rather major.
Several families had laid claim to this territory, each occupying part of it. The old Frey family was involved as well, and there were even territorial disputes between the Vale and the Riverlands.
That was one of the worst things about the Riverlands. Unlike the other Six Kingdoms, before the War of Conquest, the Riverlands had produced several hundred kings over the course of several centuries. Anyone could set themselves up as a petty king, and every great family could