Lion's Cub I 007 High Stack II
High Stack II
1 Citadel
As the remnants of last night's rain dampened the cobblestones, Crestor's party broke through the morning mist and passed through the 'Golden Gate,' the eastern main gate of Lannisport. Six cavalrymen were followed by four sumpter horses, the sound of their hooves ringing crisply against the stone.
Straddling a chestnut hobby horse, Crestor pulled at the collar of his worn, brownish-faded buff coat. He adjusted the position where his gambeson, worn underneath, met his iron breastplate. Though he was dressed in light armor, his preparations for any contingency signaled that the purpose of the journey ahead was not merely a social call.
Riding alongside him on a piebald rouncy was Voltec, captain of the Princess's guard. With his stern expression, black beard, and sun-tanned face, he was a seasoned guard who had kept his travel gear light, just as Crestor had instructed. Wearing a dark gray cloak, he seemed uneasy in his gambeson, his eyes scanning the surroundings vigilantly. Behind them, the medium-height, black-haired Sergeant Matt and the lean, dark-brown-haired Chest were also handling their horses capably in light gear suited for long-distance travel. They were household guards and, while unaccustomed to field duty, they seemed to be managing well enough.
Following them was the young scout Zarfe, wrapped in a grass-colored hooded cloak. Clad in a gambeson reinforced with hardened leather, he quietly calmed his mare, a hobby horse. Among the scouts under the forest warden's command, he was the only one who happened to be near Lannisport. Though still young and in the process of mastering horse and sword, he was a young man with a broad perspective and natural aptitude as a scout.
Crestor looked back and gave a small nod. It was a solid, well-disciplined platoon, if not a flashy one.
At the rear of the column was Pale-Sherwood, riding a mare rouncy. Despite claiming he couldn't spare any soldiers directly employed by his trading company, he had insisted on joining, joking that 'the company head is idle anyway.' He likely wanted to see for himself the reality of the Stackspear lands, a vital source of timber. Not only was he well-versed in the local geography and internal affairs, but the reddish-brown buff coat he wore and the hatchet at his waist marked him as a timber merchant who valued practical experience.
The four sumpter horses followed the six riders obediently.
At the time of departure, the squire Vildon had been left in the care of the 'Burning Forest' trading company's head clerk, pouting with great dissatisfaction. However, he was still too young to be taken out to the dangerous frontier. It was decided he would learn horse care and bookkeeping at the company instead.
Crestor looked ahead and gave his horse a light kick.
As Princess Jeyne had told him, Lord Tytos had appointed Ser Crave Crakehall, commander of the Lannisport City Watch, as the person in charge of the search.
Ordering a unit tasked with urban defense and maintaining public order to conduct a search in the countryside was hardly an ideal choice, but there was no doubting Ser Crakehall's enthusiasm. The day before yesterday, huffing with intensity, he had set out for the Stackspear lands leading fifty cavalrymen, an equal number of soldiers, and pack horses. The Stackspear family would likely be overwhelmed by the response.
The party traveled east along the 'Gold Road,' moving at a walk for four days through the rolling hills typical of the Westerlands, and stayed at the post town 'Sweeping Hill' along the road. Up to this point, the road was paved, and they were able to get sufficient rest.
At the inn, they bought large bags of oats and loaded them onto the pack horses.
Leaving this post town, they turned off the Gold Road and headed south. From here on, it was a dirt road, and within a day, they would enter the hilly region north of the Stackspear lands.
As they traveled south, passing through green pastures and rye fields, crossing slow-moving streams and ponds, they passed through several hamlets.
“...Summer is coming to an end, Ser Crestor.”
Voltec said, looking up at the sky.
“This area isn't exactly poor; it's blessed with water sources and fertile land. You'd think the villages would be more vibrant. It's as if a plague had swept through.”
“Something worse than a plague might be lurking. I'm counting on you.”
The bearded sergeant seemed to be enjoying this mission that had allowed him to escape Casterly Rock. The two guards were not particularly skilled with horses, but they were managing well enough. Zarfe the scout and Pale the merchant had no issues with horsemanship.
Before long, the dirt road led the party out of the hilly region and into the forest. Once they cleared this woodland, they would reach the marshlands that were the heart of the Stackspear territory.
