Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 80: The Whetstone Called "Servant"

The mornings in the Blue Fork Valley are awakened by the piercing sound of grinding iron.

The spring chill lingered, and melting ice water seeped into the cracks of the stone tower, freezing into yellowish icicles halfway down its length.

Inside the armory at the bottom of the stone tower, two braziers of charcoal were emitting a faint red glow.

The air was thick with the smells of aged grease, iron powder, and a lingering, unwashable, sweet, and pungent odor of the dead.

Twelve-year-old William Charlton knelt on the cold stone floor.

His original velvet robe embroidered with green oak branches had long since become fire starter material. Now he was wrapped in a patched-up coarse linen armor, with a stiff cowhide belt around his waist.

Before him lay fifteen pieces of chainmail stripped from the Blackwood Rangers.

The armor plates were torn to shreds by the spears, the iron rings were twisted together, and dried blood clots filled every crevice.

"Put in more effort. Adults don't like to see lazy cowards."

Chief Steward Polliff leaned against a stone pillar, fiddling with a charcoal pencil with a brittle end in his hand.

His serpentine eyes swept over William's thin shoulders, his voice as cold as the icy rain outside the window.

William did not look up.

He gripped a cast iron brush mixed with coarse sand in his right hand and frantically rubbed it against the broken collar of the chainmail.

Three months ago, William Charlton would vomit because of this stench.

But William now understands that in the adult world, tears are the cheapest wastewater in the sewer.

---

"Crunch—"

The heavy oak door of the stone chamber was pushed open, and Otto Hohenzollern walked in.

He wasn't wearing that flamboyant baron's suit, but rather a dark gray waterproof cloak.

"grown ups."

Pollifer immediately stood up straight.

William stopped brushing, knelt down, and pressed his forehead against the cold ground.

"grown ups."

Otto walked up to William, looking down at the child he had personally dragged from the comforts of aristocracy into the mire.

The boy's eyes no longer held the initial fear, but instead a hollowness born of extreme repression.

"How many items were washed and cleaned?"

Otto spoke, his voice perfectly still without any inflection.

"Reporting to you, eleven pieces. As for the remaining four, the iron rings were broken too badly, and I'm using pliers to re-bite the broken ends, just as Master Cole taught me."

Otto bent down and took a long, jet-black dagger from his waist.

Those were spoils of war seized from the Pike Town corridor.

"Take it."

Otto threw the dagger in front of William.

"From this day forward, you are no longer a prisoner who washes latrines. You are my squire. Your duty is to polish my armor, lead my horse and guard my back in times of war. If I die, you are responsible for bringing my seal back to the lady; if I survive, you are responsible for slitting the throat of every enemy who tries to attack me from behind."

William stared intently at the dagger on the ground.

He stretched out his trembling right hand and suddenly grabbed the cold handle.

"Understood, sir."

Otto straightened up and turned to look at Polyver.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready, sir."

Pollifer pulled a new register from his sleeve.

"Of the thirty refugees who signed a 'death pact' for that piece of salted fish during that winter famine, only twenty-four are still able to walk. They've consumed all the lard the territory had used up all winter; now it's time for them to settle their accounts."

This group of laborers were disaster victims attracted by the abundance of food in the territory after winter.

To avoid being driven into the snowstorm, they volunteered to become shadow actors.

"Take these 'shadow figures' with you. Toren, lead the team out."

---

The inner gate of the fortress swung open with a loud bang, accompanied by the grinding sound of teeth grinding.

The spring rain after the ice melts is like a silent funeral.

Otto mounted a gray packhorse.

Behind him stood thirty elite "Iron Oath Corps" soldiers, neatly armed and resembling iron towers.

Edric led the way, holding his gleaming hook-and-sickle spear level in his hand.

At the very back of the line were twenty-four "vagrants" dressed in tattered clothes, their faces blank.

They carried a thick, newly sharpened fir stake, their bare, bruised ankles bare, two people at a time.

William Charlton led Otto's spare horse, walking beside the lord.

He had the black dagger at his waist, his gaze fixed on the muddy road ahead.

---

The group traveled about two miles before stopping at the edge of the birch forest that had been cleared away.

The black crow boundary marker still stands there arrogantly.

The wood was coated with preservative tar, which gleamed black in the drizzle.

Behind the boundary marker, five Rangers wearing Blackwood cloaks were huddled under a thatched hut to shelter from the rain.

The lead knight saw Otto and stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Lord Hohenzollern, have you forgotten Sir Harold's measurements? If you go any further, you will be trampling on the Blackwood family's pastures."

Otto ignored him.

He sat steadily on his horse, and gently waved his right hand.

"Pull it out."

Two veterans of the Iron Oath Regiment stepped forward, yanked the piece of wood that represented humiliation out of the tree, and threw it into the ditch next to them.

"You dare!"

The Knight of Blackwood was enraged and drew his longsword with his right hand.

"Beep—!"

Torun blew the bone whistle.

Thirty heavily armored guards moved.

Edric led the first group, cutting into the front of the thatched hut in a very small fan shape.

Three heavy shields locked in the rain, and the tips of the hook-and-sickle spears were all pointed at the five rangers.

Otto spurred his horse forward, looking down at the knight from his elevated position.

"His Excellency the Duke's ruling is 'ten li each way.' Last year's boundary official measured the area incorrectly, so I brought my own people today to measure it again."

Otto pointed to the twenty-four "death contract refugees" behind him carrying new wooden stakes.

"This mile is the interest the Blackwood family owes me for 'blind grass.' From today onward, the boundary marker will be moved five hundred paces south. For every additional horse carcass you poison, I will move it another hundred paces south."

"Go back and tell Theodore."

Otto turned his horse around, his voice sounding particularly cold in the rain.

"I don't care about the Old Gods or the Seven Gods. I only care about my territory. If he has any objections, let him bring his spearmen over here in this birch forest, and we'll settle the score."

---

The rain intensified.

The newly erected boundary markers stood proudly in the wind.

William stood beside the first boundary marker, wiping the rain from his face, his right hand gripping the hilt of the dagger at his waist.

As he watched the Blackwood Rangers flee in panic, he suddenly realized something.

In this territory, what the adults gave him was not a job, but a lust for power that could make the once high and mighty nobles tremble before him.

"Back to the city."

Otto gave the order.

On this day, the Blue Fork River gained an extra mile of land, and also gained a servant reborn from the blood and mud.