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Having carefully read every word of the letter, Clay's previously good mood had completely vanished.
The incident had occurred near the Neck, north of the Twins. The spies of the White Sea Guard in the Riverlands had received the news and imdiately sent word to the Twins. Clay estimated that by now, a raven was likely already on its way to Wolf's Den in White Harbor.
The letter did not specify who the attackers were, which suggested that even the sender had received the information secondhand. But regardless of who was behind it, this was a grave matter.
A rchant caravan of over fifty people—such a large group would undoubtedly be transporting significant goods. Besides the laborers responsible for hauling the cargo, Clay knew his family's caravans well enough to be certain that at least half of the mbers were ard guards.
He still did not know exactly what kind of goods this particular caravan had been escorting, but given that the attack had happened at the Neck—a highly sensitive location—he had a bad feeling.
One of the key ingredients in the witchers' grass potion was sourced from the Neck. If it was rely an unfortunate encounter with bandits, then there was nothing to be done about it. But if soone had taken notice of the recent surge in procurent orders after his return to White Harbor… then this was no simple matter of bad luck.
Clay knew that his ti at the Twins had co to an end. With such a serious incident unfolding, he—being the heir to White Harbor—had to set out north imdiately to handle the situation.
"Young lord..." The captain of his guard looked equally grim. Their return journey did not involve crossing the Neck by land, but the route through the forest leading to the eastern coastline was still dangerously close to the area. And the fact that an entire White Harbor rchant caravan had been ambushed and wiped out left this seasoned soldier filled with fury.
"Wait. We need a clearer picture first. This is only first-hand information—we still know too little."
Clay set down his wine cup and rose from his chair, pacing the room with a furrowed brow. After a mont of thought, he turned to the captain and asked, "Based on your experience, if you were to attack a caravan like ours and achieve the results described in this letter, how many n would you need?"
The captain shook his head and responded in a low voice, "Young lord, that question isn't precise. It's difficult to answer because we don't even know who's behind this. Our caravan guards only wear light leather armor and carry swords as their primary weapons."
"If it were my cavalry conducting the assault, fifty n could end the battle in a single charge. But..."
"But that's impossible, isn't it?" Clay finished the thought for him.
Indeed, the Neck was a land of marshes and swamps. Other than House Reed at Greywater Watch, the only inhabitants were the crannogn. The idea that a force of over fifty fully armored cavalryn could sohow slip past nurous scouts and appear in the Neck unnoticed? That was pure nonsense.
Clay and his n had arrived via sea, but in the waters of the Bite, there were no significant military presences besides House Manderly.
Transporting fifty n along with their armor and weapons without anyone noticing? That was simply not possible.
Could it really have been re bandits? Clay found it hard to believe. The Riverlands had always had its fair share of outlaws, but for them to completely annihilate a caravan of over fifty people? Given the equipnt of most bandits, they would have needed at least a hundred n to accomplish such a feat.
Regardless, he had to go. This was all the information he could gather for now—he would have to investigate the rest in person.
"Yes, young lord. That is impossible. Then… what are your orders?"
The captain stood at attention, waiting silently for Clay's decision. He knew his young lord's temperant well—there was no way Clay would simply sit idly in the Twins after receiving such news.
"Gather every White Harbor guard currently in the Twins. By the ti I return from my eting with Lord Walder Frey, I want every single one of them assembled. Two hundred n—not a single one missing. I don't care if soone is in the middle of bedding a woman, you drag him back if you have to."
Clay's tone was sharp and commanding. Though young, he had been the heir to White Harbor for so long that authority naturally infused his words. The captain of the guard nodded without hesitation. After confirming the order, he turned to leave and carry it out.
Good news never travels far, but bad news spreads like wildfire. Clay was certain that House Frey, whose influence extended across the upper Green Fork, must have already received word of the attack. At this very mont, Lord Walder Frey was likely waiting for him to arrive.
After straightening his attire, Clay took two of his guards and left the Manderly residence, heading directly to the main stronghold of House Frey.
His steps were steady and composed. When he reached the gate of the fortress, he adjusted his expression and deliberately slowed his pace. In tis like these, appearing impatient and flustered would only invite others to look down on him.
The Frey soldiers standing guard wore black armor emblazoned with the sigil of the Twin Towers. Upon seeing the rmaid emblem on Clay's armor, they imdiately recognized him and stepped aside to grant him entry.
"Where is the lord? I need to see him at once."
Clay was not particularly familiar with anyone in the castle, so he had no choice but to direct his question to the guards at the gate.
However, before the soldier could respond, a sowhat familiar voice spoke up from behind him.
"Young lord Clay, allow to take you to my father. There's no need to ask him."
Clay turned to see who it was and was montarily stunned.
Aenys Frey.
What was he doing here?
The last ti they had spoken—at the East Gate—their conversation had quickly soured, and Aenys Frey had stord off in frustration. Clay had even laughed at his delusions back then. So why was he now going out of his way to greet him?
With a friendly smile, Aenys Frey strode up to Clay, casually patting his shoulder as he spoke.
"I had originally gone to your residence to find you, but the Manderlys told you weren't there. I figured you'd be here instead."
Clay instinctively shrugged off the hand on his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at Aenys. He wanted to know why this man had been looking for him in the first place—and more importantly, how he had been so sure that Clay would be here.
As if anticipating Clay's thoughts, Aenys continued leading him toward the staircase of the main keep. Without any preamble, he spoke softly.
"The ravens of House Frey are managed by and our maester. Heh, my father would never entrust his life to an outsider."
There was no context to his words, yet Clay imdiately understood their implications.
If Aenys was in charge of the ravens, then he had undoubtedly already learned of the massacre of the White Harbor caravan. The mont he failed to find Clay at the Manderly residence, he would have imdiately realized that Clay must have co here to see Walder Frey.
And his words revealed sothing else—just like in his own household, the maester of House Frey had seemingly been sidelined as well. But unlike White Harbor, here it was purely a matter of Walder Frey's paranoia.
Clay's wariness grew.
A Frey who held partial control over a maester's duties… a Frey who could still smile warmly after being rejected… This was a man who deserved to be taken seriously.
And judging from the unreadable smirk on his face, Aenys Frey still hadn't given up.
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[Chapter End's]
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