Emerging from the forest, the view opened up abruptly. What spread out before them was a vast expanse of water reflecting the leaden sky. It was 'Reedmere,' the center of the Stackspear lands. And in the middle of the shallows toward the north of the lake sat 'High Stack.'
It was less of a castle and more of a giant fist placed upon the surface of the lake. A lonely island of darkened basalt. The rock walls rose some two hundred feet from the water, giving off a heavy presence and a somewhat nonchalant impression. Because the surrounding area was a marshy lake, those walls would be even more formidable than their height suggested.
There were hawk nests here and there, and hawks circled sharply around the rocky mountain. Their screeching cries momentarily pierced the heavy atmosphere of the waterfront.
Looking up, at the very top of the rock mass, a ringfort made of gray stone had been built. It looked like a crude stone crown placed upon a giant's head.
Compared to Casterly Rock, it was nothing more than a small rocky mountain. But looking up from the lake, one could see that the fist of rock was a fortress not to be underestimated.
“...Quite a view.”
Voltec let out a sound that was neither an exclamation of wonder nor a sigh as he looked up.
“...Let's go.”
Crestor kicked his horse's flanks.
There was neither a landing nor a bridge on the northern shore. The only path to the castle was a single shallow crossing hidden beneath the water's surface. The horses entered the water. The sound of them splashing through the surface echoed across the silent lake. The water was barely knee-deep for the horses, but the bottom was deep with mud, threatening to trap their feet. Splashes hit Crestor's military boots, and the damp, algae-like smell peculiar to the lake stung his nose. The 'rock mass' blocking their path grew darker as they approached, casting a night-like shadow over the party even though it was midday.
Moving through the shallows, they finally reached the foot of the rocky mountain. The ground here was paved with stone, and he felt relieved to have solid footing. The area in front of the gate was a small plaza, and directly ahead stood a large 'Iron Gate' built into a natural fissure in the rock. The thick oak doors were closed, and the iron bars, which might have once shone black, were covered in red rust from years of humidity, with the parts near the waterline thickly coated in green moss.
“It is remarkably deserted.”
Voltec whispered. In normal times, the gate would be open, and there would usually be a fair amount of traffic in the area.
Pail pointed to the southern shore on the opposite side.
“The settlement on the opposite bank is the center of this region. There is a landing on the south side of this rocky mountain, and goods are brought in by river boat from that settlement. Timber merchants and fur traders hold their business meetings in that village and float their rafts down to Lannisport.”
While listening to Pail's explanation, he noticed horseshoe prints left on the surrounding cobblestones.
“Are these tracks left by boars trampling the ground?”
A stone watchtower was built above the iron gate, and two guards holding spears stood there. They were wearing surcoats with the 'checkered silver and gold pattern' of House Stackspear, and their voices rang out, challenging the party as they crossed the lake and approached.
“Who goes there! State your names!”
Crestor straightened his back on his horse and put strength into his throat.
“I am Lord Crestor Yew, an envoy from Casterly Rock. I have come on behalf of Lord Tytos to inquire after Lord Walmon's health.”
Captain Matt dismounted, approached the iron gate with the golden lion seal, and held it up in front of the observation hole in the thick oak door.
“Understood! You may enter!”
The guard opened the iron gate. Beyond the gate, he could see a zigzagging staircase carved into the rock face, leading far up overhead. It was a steep stone staircase. Attackers would be easy prey for arrows and falling rocks from above while climbing these stairs. This natural fortress must have been invincible against sword and spear attacks.
(But no matter how sturdy a rocky mountain is, if the inside cracks, it will crumble and shatter.)
Crestor, Voltec, and Matt left the party to climb these stone stairs. As the three of them passed through the iron gate, the door closed behind them with a dull thud.
Climbing the stairs in the rock crevice and reaching the paved plaza halfway up, they were met by four knights wearing surcoats with 'black spears crossed over checkered silver and gold,' the emblem of House Stackspear. All four were young men of medium height and stocky build, holding black wooden spears. There was no friendliness in their gazes.
“I wish to request an audience with Lord Walmon.”
Crestor requested an audience once more.
As the young knights of House Stackspear approached, they looked almost childish. They all had the typical Stackspear build—not tall, but sturdy—and they looked up at him slightly.
The knight who seemed to be their captain frowned, stepped forward, and spoke with visible wariness.
“What is your business, day after day? Yesterday, a search party with a warrant from Lord Tytos stormed this castle, demanding we tell the truth and cooperate with their investigation with an arrogant attitude. I believe we already told you then that Lord Walmon is ill and cannot receive visitors.”
