Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 81: The Scepter of Division and the Seeds of Red Clay

Springtime in the Blue Fork Valley is forcibly ushered in by a strong, pungent smell of boiled raw hides.

On the open ground north of the stone tower, four newly erected cast-iron cauldrons were belching out scalding white smoke. The batch of old cowhides, covered in green mold and transported from the Twins, were being held firmly to the bottom of the cauldrons by long iron hooks. Pine resin, animal fat, and crushed lime churned in the boiling water, emitting waves of a foul stench—a mixture of charred flesh and putrid mold.

Otto Hohenzollern stood upwind. He wore a dark gray wool cloak and leaned on a long stick carved from ash wood in his right hand.

"Sir, the temperature is right. Master Cole said that the skin cooked this way will be harder than stone once it dries, and ordinary arrows can't penetrate it at all."

William Charlton reported in a low voice. He was still wearing that smelly, tattered peasant's coat, but the long black dagger at his waist had been polished to a gleaming shine with a scrap of cloth. He stood half a body length behind Otto, his eyes fixed on the large cauldrons as if they were some kind of monster taking shape.

"Remember this smell, William." Otto didn't turn his head; his voice sounded hollow and cold in the wind. "This is the smell of power. It smells like rotting flesh, but it makes you stand firmer than anyone else in this muddy ground."

"My lord, Raymond Frey's carriage has stopped at the pier." Rosso strode over, his single eye gleaming with a wary glint in the sunlight. "He brought twenty armored soldiers, but no flags. It seems this young master's patience is wearing thin from our letters."

Otto's lips twitched slightly, a cold, emotionless curve.

"Have Polliff wait at the gate of the estate. Don't let him in; meet him in the shed at the dock."

Outside the inner gate of the fortress, the muddy road, now thawed from the ice, was a mess, trampled by horses' hooves.

Raymond Frey sat on horseback, his face ashen. He looked at the farmers, dressed in only thin clothes, digging drainage ditches in the cold mud, and at the thick, oppressive gray stone wall, though not high.

"Where is Lord Hohenzollern?" Raymond dismounted, his boots splashing mud and grime. He didn't look at Polliver who was approaching, but instead gripped the hilt of his sword at his waist.

"My lord is handling urgent business at the saltworks." Pollifer bowed slightly, his manners impeccable, but his eyes held a coldness befitting an actuary. "Lord Raymond, it's still chilly in early spring; why not come to the shed for a hot drink?"

A brazier of charcoal burned in the wooden shed; it was the kind of cheap charcoal mixed with lime residue, producing a lot of smoke that made people's eyes water.

When Otto walked in, William followed behind him.

"Hohenzollern!" Raymond jumped to his feet, not even waiting for Otto to sit down, before slamming several crumpled parchment sheets onto the rough wooden table. "What exactly do you want? What's the meaning of that letter? The matter of 'Blind' Petyr is a mess handled by the Twins' Internal Affairs Department; what does it have to do with you?"

His voice was so loud that it shook dust into the empty wooden shed.

Otto sat down slowly. He didn't look at the notes, but gestured for William to pour him a glass of warm water.

"Lord Raymond, you've misunderstood." Otto took a sip of water, letting the bitter warmth spread in his throat. "I'm not threatening you. I'm trying to help you."

"Help me?" Raymond laughed angrily. "You're coming to me with 'help me' when I have stolen goods right under my nose? If old Wald knew that batch of winter clothes was hidden in the spice merchant's mistress's yard, I'd be hanging from the Twin Towers' drawbridge this afternoon!"

"That's why that batch of cloth couldn't stay in that courtyard any longer."

Otto raised his eyelids, his gray-blue pupils fixed on Raymond.

“Raymond, let’s do the math. That linen is worth three hundred silver deer, but it’s worth nothing now because it can’t be brought to light. Every day it stays in that yard is like a noose around your neck.”

Otto put down his water glass and tapped the table gently with his right hand, the rhythm as steady as an ancient clock.

"Bring it to me. My men will cut it into salt sacks and linings. Once the cloth is reduced to shreds, even the maesters of the Citadel will not recognize it as winter clothing once prepared for the garrison."

Raymond was stunned. He had thought Otto would use this as leverage to force him to give away more food. But to his surprise, Otto proposed to "swallow" the filth.

"What about profits?" Raymond instinctively asked the Frey family's most crucial question.

"You take 60% of the money from selling these 'treated' linen and salt sacks. I'll take 30% to pay for labor and shipping. The remaining 10% will go to 'Blind' Petyr, so he can burn that damned ledger completely."

Otto leaned forward slightly, casting shadows over Raymond's freckled face.

