bookandnovel Chapter 18: The Tacit Understanding Between the Crow Tree and the Silver Eagle
Chapter 18: The Tacit Understanding Between the Crow Tree and the Silver Eagle
The sultry summer winds swept through the mortal world, carrying the bloody verdict from Fair City like a plague across the entire River Valley.
In Westeros, a duel without the patronage of a noble title might just be tavern gossip. But when such a duel is amplified by the Seven Star Bible of the Church of the Seven, involves the legal implications of border disputes between two great families, and ends with one side's head being severed—its political significance is enough to make all the lords put down their cups.
The news first reached Haijiang City.
Inside the Lord's Hall, Maester Theron, who had just returned from Bluefork Valley, still had dried yellow mud from the road clinging to the hem of his grey robes, and the brass chain at his waist trembled slightly with his rapid breathing. He didn't bother to brush the dust from his shoulders, clutching a copy stamped with the Church's wax seal in his hand, his face more solemn than ever before.
"A sword through the throat, followed by decapitation."
Sir Theron handed the copy to Earl Jason Mellist, who was seated at the head of the table.
"My lord, in front of hundreds of people, Otto Hohenzollern used the laws of the Seven Gods to completely weld those eleven corpses to the pillar of shame of the 'bandits.' Now all of Riverlands knows that it was Count Tethos who condoned the bandits, and you, lord of Seafront City, are the hero of the bandit suppression."
Earl Jason did not immediately take the copy. His battle-hardened eyes were fixed on the flickering candlelight, his broad chest rising and falling slowly.
"He was not only a cunning and scheming impoverished knight, but also a mad wolf that wouldn't let go of the law."
Earl Jason's voice was deep, carrying a hint of barely perceptible coldness.
"He risked his life on Lucas's life, just to block all the political accountability the Blackwood family was trying to push onto me in the Fair City quarry."
"What good does this do him?"
Patrick, the eldest son who had been standing to the side, frowned.
"He has thoroughly enraged Raventree. If Count Tethos sends troops regardless of the consequences—"
"Tethos will not send troops, because the cost is too high."
Earl Jason interrupted his son, his rough fingers tapping on the armrest as if measuring the weight of every gram of power.
"To wage a war of lords' caliber, one needs to recruit standard-bearers and gather three months' worth of provisions. Tetos has already lost fifteen heavy cavalrymen in an attempt to cover up his initial transgression of seizing the silver mines. Now that Lucas has died by divine judgment, the Blackwood family is, legally speaking, utterly disgraced."
The count stood up, walked to the map, and pointed to the unmarked blank area upstream of the Blue Fork River.
"If Tethos were to launch a full-scale attack on Hohenzollern now, it would be a blatant defiance of the Seven Gods' judgment. At that point, even if I didn't want to fight, I would have to lead five hundred halberdiers south, or the prestige of the Seafront City would be utterly destroyed. Tethos understands this price. He cannot afford it."
"so--"
Scholar Theron adjusted his iron-framed glasses, his eyes sharp.
"Is Count Tethos simply forced to swallow this broken tooth?"
"Swallow it, but I will never give up."
Earl Jason snorted and tapped his rough fingers on the armrest.
"If we can't deploy a large army openly, he'll pull the blockade line to its limit in the shadows. Send Trick to the armory and load all five hundred pounds of pig iron and thirty obsolete crossbows that Otto wanted onto the ship."
"grown ups?"
Patrick paused for a moment.
"Are you really going to arm that madman? Everyone outside calls him 'The Impaler,' saying he likes to stick people's heads into stakes."
"Reputation? We don't need a vicious dog to have a good reputation; we need him to guard the door."
Earl Jason turned around, his eyes as cold as an anchor.
"Otto saved Sea Frontier City the cost of a local war with a bloody duel. These five hundred pounds of pig iron are his well-deserved reward. More importantly, the profits from the silver mine must not be interrupted. As long as he continues to dig silver out of the mud for me, the eagle flag of Sea Frontier City will always fly above his head."
