The Siege of the Red Keep

Suleiman looked at the sickly youth who called himself a bastard of House Haigh.

His gaze pierced through the night wind, as though he were appraising a weapon, weighing its sharpness and resilience.

"Everything you've said is empty talk."

Suleiman's voice was cold and flat.

"Do you have a concrete plan?"

Cole Rivers still wore that calm smile, as if Suleiman's doubts had long been expected.

"My lord, our hopes are not slim. They are immense."

He raised a finger and pointed toward King's Landing.

"The Faith has exalted you as a saint, built momentum around you, and pushed you into the eye of the storm. They have made you a thorn in the king's and the Hand's sides, leaving House Lychester unable to advance or retreat."

"This may appear to be a dead end, but I think otherwise."

An unfathomable light flickered in his eyes.

"This is a gift bestowed upon you by the gods."

"What you see as being trapped is, instead, your greatest advantage."

Cole Rivers lowered his voice, and it carried a bewitching power.

"The Faith has been without power for many years, yet it has amassed no fewer than several million Gold Dragons."

He raised two fingers.

"Two hundred thousand men."

Then he raised a third finger.

"No, I fear the number is far greater."

"In every town, village, and ferry crossing with a sept of the Seven, countless Sons of the Warrior and Poor Fellows are being armed once more."

His voice spread through the wind, full of temptation.

"They are smiths, farmers, sellswords, and wandering knights."

"They are scattered across every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, like stars across the sky—everywhere."

"How could their number be merely two hundred thousand? Four hundred thousand? Six hundred thousand? A million?!"

Cole's breathing grew slightly hurried,