Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 84: The Shadow of Crows and the Changing Ink

The cold rain in the Blue Fork Valley turned into a thick, sticky fog in the afternoon.

In the scholar's study on the third floor of the stone tower, the only narrow window was completely covered by a heavy leather curtain.

Maester Ilion sat behind a wooden table piled high with parchment scrolls and dried herbs, his quill brush moving swiftly across a thin sheet of parchment.

This was a secret letter he had planted here as the "eyes" of the Duke of Riverrun, routinely reporting to his lord.

But at the moment he was about to put pen to paper, Ilion's hand stopped.

He stared at the line of numbers regarding "actual production of white salt," his nostrils still seemingly carrying the lingering smell of the skinned horse carcass from the dungeon the previous night.

In the iron cage behind him, the pure black raven tilted its head, staring at him with its emotionless, beady eyes.

Ilion recalled how Otto Hohenzollern had walked into the study three days earlier.

That day, the Baron did not bring his sword, nor did he bring his gloomy steward, Pollifer.

He simply picked up an old book on the table, titled "Chronicle of Land Rights in the Riverlands," while the scholar was cleaning out his medicine chest, and then said in an eerily calm voice:

"Sir, if you tell the Duke in your letter that my salt mine can produce four hundred pounds of salt a month, then next month, the Blackwood family's cavalry will come with the Duke's tax collection order and rightfully raze this place to the ground, and you... will probably be regarded as an accomplice of 'heretics' and hung on the heart tree of Raventree City."

Ilion responded with a cold laugh: "What the Duke wants is the truth."

"What the Duke wants is an outpost that can keep out the Ironborn, deliver tribute on time, and not cause him any trouble."

Otto closed the book, his fingertips tracing the leaping fish emblem on the cover.

"The truth is too heavy for the ravens of Riverrun to carry. You just need to tell him that I'm barely making ends meet here and urgently need a batch of medicine to prevent spring dysentery."

At that moment, Maester Ilion looked at the stack of ink stains that were not yet completely dry.

He sighed, crossed out the actual figure for "white salt surplus," and changed it to "production damaged, barely enough to meet self-sufficiency."

He stamped the first seal of deception on the report entitled "The Truth".

---

Inner Fortress, the weaving shed in the southern district.

This place, once piled high with moldy hay, is now Maria Frey's territory.

Dozens of displaced women knelt on the ground, using long bone spikes to pry open the "stolen linen" transported from the Twins.

These linen pieces, originally intended for the garrison's winter uniforms, have now been cut into narrow strips.

Maria stood in the center of the shed.

The sleeves of her dark red velvet robe were neatly rolled up, revealing a pair of hands that had become rough and pale from years of contact with quicklime and bleach.

"The stitches must be tight. The outer layer of linen is wrapped tightly to make it waterproof, the inner layer of mugwort is applied to the skin to dispel cold and refresh the mind, and the middle layer of lime powder is placed in oiled paper—it won't burn unless it's soaked in deep water."

Maria's voice became hoarse and harsh as she pointed at a woman who was moving a little slower, her tone devoid of any pity.

"This is not just a salt bag. It's tied tightly so that the outside water can't get in, and the mugwort inside can keep them awake when walking at night."

A woman looked up somewhat timidly: "Madam, the mugwort already is prickly enough, why is lime sandwiched in between?"

Maria gave her a cold look.

"The mugwort keeps them awake, preventing them from dozing off at night. But the lime isn't for them—it's for those who want to give up."

Maria took the rolled-up bag of salt and tugged at it forcefully.

"If the oil paper tears and lime seeps in, it means the water is already above their knees. At that point, they shouldn't be thinking about the pain, but whether to keep hacking forward or die on their knees."

She walked to the corner of the shed, where two unlocked wooden boxes were placed.

The box contained a detailed inventory of the cloth swallowed by "Blind Petyr," which William Charlton had compiled overnight.

Maria reached out her right hand and stroked the yellowed papers.

She knew that Steve's men would arrive soon. That cunning uncle would not send just a cartload of silk.

She looked at the bills without feeling any fear.

In the Twins, she was merely livestock to be traded at any time. But here, she discovered that as long as she held these numbers that could cost someone their head, she was the one wielding the butcher's knife.

She turned to look at William behind her.

"William, how many blacksmiths are still able to work in your father's lands?"

William Charlton paused, startled. He was squatting on the ground, wiping Otto's blood-stained riding boots with a cloth.

"There are three more, madam. But Raymond has kept them all in the stables," William replied in a low voice, his voice no longer sharp from puberty, but with a suppressed steadiness.

"Write to your father. Tell him that Blue Fork River needs farm tools repaired, and ask him to find an excuse to 'send' those three blacksmiths to the border."

Maria took a piece of raw silver with salt stains from her waist and threw it into William's arms.

"Once the matter is settled, this silver coin will be your father's tobacco allowance for next month."

William took the silver ingot, the coldness of the metal penetrating his palm.

He looked at Maria, then glanced in the direction of the stone tower. He suddenly realized that in this territory, even the air itself was calculating its price.

---

The drill ground was shrouded in continuous spring rain.

Gareth stood in the mud puddle, holding the old sword that had become dull in his hand.

Opposite him stood veteran Daryl, clad in black fish-scale armor. They made no move, simply standing in a triangle formation in the rain.

"Beep—!"

The bone whistle sounded.

Gareth instinctively tried to lunge forward, but Edric was faster.

The triangular array rotated in the mud, like a millstone covered with barbs.

Gareth's sword tip struck a heavy shield covered in cast iron, producing a harsh scraping sound. Before he could withdraw his sword, the hook-and-sickle spear on the other side had already silently swept towards his ankle.

Gareth stumbled backward. His once-neat cloak was now covered in mud, and a red burn mark from lime powder scalded his left cheek.

"You're too slow, knight," Edric said, his voice muffled as he peered through the gap in his helmet. "You're thinking about whether the other person will feel pain when you stab him. But in the corridor, if you're thinking about that, your head will already be in the sea."

Gareth was breathing heavily. He looked at these veterans who, like him, had names and hometowns.

He felt a deep sense of powerlessness.

"Again," Gareth growled, raising his sword once more.

He no longer pursued flashy slashes, but instead learned to lower his center of gravity and stare intently at the gap in his opponent's throat guard, just like Edric did.

He must grow up.

---

Stone Pagoda Study.

Otto stood in the darkness, looking out the window at the two gray stone walls that were being expanded.

Pollifer entered, holding the Raven's Secret Letter that Maester Elion had just sealed.

"My lord, the scholar has altered the numbers." Pollifer's voice carried a hint of awe. "He has reduced the production of white salt by 50% and has also demanded a batch of expensive preservatives from the Duke."

Otto didn't turn around; his fingers gently traced the cold stone windowsill.

"If he doesn't change, he doesn't deserve to stay in Hohenzollern."

Otto turned around, the light of the oil lamp illuminating the unfathomable cold light in his eyes.

"Steven's men will arrive tomorrow morning. Pollifer, have William greet them at the door. Remember to have him wipe the mud off his face and put on that tattered Charlton burqa."

"We want the people of the Twins to see a destitute hostage, a baron gravely ill from lack of food, and a dilapidated stone fortress that leaks everywhere and can't even afford to repair its battlements."

"Only when they feel we are about to die will they feel safe enough to walk through this door and put their necks in the noose we have prepared."