Meanwhile, fifty miles to the south, lies Crow Tree City.
Night had fallen, but no extra candles were lit in Tytus Blackwood's study. The earl, in his forties and known for his profound and stubborn nature, sat quietly in the dim light.
On the large oak table in front of him lay Lucas's throat guard, which Pollifer had sold as scrap metal and which had a horrifying four-sided slit in the chest.
There was no roaring, no smashing of objects.
In the real arena of power, emotionalism is the cheapest form of waste.
"The Notarization of the Seven Gods—"
Count Tettos muttered to himself, his fingertips tracing the blackened bloodstains along the edge of the throat guard, his eyes as deep and unfathomable as an ancient well.
"A seventeen-year-old peasant actually knows how to use thuggish methods to comply with church regulations and condemn my family to the status of bandits. Good. Very good."
The study door was quietly pushed open. Tytus's trusted retainer, the knight Brynden, entered with his head bowed.
"My lord, the messenger from Fair City has confirmed it. Lucas's head has been taken by Otto. It is said that it has been driven into the twelfth stake on the southern border of the Hohenzollern territory."
Tethos's fingers, which were stroking his throat guard, paused slightly. But the expression on his face remained as stiff as iron.
"What's going on in Haijiang City?"
Jason Mellist remained silent.
Brinden unconsciously rubbed the brass buckle on his sword belt with his rough thumb, as if he were mentally calculating the balance of power between the two sides.
"But our spies saw that the docks of Haijiang City were loading large quantities of pig iron and old crossbows at night. The old vulture seemed to be offering this as a reward."
"He's arming that little beast, trying to use it as a shield to slowly wear down our patience."
Count Tettos slowly stood up, walked to the narrow stone window, and looked north towards the valley shrouded in darkness.
In the lordship of Westeros, revenge is never the top priority. Minimizing losses is.
"Brynden, take stock of our chips."
"It is Tethos," he said without turning his head.
"How much does it cost to maintain the wooden palisade outpost at the Southern Border Watermill with fifty full-time soldiers every day?"
"Return to my lord."
Brinden stopped rubbing his thumb, and his tone became serious.
"Including the horses, it takes at least 150 pounds of wheat and dried meat every day. That's 4,500 pounds a month. Although grain prices aren't high during the long summer, maintaining a long-term field encampment results in enormous losses."
"How many people are crammed into Otto's muddy field now?"
"The total population is approaching three hundred. That's an bloated number. That wasteland simply can't produce any food."
A cruel smirk finally crept onto Tethos's lips.
"Three hundred mouths. At least four hundred pounds of rations are needed every day to prevent a riot. I have blocked the land routes, and the scrap iron that Haijiang City provides him is not enough to fill his stomach. This means that his lifeline now rests entirely on the waterways of the Blue Fork River."
The count turned around, his gaze piercing.
"Who is smuggling grain for him?"
"It's Damon River, the bastard son of the Valpin family."
Brinden’s tone carried a hint of disdain.
"Moreover—it is said that he has never been stopped by the Frey family's tax ships when passing through the Twins' territory."
Raymond Frey.
Tethos directly pointed out the name.
"That greedy and cowardly parasite. He must have gotten enough benefits from Otto to dare to open a private route behind old Wald's back."
Brynden looked up. "Sir, do you mean to report Raymond to old Marquis Walder Frey?"
"No. If old Wald knew about the silver mine, he would only try to get involved and muddy the waters even more. I don't need the Twins to suffer the same fate."
Tethos walked to the desk, picked up his brush, and dipped it in ink.
"Send two absolutely reliable assassins with five hundred silver deer to meet Raymond in secret. Tell him that Raventree City knows everything about his theft of silver. If he doesn't want this letter to end up on his grandfather's desk, he'd better accept the money."
Tethos folded the secret letter he had written, dripped sealing wax on it, but did not stamp it.
