"They've learned then," Robb muttered darkly.

The Blackfish nodded, his helm tucked under his arm. "I'm afraid so, Your Grace," he admitted. "This enemy won't be beaten by an ambush or a night attack. They march in a single formation, infantry on all sides, and cavalry in the middle to respond to any potential attack. They stop two hours before sunset to set up a strong camp with palisades and permanent watches."

"So they are taking precautions against every weakness that has brought me victory before," Robb said, twisting his reins around his hand in frustration. So he would need to find something else. "How many of our men are still in the south."

"Thousands, Your Grace, the men were so spread out your riders couldn't reach them all in time. Most seem to have fallen back into the castles they've taken, but now any attempt at a breakout risks them being destroyed en route."

And losing me thousands of soldiers. "Do we know how many of my people are trapped? Five thousand, ten?"

"Closer to ten, I would say. Lords Bolton, Bracken and Piper were all in the south commanding significant forces when the Tyrells bridged the Mander and marched their army across. None of the last stragglers I've encountered knew for certain how many they had with them."

"If Tristan were here, he could tell me," Robb muttered. He banished the thought of his twin and the pain it brought. Tristan was doing what he needed to do, leaving Robb free to focus on the war without worrying about the state of his brother's mind. He would do this without Tristan. "Is the main camp close?"

Blackfish nodded. "Aye, not far now, we've gathered all the men we could pull back from Tristan's invasion, as well as those you sent on ahead just up ahead at Threepeaks."

"Threepeaks?"

"A small village between three hills, though our camp spills over all of them now."

Robb nodded. "Take me there."

Inside the village sept, the largest building and best place for Robb to speak with all his lords and commanders, Robb stood in front of the Warrior's altar and the rest of them, riverlords and northern lords his lords and his people, spread out before them. They were digesting the latest news brought by Ser Kyle Condon, bringing Cerwyn and Stout men back from the Mander. "There are two armies?"

Ser Kyle nodded. "Yes your grace, another army, twenty thousand at least, with a third of that number being mounted heavy horsemen. They crossed the Mander further north, moving west across the Reach."

"That's the same size as the other army," Brynden said. "Forty thousand men, as many as we have, but divided in two, rather than ten." Robb's gathered force outnumbered either host by six thousand, but with so many knights, and the enemy in tight formations, he wouldn't want to fight that battle, he might win the first in a straight engagement, but then he'd have to face the other, likely after suffering heavy losses. He'd wanted all his forces gathered, but they were still scattered. He'd sent Lord Umber to gather the forces that Tristan had sent to pillage towards Highgarden and bring them back to him. Those in the east were close enough to rely on messengers. Still, he needed a commander to rally the forces in the west as quickly as possible and march them back as a coherent force. Lord Umber was the man best suited to bring them quickly.

"Likely, they were hoping to catch any forces driven north by the southern host," Robb muttered. "They've thought this out."

He closed his eyes, picturing the land. He'd spent every night pouring over maps of the region and listening to reports of his scouts about the lay of the land. He had the large maps memorised, but still struggled with the smaller ones, those that dealt with smaller territories, showing details missing from the larger maps. "How far apart are the two hosts?"

"For now, three days at their current pace. But they could spot any advance and close that distance before battle." Brynden's lip tightened. "Those in the south are in a grim spot."

"I will not leave them, not without trying at least once to break them out."

"Your Grace, if the enemy wants to keep them in their castles, they'll have to maintain forces in the vicinity, yes?" Lord Hornwood said. Daryn had had to be restrained by Cley when Robb told them what had happened with Tristan. Cley reminded him what they had talked about. It seemed that his three friends had been having their own doubts about his brother, but he could tell neither of them were happy with what had happened. If only Domeric were here to talk them down. He seemed to be the reasonable one of the group. "If we could lure them north, they'll have to either give our people a chance to break out, or pull far enough apart for us to fight the two armies separately."

He nodded. "It might work, but they are displaying every caution, they would need quite a prize to be diverted from their course." A thought struck him. Could it work? It might. It was a gamble. What wasn't? He pulled out his selection of maps from his pack, turning and dumping them on the altar, looking for the one he needed. There! He unfurled it and examined it. His lords knew not to interrupt him at this time, so he stayed silent. "I have it. I will be the bait."

"You, Your Grace."

He nodded. "Yes, I will make myself a target, too tempting to resist, and pull their troops to a field of my choosing. We will begin our march tomorrow. Ser Brynden, Lord Edmure, please stay as I would discuss the details with you, the rest of you, get some rest, it will be a difficult march."

When he was at last left alone, Robb turned to his two uncles. His sworn guard remained of course, they always remained. "I need messengers, I'm going to send them to the garrison in the south, to slip a message inside."

"Slip a message inside?" Brynden asked. "That is a difficult proposition for anyone."

"Only if they are meant to succeed," Robb said. "I intend these messengers to be caught, and the enemy to read their missives. They will be told the same message, if they are captured and interrogated, I want the messages to match. They are to tell the castle garrisons to hold on only a little longer, for I am on my way, with all speed and three thousand riders to break the siege, by slipping around the slow Tyrell armies."

"Will they be captured?"

"Of course," Robb replied.

"You would subject our soldiers to that?" Edmure asked, concern etched on his features.

