The old method—exciting the general—was crude but often effective.
Among those present were three heirs of great noble houses. The rest were lesser lords, second sons, sworn knights, hedge knights, and various hangers-on. Altogether, nearly forty nobles or retainers had gathered. Including their escorts and the garrison from the Stonehedge lands, the assembled force could reach three to four hundred strong.
That was more than enough to handle the hundred and fifty men that Blackwood could muster, especially with his main force occupied elsewhere. There was no need to call on the full strength of House Bracken.
As for the infamous feud between the Brackens and the Blackwoods—it was as old as the Andals. Even the stable boys in the Riverlands had heard tales of the bitter blood spilled between Raventree Hall and Stonehedge. No one here could feign ignorance. They were all Riverland-born, and Hendry Bracken would never let himself be humiliated in front of his peers.
"I put the matter plainly," Arthur said, voice loud and clear. "Are you afraid of Blackwood?"
Hendry's expression darkened. His jaw tensed. For a heartbeat, silence hung in the air.
"My nephew," he said finally, voice cold. "Do you think Lord Janos Bracken raised me to fear little Blackwood?"
Before Arthur could reply, voices rang out around them.
"Afraid? When have the Brackens ever feared Blackwood?"
"Watch your tongue, hedge knight! You think you know Hendry's mind?"
"From Riverrun to Harrenhal, ask anyone—we are the old blood!"
Though Arthur was a Bracken himself, their words carried the sharp edge of exclusion. He may have shared their name, but they viewed him more as a backwater cousin than kin. Still, their pride played perfectly into his hand. The more noise they made, the more Hendry's honor would be on the line.
Yet Hendry wasn't so easily goaded.
He waited for the voices to die down, then leaned forward, his tone measured. "I do not fear them, but that doesn't mean I'll send soldiers to play into your scheme. We're not savages. Let the lowborn kill and be killed if they must—that is their lot."
Arthur blinked. He hadn't expected such a sophisticated argument from Hendry. The man sounded almost… principled.
He hesitated. "But the Blackwoods took my people. They could be torturing them now. Isn't that barbaric?"
One of the younger knights sneered. "If they die, they die."
"Right," said another. "We lost more patience listening to this than they did lives."
"Get lost. This is no place for landless fools to bark."
Arthur clenched his jaw, but said nothing. The noise grew again until Hendry raised a hand, silencing the crowd.
"You don't understand what it takes to train a soldier," Hendry said, his voice tight. "How much silver it costs to put a blade in a man's hand, a hauberk on his chest, boots on his feet? I won't waste coin and blood for some dirt farmer's son."
He shifted in his chair, fingers drumming on the armrest.
"Still," he muttered, "they are Bracken subjects… I won't pretend their lives mean nothing."
Arthur said nothing, watching him think. He's not unmoved, Arthur realized. Just cautious. Pragmatic. Maybe too pragmatic for his own good.
Suddenly, Karyl Vance, lounging on Hendry's left, gave a dry laugh. "If this is about justice for Arthur's people, why not take it to Lord Tytos himself? March up to Raventree Hall and demand an audience. With the right faces, Tytos won't dare ignore it."
"And if he does?" Mark Piper added with a smirk. "Well, a little show of strength never hurts. Raise the banner, take the field. A show of steel can do wonders for diplomacy."
"Show strength?" Hendry cut in. "That's easy to say when it's not your men bleeding. Skirmishes turn to battles. Battles cost lives. And every man lost is coin lost—and I have no intention of bankrupting my house for your bravado."
His voice was firm, but his gaze drifted to Arthur, calculating. Hendry Bracken was not a fool. But he wasn't rash either.
Arthur was beginning to seethe. Hendry Bracken was dragging his feet like some sept maiden over her first kiss.
"You just said you won't send troops, right?" Marco Piper finally broke in, clearly losing patience with Hendry's dithering.
Arthur wasn't sure what game Hendry was playing, so he cut to the heart of it. "Then tell me plainly—under what conditions would you agree to send men?"