"Raymond, you're not being blackmailed now. You're the dealer in this black market deal. As long as this deal goes through, you'll have a clean sum of cash that the old Marquess doesn't know about. From now on, whether you're buying a better horse in King's Landing or the most beautiful woman in Oldtown, you won't have to worry about your uncles and brothers."

Raymond's breathing became heavy.

"Aren't you afraid I'll tell Jason Mellist about this?" Raymond made a last-ditch effort.

"You can tell him. But by then, your mistress across the hall, and Petyr's receipts, will be on old Walder's table much faster than your words."

Otto spoke in a flat tone, as if he were saying something perfectly natural.

"Raymond, what did the Earl of Seafront give you? He only gave you the drudgery of patrolling the river. But what I can give you is real money and a trouble gone forever."

Dead silence.

Outside the wooden shed, spring rain pattered on the roof, making a dull sound.

Raymond stared intently at Otto, at the much younger yet ruthless baron.

"Five cows. Two hundred bags of pure spring wheat seeds." Raymond sat back down on the stool, his voice hoarse. "I want to see that linen turn into money, every single piece delivered to my back door on time."

"Polliver, this bill is called the 'Spring Riverway Fee'."

Otto turned his head and looked at William Charlton, who had remained silent.

"William, did you see that?"

William looked up.

"I see, sir," William said steadily.

"This is the second lesson you will learn. If you hold someone else's noose, don't rush to strangle him. Instead, weave the noose into a ladder that he can climb, and he will willingly serve you on that ladder."

When Raymond left, his steps were heavy, but the despair he had felt on the verge of collapse when he arrived was gone. He even bowed slightly to Otto before mounting his horse.

"Sir, what about Blackwood..." Pollifer approached, his expression grave.

"Fifteen people have gone missing, and Tethos hasn't gone mad yet, which means he's waiting." Otto looked at the distant forest shrouded in mist. "He's waiting for the Duke's inspector to leave, and also waiting for our food supplies to run out."

Otto's fingers traced the hilt of the sword at his waist.

"Go. Have Cole quench the last batch of hook-and-sickle spearheads. Starting tomorrow, everyone go to the fields. We're going to use those newly bought heavy iron plows to plow a deep dividing line into two miles of 'ceded' land."

"Since Blackwood says it's their land, then I'll use their land to grow Hohenzollern grain."

The next ten days.

Blue Fork Valley has entered an eerie period of bustling activity.

On the southern edge of the birch grove, which Maester Harold had allocated to the Blackwood family, sixteen Iron Oathguard guards stood unarmored. Dressed in grey linen tunics and bare-chested, they stood in pairs, each holding a heavy, 150-pound sturdy plough.

That's not farming.

The tip of the large iron plow was reinforced by Cole. With each stroke, it not only cut through the frozen soil but also produced a series of dull, teeth-grinding sounds as it cut tree roots.

Behind these "farmers" were forty militiamen wielding long oak shields. They were ten paces away from the Black Crow boundary marker, mechanically repeating the actions of "spinning" and "stabbing".

provocative.

A silent provocation.

Otto stood on high ground, watching the Blackwood scouts peeking out from behind the treeline in the distance.

"My lord, their numbers are increasing. This afternoon, I saw at least thirty armored spearmen gathering in the woods."

Jack retreated from the front, his light cavalry scouts' hooves covered in red mud from the south.

"They brought kerosene. It seems they don't plan to wait until after spring planting is over."

Otto sneered. He took the heavy helmet from William, but didn't fasten it; he just held it in his arms.

"He couldn't wait any longer. Because he discovered that in the two weeks after those fifteen people disappeared, we not only didn't starve to death, but we also started turning over the soil in 'his territory'."

"Polliver."

"Yes, sir."

"Take out those good hides that were just brought back and haven't developed green mold. Have the farmers stuff hay and quicklime into the hides to make fifty lifelike 'dummies.' Dress them in tattered clothes and scatter them in the furrow that has already been turned over in the south."

Otto turned around.

"Since Tethos wants to set fire, I'll leave him a pile of hay and quicklime. When the fire is burning, I'll let his spearmen run into Edric's hooks in that muddy ditch they think they know so well."

William Charlton stands on the stone tower.

He looked at the "dummies" being made, and at the haystacks wrapped in quicklime and dried leather.

He touched the long, black dagger at his waist.

"Sir, the first row of dummies is in place." For the first time, William's voice carried excitement.

"Just you wait and see, William."

Otto patted his shoulder hard, so hard that it made his shoulder ache.

"When the sun rises tomorrow, there will be thirty more sets of old chainmail belonging to the Blackwood family on the Blue Fork's tents."

Spring thunder rumbled dully behind the clouds.

The first spring rain fell.

Instead of washing away the bloody smell from the soil, it allowed the stench of rust and quicklime to drift along the southern river all the way to the spires of Raventree City.