The open ground at the edge of the camp was dust and noise.
Solomon stood with his soldiers, watching three men in the center.
Bronn, Lushen, and Lauchlan.
The two lieutenants followed Solomon's orders religiously. Whenever they had free time, they pestered Bronn for lessons.
At first, Bronn was reluctant. He felt cornered, manipulated by a sixteen-year-old boy, and it pissed him off.
But then he realized that beating up two large men with a wooden stick was excellent therapy.
Bronn swung a wooden practice sword lazily. Even half-assed, his movements had a lethal grace. Every parry was precise; every strike was a stinging rebuke.
In contrast, Lushen and Lauchlan looked like bears trying to dance. They swung their weapons with the brute force of farmers chopping wood—strong, but clumsy.
"Not like that, you idiot!" Bronn snapped, whacking Lushen's sword aside with a loud clack.
He stepped in, grabbing Lushen's wrist and twisting it.
"Are you holding an axe? Are you chopping a tree?" Bronn sneered. "Swords are for killing men, not timber!"
Lushen's face turned red, but he nodded and adjusted his grip.
"And you!" Bronn spun on Lauchlan. "What is that stance? Are you hoeing a field?"
"Again!"
Bronn barked orders, his annoyance palpable. Why was he teaching these peasants? They had zero foundation.
He glanced at Solomon, standing on the sidelines.
The kid is watching, Bronn thought. I can't just slack off.
He sighed. "You two aren't complete pigs, I suppose. You have strength."
"Listen to me," Bronn lowered his voice. "When you can't win with skill, you win with dirt."
"Eyes. Ears. Throat. Balls."
"Fight dirty. Fight mean."
"Combat isn't about honor. It's about being the one breathing when it's over."
Solomon smiled. This was exactly what his officers needed to hear. In the game of thrones, honor got you decapitated (Ned Stark proved that). Survival was the only victory.
Seeing Solomon's approval, Bronn decided to show off a little.
"Watch my feet," Bronn commanded. "Watch my center of gravity."
He moved like a wolf, fluid and predatory. He wasn't just venting anymore; he was actually teaching.
Solomon watched for a while longer, then clapped his hands.
"Lushen. Lauchlan. Enough."
"Gather the men. Rest time is over."
He turned to Bronn. "Did you apologize to the soldiers you beat up?"
Bronn's cheek twitched. "Of course, my Lord."
"Good."
Inside the command tent.
Four men stood around a wooden table. A rough map of the area around Deepden was spread out.
Solomon traced a line on the map.
"Scouts report the enemy has split. Four to five hundred men are hunting us."
The atmosphere in the tent grew heavy. Until now, they had been picking off small groups. Five hundred angry clansmen was a different beast.
Bronn grinned. "Good. Angry men make mistakes. Divided enemies are easier to kill."
Solomon nodded. "True. But five hundred is still too many for a straight fight."
"I don't intend to fight fair," Solomon said, a cold smile touching his lips. "I intend to eat them whole."
Lushen and Lauchlan shivered. That smile again.
"My Lord," Lauchlan said. "We hid our tracks well. They won't find us."
"No," Solomon corrected him. "From now on, I want you to leave tracks."
"What?" Lauchlan gasped.
"Bronn," Solomon ordered. "Take five riders on the mountain ponies. Leave a trail. Make it look like a sloppy retreat."
"Keep them following us. But keep a half-day lead. Don't let them catch you, but don't lose them either."
"You are the bait."
Bronn nodded slowly. It was dangerous, but it made sense.
Solomon turned to Lauchlan.
"Your job is to scorch the earth."
"Poison every well between here and the ambush point," Solomon said, his voice hard as flint. "Throw dead animals in them. Rotting meat. Make the water undrinkable."
"Burn the fields. Burn the granaries. Even this town—burn it down."
"If there is a crumb of food the enemy can eat, destroy it."
The tent was silent. This was brutal.
"Tell the villagers to go to Mirekeep," Solomon added softly. "I will give them land. I will pay for every cow and pig we kill. Give them promissory notes."
"But if they refuse to leave... don't force them. Just burn everything else."
Finally, Solomon slammed his dagger into a spot on the map—a narrow river valley.
"Lushen."
"This is your task. It cannot fail."
"Take two hundred men. You have three days."
"Build a dam."
"It doesn't need to be perfect. It just needs to hold enough water... and break when I say so."
Solomon grabbed Lushen by the shoulders, looking him deep in the eyes.
"My life is in your hands, Lushen."
Lushen's eyes welled up with tears. He gritted his teeth. "Yes, my Lord! I will build it with my bare hands if I have to!"
Bronn watched the sixteen-year-old lord issuing orders to burn towns and flood valleys.
Seven Hells, Bronn thought. Is this kid really a teenager? He's a monster.
A winning monster.
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