"Bloodless, of course," Hendry replied at once, then leaned back with a self-satisfied smile. "Well, I'll give you a chance."
"What kind of chance?" Arthur asked, narrowing his eyes.
"If you can best three knights of my choosing in single combat," Hendry said smoothly, "then I'll send five hundred men to negotiate peace with House Blackwood."
His voice was casual, but the implication was sharp.
Hendry's real intent was to dismiss the matter. But with so many Riverland lords watching—and Arthur being a Bracken by blood—he couldn't afford to publicly slight him without offering something that looked like a fair compromise.
In truth, Hendry had no intention of lifting a finger. He figured Arthur, with his modest build and quiet demeanor, would be easily trounced. Rumors said Arthur had more books than battle experience. Three average knights should be more than enough. That way, he could say: I gave you a chance. You just failed to take it.
"Duels?" Marco Piper leaned forward, a grin spreading across his face. "Now that I like." He slapped the armrest of his carved oak chair.
Arthur was amused. Hendry thought this would be a polite way to reject him. But he had no idea that Arthur's favorite pastime of late was testing himself in combat.
"Then it's settled," Arthur said, concealing his excitement behind a calm expression. "If I defeat the three knights you name, you'll dispatch five hundred men to drive the Blackwood raiders from my land?"
"That's the agreement," Hendry nodded, still thinking he'd made a foolproof wager.
Marco, ever the enthusiast, leapt to his feet. "Set up the yard! Clear the field!"
He barked orders like a seasoned camp captain. Servants fetched chairs, squires brought fruit and wine, and a group of bored knights were pushed aside to make room for the dueling ground. Within minutes, a small arena had been set, and forty or fifty nobles gathered, goblets in hand.
Seated on the high bench beside the field, Hendry called out, "Marco, Karyl, what say we each appoint a champion for the first match?"
"I like that," Marco replied without hesitation.
"I've no objections," said Karyl Vance.
After a round of polite deferrals, Marco Piper named Arthur's first opponent: Ser Aegor Mallister, a hedge knight bearing the name of House Mallister from Seagard. Aegor was tall, broad-shouldered, and known for his hammer-like strikes and tireless stamina.
Upon hearing his name, Aegor beamed and clapped his hands together. "Aye, well enough! Let me earn my supper!"
Someone in the crowd called out, "No, Ser Aegor, winning earns your supper!"
Laughter echoed through the gathering. Aegor accepted a helmet from a servant of Stonehedge and scanned the crowd until he found the heckler. "It's all the same," he grinned. "Won't take but three strokes."
Arthur raised a brow. So much confidence—it was almost charming.
"Who's taking wagers?" a voice shouted. "One gold dragon on Arthur! Anyone?"
The crowd burst into more laughter.
Still, a few took notice. If the match seemed so obviously in Aegor's favor, why not make some easy coin?
Most hedge knights lived on the edge of ruin. Even a single gold dragon was enough to outfit a squire or pay a month's food.
Seeing the growing interest, Hendry spoke up. "Let's make this interesting. As host, I'll open a betting table. Thoughts?"
"A fine idea!"
"Excellent!"
"Just make sure you've got coin to pay out, Hendry!" someone joked.
"You needn't worry. It'll be the easiest silver I ever kept," Hendry replied with a smirk.
He announced the odds:
"For Ser Aegor Mallister—ten to one. For Arthur Bracken—one to ten."
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the audience.
It meant if you bet ten gold dragons on Aegor and he won, you got one back. But a single gold dragon on Arthur would return ten if he pulled off the upset.
Arthur's heart sank. The whole spectacle had turned into a laughingstock—and he was the punchline.
He glanced around. Men were throwing coin into purses, scribes marking down wagers. And he, the central figure in this whole affair, had no silver to his name.
What a missed opportunity.
Then Hendry, lounging with a goblet of summerwine, raised his voice: "Cousin! You look like a man without coin but full of pride. Want to place a wager on yourself?"
Arthur looked up.
"I'll lend you the gold," Hendry said, eyes gleaming. "Let's see if you believe in your own victory."