"It is necessary," Robb replied. For all Edmure's faults in the early war, at the Battle of the Fords, he cared for his people, protected them. "They know they can win the war if they catch me. I will hang like a fruit, they will reach out to pluck it, and in so doing, be drawn to ground of my choosing."

"Where?" Edmure asked.

"Here," Robb turned to the map and indicated his chosen battleground. "Along the Greenwye stream as it connects to the Fullbrook. The streams create valleys leading in from north, south and east, which will channel them into a tight gap, leaving them unable to use their full might, while allowing you, uncle Edmure, to bring the main army in behind us. If I can keep their attention in the valley, you can take the main host and proceed overland to fall on their flank in the defile."

"Just like the whispering wood," Brynden said.

"If fortune favours us," Robb replied. Either way, the Tyrells would be forced to react. The candle was burning, battle would be here soon.

He made it to the Greenwye to find another force already waiting for him. "Lord Bracken?" He asked, as its leaders rode up to him. The force looked tired, bedraggled, the horses snorting and uneasy, the men with grime-covered armour, chipped weapons and dented shields. "Lord Bolton, Lord Piper." The rampant horse, flayed man and dancing maiden flew high on tattered banners. "What are you doing here?"

"It seems when the enemy heard you were coming, the enemy retreated, Your Grace," Lord Piper said. "They flee before they even face you."

"We seized our chance when it came," Lord Bolton said in his soft spoken way, bowing to Robb, his pale eyes flicking over his guard. "We had to abandon much of the loot in the castles but-"

"My men's lives are more important than loot," Robb replied. "You made the right choice, Lord Bolton," in this matter at least, but this talk of a corpse road. He would have to speak with the Lord of the Dreadfort, about a great many things. "Your people look tired, will they need rest?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Lord Bracken said. "We've lost some men to the march. Every day will make more run or wear themselves to death."

Robb nodded. "Lord Umber is moving east to regather forces that were striking towards Highgarden. Tomorrow you will move east to a reinforced position, make camp and wait for him. When he comes by, march with him."

"Yes, Your Grace, at once."

That evening, after they had had supper and eaten, the men Robb had brought swapping stories with the men from the south. Robb retired early, walking away from the great mass of people. It was at times like this that he missed his family. He knew his guard, knew them intimately, he knew Olyvar's favourite games to play with his siblings and which of them Dacey looked to out-do after one too many comments about her body. He knew just when to stop the Smalljon from drinking to prevent him blurting an intimate secret and how to coax Patrek into talking at all.

But they weren't family. They weren't his mother or Arya, they weren't Jon or Sansa or Bran or Rickon. They weren't…

Grey wind nuzzled up against his side and he absently reached down to scratch his ears. He understood. Grey Wind's yellow eyes looked into the far distance. Though there was no sun to tell him which way, he knew where he was looking. Back to the God's Eye, where Tristan waited, healed. By the gods let him heal.

"Your Grace," Robb turned to Brynden. "If you mean to ride tomorrow, you should rest."

"I know," Robb replied.

"If they're near, we'll find them, bring them to battle."

Robb nodded. That was his chance, an army in retreat was often low in morale, and if he had such an effect to abandon sieges at the rumour of his advance, that would allow him to direct the enemy's movements, and bring them to battle. Tomorrow they would march, riders had already been sent to Edmure, to keep the force together, he would harry and drive the enemy onto Edmure's waiting spears, crush them.


"How many lost?" Robb asked.

"Five hundred in the battle," Lord Karstark said, his beard stiff with dried blood and sweat. "Ser Hendry Ryger, Lord Ryger's heir died in the front line, Lord Deddings and Lord Grell were captured. We lost another thousand in the retreat before we got away." One and a half thousand men. There couldn't be much more than that before him now, half of Lord Karstark's force gone.

"How did it happen?"

"We were marching to join Lord Edmure's host," Lord Karstark explained. "We thought we kept well away, what with the enemy being so slow, but they closed on us so quickly, there must have been five thousand at least. We barely had time to form a battle line, and even then, their numbers decided when we met."

"I see, you did well to get away, Lord Karstark, ensure your men are settled into the army."

He'd underestimate these reachmen, they retreated before him, but were ready and primed to attack wherever he wasn't. Without him present, they'd been happy to break their tight formation.

But he was here now, and they'd given him a chance. Ordering Lord Karstark to link up with Edmure and join him in advancing, he set off in pursuit, hoping to catch the enemy before they gathered. But the next evening ser Brynden's outriders reported that the enemy had reformed their large square, and halted position. Over the next two days they moved slowly, creeping after him, mile after slow mile, their outriders clashed in small skirmishes. Still, the enemy would retreat back to their square at the first hint of a battle deployment. He couldn't sustain this, something would have to give. Then, news arrived from the outriders.

"You're certain?" Robb demanded, this could be the moment.

Ser Brynden nodded. "Yes Your Grace, the second enemy host had marched east, abandoning the close formation."

"Do we know why?"

"We can't be certain," Brynden said. "We questioned a captured scout, he revealed that Lord Tyrell commands that second host. Perhaps he means to re-open the roseroad, perhaps he means to destroy the forces there while you're here. Either way, the enemy have split their forces, and can no longer support each other."

Robb nodded, "and now I have to react. Tell me everything.

By the next day, he had his plan. He summoned his lords and delivered his marching orders. It was time to throw the dice.