On a gentle bend in the upper Trident, the wind swept through the yellowed reeds along the bank, stirring a rustling lament.
Daylight spilled through gaps in the clouds. It offered no warmth, but it was enough to illuminate the two northern armies gathered on the riverbank.
The direwolf and merman banners snapped in the wind, facing one another.
Beneath them stood northern soldiers, travel-worn yet still in disciplined ranks.
Robb Stark reined in his warhorse, his cloak billowing behind him.
His blue eyes passed over the crowd and settled on the figure beneath the merman banner opposite him.
Wylis Manderly, heir to White Harbor, spotted his king at almost the same moment.
He swung neatly down from his horse, tossed the reins to an attendant, and strode across the open ground between the armies. Reaching Robb's horse, he dropped to one knee.
"Your Grace!" Wylis's voice was clear, with a trace of fatigue from the long march.
Robb immediately dismounted and stepped forward to raise his loyal vassal. "Ser
Wylis, there is no need for ceremony. Thank you for making such a hard march."
Wylis rose. He had inherited House Manderly's square features and firm chin.
"An urgent summons from Your Grace must mean something important. I received your orders by raven on the road and turned at once to join you. Might I ask..." His eyes held a question.
Robb did not answer immediately. Instead, he walked beside Wylis toward a slightly higher stretch of riverbank. Their personal guards spread out without a word, keeping far enough away not to hear the conversation, but close enough to protect them at any moment.
From that small mound, they could look down over the army resting below.
The soldiers made the most of the brief halt, watering their horses, checking