Robb's face lit up with a predatory intensity. "Where are they headed?"
"East, toward the Red Fork," Ser Olivar reported, breathless with excitement. "They've abandoned everything, Your Majesty. Supplies, the wounded, even the heavy tents. They left with nothing but what they could carry on their backs."
The news sent a ripple through the camp. To the average soldier, this meant one thing: loot. The Lannisters had left behind high-quality armor and weapons that put our Northern gear to shame. But to Robb, it meant something else.
Right now, our seven thousand riders were like a pack of wolves at Tywin's throat, with the Golden Tooth at our backs. Meanwhile, Edmure Tully was coming down from the north with twenty thousand infantry. Tywin was squeezed. If he attacked us, we'd fight a delaying action and lead him into a trap. If he tried to break back toward Harrenhal, we'd bite his heels until the infantry arrived to crush him.
He was out of food, out of time, and out of options. So why was he heading for the river?
"Gather the lords," Robb barked, pulling a map from his saddlebag and spreading it over a flat stone.
I didn't step in yet. This was Robb's show. His instincts were sharp, and he needed to grow into his crown. While the messengers scrambled, I signaled Abel to follow me into the shade of the trees.
"I've got a job for you, Abel," I said, my voice low. "If you pull this off, you're not just a Karstark retainer anymore. I'll give you land in my new territory. You'll be the head of your own house."
Abel's eyes went wide. He dropped to one knee instantly. "Young Master, I'll get it done or die trying."
I helped him up, gripping his shoulder. "Life is for the living, Abel. You can't run a house if you're a corpse. Remember our words: The Winter Sun. We shine brightest when the world is coldest. Don't forget that."
"Winter Sun," Abel repeated, his voice thick with pride.
I whispered the specifics of the task into his ear. He nodded once, his face set like flint, and vanished into the woods.
By the time I made it back to the map, the council was already arguing.
"There are twenty fords on the Red Fork," Lord Tytos Blackwood was saying, pointing to the river. "Most of them are narrow and half-choked with silt. No lord in his right mind would try to move fifteen thousand men across them in a hurry. Tywin's lost it. He's panicked."
"He's not panicked," I said, stepping into the circle. "How could the Old Lion be panicked?"
The lords turned to look at me. The 'Hand' had arrived.
"He's being ruthless," I said, tracing the river line. "He's sacrificing his slow-movers. He's going to abandon half his infantry to drown or be captured just so he can get his core veterans back to King's Landing. Once he's there, he'll hide behind the walls, use the Crown's gold to hire every mercenary in the Narrow Sea, and come back at us with a fresh army in six months."
I looked at Lord Vance. "If he gets away, Harrenhal stays in Lannister hands. We'll be stuck defending Moat Cailin against a sea invasion and fighting a stalemate in the Riverlands. Everything we've done here, all the gold we took, all the blood we spilled it won't mean a damn thing. The war will just reset to zero."
The Greatjon, his arm still in a sling from the last fight, let out a thunderous roar. "Well, if letting the old man run is going to cause all that trouble, what are we waiting for? Let's pull the Lion's teeth!"
The other lords took up the cry. "Chase them down!" "Don't let 'em cross!"
Robb didn't need to give a speech. The fire was already lit. "Gather every man who can still sit a horse," he ordered. "We move now!"
As the lords scrambled to their units, I leaned in toward Robb. "Your Majesty, send word to the Blackfish. Have him take a contingent of Edmure's infantry and head straight for Harrenhal. If we can seize the fortress while Tywin is busy at the river, we win the Trident for good."
Robb nodded. "I've already got Brynden on it. He's crossing the Fork as we speak."
"Good," I said. "Then I'll be joining my father's unit for the chase."
I mounted up, taking my spear from Konn. I looked at the squad. They were all there, though Matthew's face was still hollow with the loss of his brother.
"The North Remembers, Matthew," I said softly. "House Karstark won't forget what was paid."
Matthew gave a grim nod of thanks.
The horns sounded a long, low blast that echoed off the mountains. Six thousand Northern riders began to move, a grey-and-white torrent of steel flowing across the plains.
But as I watched the dust clouds on the horizon, I felt a knot in my stomach. Tywin still had fifteen thousand veterans. Four thousand of those were heavy cavalry. We were fast, but we were outnumbered two-to-one, and the Old Lion always had a trick up his sleeve.
The chase was on, but I had a feeling we were riding straight into the mouth of the beast.