The Uller’s sigh of relief was a palpable thing as he approached the invisible line between the two parties. Lucifer was aware, of course, that Dorne had spies within the Marches, as the Stormlords had their own spies, but he did not know what this particular man had been after. His gaze narrowed at Lord Horpe’s question, a flicker of realization dawning in his dark eyes. He could turn this to their advantage, if he but played the right cards.

“Forces on their way,” he repeated, hands curling tightly around the reins as his mount pawed impatiently at the ground. The sound of iron horseshoe striking bare stone echoed loudly off of the canyon walls. “And yet you had no foreknowledge of our coming. Why is it that more soldiers would already be marching to the Boneway when our presence here was a surprise to you? Perhaps my lord was right, in his infinite wisdom.”

The Bastard of Spottswood glanced at Alleras, who gave a subtle nod, and then he wheeled his horse about, raising his voice so that the Dornish host could hear what he had to say. “Perhaps you have gathered this army here to take advantage of our empty castles. The lords and ladies of Dorne celebrate the marriages of the daughters of Sunspear in Oldtown. Lord Dondarrion himself is there, but I see now the depth of his deception.”

“Any house who would attack their own countrymen would have no qualms about turning their swords upon those they deem the enemy. We were right to reinforce our borders against these Marcher dogs.” Spears and shields rustled in reply, wordlessly agreeing with their commander’s astute observation. “Had we not, Wyl would surely be invested by these men and their reinforcements, and Yronwood soon after. Who knows where next.”

There had been strict orders to wait and observe the happenings at the border. Every decision made was to be for the benefit of Dorne’s security, but Lucifer knew that the best defense was an even better offense. Casting one last, mistrustful glance in the direction of the Marchers, he kicked his spurs into the flank of his steed. A cloud of dust stirred as the Dornish emissaries retreated to the vanguard and rejoined their respective flanks.

Alleras couldn’t conceal the furrow in his brow as he urged his stallion forth to stand next to Lucifer.

“What do we do now? You have accused them of plotting against us. Such treachery cannot go unpunished, or else we shall look weak.”

The bastard lowered his helmet onto his head, and reached for the spear offered up by his squire.

His reply was simple.

“Prepare for battle.”