Once his work was done, Kal leapt down from the tree, stepped out from his hiding place, and swaggered boldly toward the Lannister campfire.
By the firelight, he saw the lions on their armor and the striking red-and-gold designs. He knew then he had found the right men.
Which meant this midnight venture hadn't been for nothing.
Thinking that, Kal crouched down, chose his target, and with two sharp slaps woke one of them from his sleep.
The soldier, suddenly struck while still half-dreaming, blinked his bleary eyes, trying to see which fool dared play such a trick on him—
Only to meet a hard punch to the face, followed instantly by the icy press of steel against his throat.
"Spare me!"
The seasoned soldier's reflexes were quick. Even though his head was still spinning from the blow, he knew exactly what to do.
He let out only one cry of pain, then raised both hands high, squeezed his eyes shut, and begged for mercy.
Seeing his carefully chosen "catch" react like this left Kal somewhat surprised.
'Looks like my luck's not bad. I've hooked a big fish tonight.'
Thinking that, he pressed the dagger tighter.
The soldier felt the sting at his neck, followed by a trickle of hot blood.
Startled awake, he dared not make a sound, dared not lower his raised arms, dared not move a muscle.
The moment he instinctively cracked his eyes open and glanced toward his companions, the sight of their motionless bodies only drove him deeper into despair.
He quickly stammered again, his voice trembling with fear.
"Listen, ser, don't kill me! Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you!"
Feeling the sting of torn flesh at his throat and the warmth of blood trickling down, the chosen soldier swallowed hard.
As his eyes darted toward his captor, he realized with confusion that Kal bore no insignia or mark that revealed who he was.
Noticing this, the soldier hesitated, then hastily added: "As long as you don't kill me, you can ransom me. The Lannisters pay a fair price."
It was plain enough—he truly didn't want to die.
Kal was caught off guard by his words. He hadn't expected his luck to be so good, to net a knight of all people.
With a faint chuckle, he asked, "Oh? So you're a knight? Then tell me your name, Ser."
Seeing that his captor seemed interested in ransom, the unlucky knight exhaled in relief and quickly spoke. "My name is Bent Banefort, a knight of Banefort!"
"Banefort? The Banefort family?"
"Then why are you wearing Lannister armor?! Ah, forgive me—your crest must be hidden beneath."
Kal frowned in puzzlement. While frisking him and stripping away his arms, he found, embroidered on an inner garment, the sigil of a hooded man on a grey field, framed by flames.
That must have been his family crest. It seemed the man wasn't lying—he really was a knight.
"Ser, I actually serve as a sworn knight to House Lannister. I have no lands of my own, and armor is costly."
As Kal questioned him, the knight babbled honestly, cooperating as he was relieved of his armor piece by piece.
Kal raised a brow at his frankness. Then, in short order, he stripped him down until only his underclothes remained, leaving him shivering in the chill of the riverbank night.
Bent Banefort dared not move a muscle, his eyes fixed on the dagger in Kal's hand.
Despite all the noise, his four companions remained deathly still, as if they were corpses already.
The eerie silence filled him with terror.
To kill four men without waking him, and then calmly take his time dealing with him—combined with the assassin's swift hands and precise strikes—it made Bent Banefort suspect he had fallen into the hands of a professional killer.
Perhaps even one of the fabled Faceless Men.
Rumors had indeed been whispering of such lately.
Kal, once he confirmed the knight was telling the truth, could only feel both amused and exasperated that he'd stumbled upon such a strange encounter.
He had thought this little night hunt would either end with nothing, or at least require him to kill two men to make his point and achieve his aim.
But the very first one he encountered turned out not only to be a knight, but also a man with enough sense to know when to yield.
So Kal had him stand knee-deep in the waters of the Green Fork. Watching him shiver, Kal spoke again: "You're honest, Ser Bent Banefort. And since you're being obedient, I suppose I should show a little courtesy in return."
"Then, according to our earlier agreement, Ser Bent Banefort, can you tell me—how many other scouts like you, sent out by Tywin, are nearby?"
Kal was no sadist. Since the knight was this forthcoming, there was no need for torture.
So he simply kept the dagger pointed at him and asked in a calm, almost gentle tone, with a smile on his lips.
"Uh… ser, I'm not entirely sure. But as far as I know, there aren't many."
"Our orders for the area around Riverrun are mostly to monitor, nothing more."
Standing in the freezing water up to his shins, Bent spoke plainly, without guile, laying out his mission.
Hearing the reply, Kal considered it and judged the answer credible.
After all, even if Tywin wished to do more while besieging Riverrun, it would hardly make sense to stretch his lines so far just to harass the Freys.
Such an effort would be wasted.
And remembering what had been said earlier today with Robert about Genna Lannister, Kal reasoned that Tywin likely had no designs north of the Trident.
Yet because he still had to guard against the North marching south, he was forced to place troops here.
It was clear, then, that such a strategy would focus on surveillance—keeping a constant watch on the movements of the northern host.
With that thought settled, Kal narrowed his eyes slightly, fixing them on the "honest man" before him.
"And? Tell me everything you know!"
"I don't believe Tywin would send an elite like you just to scout without another task."
Realizing he couldn't bluff his way through, the knight of House Banefort—who had already resigned himself to capture and ransom—could only answer every question truthfully.
Once Kal had heard enough, he suddenly stepped forward and struck him unconscious.
Dragging him out of the river, Kal glanced over the five men lying by the bank. After some thought, he decided it was enough to take just two back with him—the knight he had questioned, and one other.
...
Riverrun, in the great hall of House Frey.
King Robert himself, along with the gathered lords, were all assembled there.
Each sat on a stool, their faces heavy and grim, their eyes fixed on the three figures in the center.
No—on two.
For among them, only Kal Stone was standing. The other two—the unlucky Lannister men he had dragged back during the night—were kneeling on the cold, damp tiles, shivering.
Neither dared lift their heads, fearful that the smallest misstep might anger one of the great lords and see their skulls split open on the spot.
Bent Banefort, in particular, under the stunned gaze of his subordinate, answered every question from the northern lords without hesitation, every word true, not a single lie slipped in.
And in answering so frankly, Bent Banefort naturally noticed the strange look in his man's eyes.
But with that demon looming behind him, how could he dare lie or dissemble?
After all, last night he had already spilled everything to survive—even naming which noble lords' wives and daughters he had once lain with.
Now, if he uttered a single falsehood, or if even a word of his testimony caused confusion, the figure behind him—the ghost-like man—would expose him in an instant.
And then there would truly be no place left for him to weep.
For last night, mid-sentence, he had suddenly blacked out, and when he came to, this was the scene before his eyes.
Which meant he had no idea how he and his companion had been hauled all the way back to the Twins by this one man alone.
'Terrifying… could he truly be one of the Faceless Men?'
Even without turning his head, Bent Banefort could feel the crushing presence of that tower-like figure looming behind him.
But while he trembled with fear, the lords who had finished questioning him began to murmur among themselves.
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