"In exchange, Raymond won't need to revoke the token for the next two weeks. He just needs to 'casually' remove a section of the river patrol when Damon's smuggling ships pass by, leaving a passage for my night raiders. I'm going to burn Otto's grain ships, along with the hopes of those three hundred people, to ashes on the water."
Tethos handed the letter to Brynden, his voice as cold as ice.
"Without food, we don't even need to lift a finger. Those starving refugees will tear that 'piercing man' to shreds themselves."
Blue Fork Valley, Hohenzollern Territory.
The sweltering heat of the long summer reached its peak in the afternoon. The campsite was filled with the pungent smell of quicklime and the stench of sweat.
The twelfth stake had been erected. Lucas Blackwood's head was covered in embalming tar, his empty eye sockets staring fixedly at the southern fence outpost.
As the two hundred and eighty-four subjects passed the row of wooden stakes, they all lowered their heads and quickened their pace. Their awe of the seventeen-year-old lord had been completely transformed into a deep-seated fear by the addition of this noble head.
In the cellar of the longhouse, a dim oil lamp emitted a faint yellow light.
Otto sat shirtless on the stake. The steward, Pollifer, was carefully cleaning the wound on his left shoulder with a piece of boiled linen.
The blow that forcibly altered the trajectory of the greatsword in the quarry caused extensive subcutaneous tissue rupture. His entire left shoulder swelled up, turning a horrifying purplish-black color.
"hiss--"
Otto bit down on a clean, thick piece of wood, cold sweat streaming down his taut abdominal muscles from the intense pain.
"The tendon strain is too severe."
Pollifer's fingers were trembling.
"For at least a month, this hand will be unable to bear weight; I won't even be able to lift a shield."
Otto spat out the piece of wood, his breathing heavy. But there was no trace of weakness or despair in his grey-blue eyes.
"As long as I'm alive, my hand can be slowly healed."
He looked at the nearly empty grain sacks in the corner of the cellar, and his tone quickly returned to its cold rationality.
"How's the militia formation cohesion in Torun?"
"Twelve Iron Oath veterans form the backbone, plus twenty-five newly selected militiamen. The Northerners certainly have a way with things. He whips the new recruits who can't keep up, and now they blink almost in unison when they hear the whistle."
"Let them continue. Add half an hour each day."
Otto pointed to the food consumption curve on the roster.
"How many more days can our food reserves last?"
"Even with rationing, it will only last for four days at most."
Pollifer's face was extremely pale.
"Sir, if Damon's smuggling ship doesn't arrive by tomorrow night—"
"He will definitely come. It's incredibly profitable; smugglers are more punctual than nobles."
Otto used his intact right hand to support himself as he stood up from the wooden stake. Under the pressure of feeding three hundred people, the lord could not afford to show weakness in front of his subjects, even if it meant a loss of military strength.
"But Tethos has suffered such a huge loss that he won't sit in Raventree City and sulk. He can't fight openly, so he'll definitely target my supply lines. Raymond Frey is a weak point on the waterways, and he might sell Damon's fleet at any time."
Otto stepped out of the cellar, the blinding sunlight causing him to squint slightly.
"Polliver, go tell Cole to stop forging all the farm implements. As soon as the pig iron from Seafront City arrives, forge it all into barbed shipwrecks and underwater wire mesh. I want to turn the waters outside the docks into a dead zone where even fish can't swim."
He turned to look at Toren, the Iron Oath Corps training captain behind him.
"Pick a few good swimmers and hide in the reeds downstream tonight. If Damon's boat is following Blairwood—let it in and then shut down the river."
The summer breeze carried the fishy smell of aquatic plants across the water.
Otto didn't look at the water again, turned around, and walked alone toward the dimly lit longhouse.
There was no pre-battle mobilization, no outpouring of anger.
In this brutal struggle for survival, the night raid team that Blackwood was about to send had already been marked as a depreciated and defective product by him.