He felt a slight wave of dizziness. It seemed that the boar captain had treated House Stackspear, a bannerman, as if he were conducting an 'interrogation'.
“Did the search party stop by? We are special envoys here to 'inquire after his health.' Lord Tytos is deeply concerned about Lord Walmon's condition and has sent me to see if there is anything we can do to help.”
He tried his best to explain the position of this mission calmly.
The young knight seemed slightly relieved by those words, but immediately snorted in displeasure.
“What is your business now, after all this time?”
"Excuse me. May I have your name?"
Crestor asked calmly.
"I am Ser Aymond Stackspear. Heir to this Highstack, and bearer of the honor of Captain of the Guard."
The young knight replied, puffing out his chest.
(...It is too early for him to be acting like an heir.)
Seeing the young knight acting haughty, Crestor suddenly challenged him in a high-handed manner.
"The reason we have come is not merely to pay our respects. What is the meaning of this lack of response to Lord Tytos's personal letter, which offered support and requested the cessation of excessive taxation? It is rude. I demand an answer immediately."
"W-who is the rude one here? When the silver mine flooded, our request for a loan from your grandfather was rejected, and our messenger was not even granted an audience. To us, who have been loyal subjects since ancient times, is Lord Tytos not only lacking in valor but also incredibly rude?"
Aymond retorted emotionally to the sudden interrogation.
"Casterly Rock is not aware of any such situation."
Crestor, hiding his confusion at Aymond's statement, replied with a cold, bureaucratic excuse.
"How dare you play dumb. After treating Lord Morell's mediation as if it were a door slammed in our faces... Bah, we do not need the support of House Lannister. We already have friends."
Aymond spat out, his face turning red.
"Lord Aymond, that is a rude way to speak."
A man stepped out from the line of soldiers behind them, soothing Aymond as he came forward.
He was a merchant-like man with blonde hair and a thin face, wearing a tunic dyed purple. A grey stag brooch was pinned to his chest. The man placed a hand familiarly on Aymond's shoulder.
"A pleasure to meet you, envoy of House Lannister. I am a financial advisor commissioned by Lord Walmon. I am currently working with Lord Aymond to lead the response to the silver mine restoration."
He bowed politely, but his blue eyes were not smiling.
Just as Crestor was about to say something, Aymond, having regained his composure, spoke politely once more.
"Thank you for your trouble in traveling so far. As I said, my grandfather has stated he cannot see you."
"...Is that truly Lord Walmon's heart?"
When Crestor asked probing, the merchant-like man replied again.
"His Lordship is a loyal and proud man. He is working with Lord Aymond to restore the silver mine without causing trouble for House Lannister. I am merely assisting in that."
Aymond listened to the man's explanation with a sullen expression. His face was set as if he were deeply troubled.
Crestor interrupted the merchant-like man's story and raised his voice.
"A tax collector for House Lannister, Warden of the West, has gone missing in the Stackspear lands. A search party has already been dispatched, but we will also conduct a certain amount of investigation within the territory. Furthermore, the progress regarding the double taxation must be withdrawn immediately. As for alternative measures..."
This time, Aymond interrupted and answered.
"Do not worry, the taxation issue has already been resolved. In the first place, the right to tax is a matter that belongs to the Stackspear house as lords of the land. I appreciate Lord Tytos's advice, but I ask that you refrain from any further concern. As for patrolling the territory, since you have Lord Tytos's seal, I cannot refuse, but please leave within a few days."
"...If you insist that much, I will give up on the audience and withdraw. Regarding the investigation, I will visit the village in question and then take my leave within a few days."
He stopped questioning the young man's rudeness. Within the territory, taxation, like judicial matters, is the independent authority of the lord. He could not interfere any further.
"Let's go."
Crestor called out to Voltec and Matt and turned on his heel. The expressions of the young Stackspear knights, who stared down at the party descending the stone steps, were stiff and dark.
They descended the zigzag stairs and joined the party that had been waiting. They followed the shallows and emerged on the north bank of Reedmere. As they bypassed the eastern shore of the lake, he rode alongside Voltec and Pale and spoke.
"It is impossible for Lord Tytos to refuse a request for support from Lord Walmon."
Voltec spat out indignantly.
"It has been confirmed that there was a 'flooding of the silver mine' and that a request for support was made to Casterly Rock."
Crestor muttered thoughtfully.
(This connects it all now.)
"That young brat insulted Lord Tytos as 'lacking in valor.' To make such insulting remarks about a lord to a special envoy is unforgivable."
Voltec growled.
Crestor gave a bitter smile. It was a common sentiment in the Westerlands.
"Perhaps he is a follower of the 'Red Lion,' as is common among young knights. Lord Walmon's poor health is likely true, but the house is clearly divided."
(The flooding of the mine. And, Morell's intervention, that man of the "Grey Stag")
Crestle turned around and cast his gaze toward the merchant to his rear right.
"Pale, there was a merchant wearing the crest of the 'Grey Stag.' Do you know his true identity?"
Pale frowned before nodding with a look of distaste.
"The 'Grey Stag,' you say? Yes, I am familiar with them. That would be the 'Redden Stag'| Trading Company."
"The 'Redden Stag'|? I've never heard of them. Whose banner-man are they?"
Voltek furrowed his brows in suspicion.
"They are not banner-men, but a merchant guild's trademark. The 'Redden Stag'| Trading Company. They originated as a guild dealing in deer hides, but their primary business now is usury and hostile takeovers. They approach struggling merchant guilds or minor nobles suffering from debt with a friendly face, only to lend them money at exorbitant interest rates. And when repayment stalls, they strip away the land and rights held as collateral down to the very last bit. A man named Havi Lannister serves as the guild master, but because of his dirty tactics, decent merchants refuse to deal with them."
"Havi Lannister... I don't know him."
Crestle searched his memory. He was familiar with all the timber and fur merchants doing business in Lannisport, but he had no recollection of this name at all. They likely hadn't traded in furs for many generations.
"One more thing. Morell's name came up as an intermediary."
When Crestle explained his exchange with Aemond, Pale fell silent. It seemed he, too, had grasped the full picture of the series of events.
Morell Lannett. One of the three treasurers of Casterly Rock, and the head of an emerging merchant guild who sits at the lowest seat of the Lannisport Council. He is one of the so-called "Gold-Seat Faction" who make their living through usury.
It is a guess, but when Lord Walmon sought support from Lord Tytos, it was likely crushed by Morell, the intermediary.
The good-natured Lord Walmon did not protest to Lord Tytos and decided to seek funding on his own. It was the 'Redden Stag'| Trading Company that preyed upon House Stackspear. They must have wormed their way in under the guise of supporting the restoration of the silver mines, taking over management rights and proxy tax collection.
" 'We already have friends,' is it?"
Crestle repeated Aemond's words and snorted.
"That young fool seems to have invited a viper into the bosom of 'High Stack'|."
Voltek muttered bitterly.
Pale lowered his voice.
"The 'Redden Stag'| Trading Company hires foreign mercenaries to handle their collections. I've heard rumors of mercenaries from Pentos and Tyrosh; they are men who will stop at nothing, including violence, to collect debts. ...Lord Crestle, if they are acting as tax collectors, the villages must be in a miserable state."
"In any case, we must go to the site."
Crestle lightly kicked his horse's flanks. He had planned to stay overnight at the 'Reedmere'| settlement, but decided to cut the schedule short. The investigation period he promised Aemond was a few days. Their destination was the frontier village where Norwin was last seen.
2 Settlement
The faint sunlight of the late summer's overcast sky was blocked by the gloomy trees, and the party traveling through the forest marched silently while breathing in the cold, damp air. The lead-colored clouds covering the sky hung heavily, and the sunlight, which should have been reaching its zenith soon, was unreliable. In this deep forest, the soil, soaked by rain from quite some time ago, had not dried, turning into a muddy path; the horses' hooves sank into the mud on what was a narrow forest road in name only.
"A government official traveled this road with only one guard?"
Voltek muttered in disbelief. As a seasoned guard, he seemed to smell something beyond mere ignorance in such recklessness. This forest road was narrow, and the mud caught the hooves, preventing any increase in speed. Visibility was poor, and they would be defenseless if there were attackers lurking in the brush.
Voltek gave the order, raised the cheek guard of his half-helm, and held up his horn lantern|. He rode at the front himself, had Chest secure Crestle's right side while carrying a large shield. Matt guarded the rear, Pale skillfully handled the reins to lead the pack horses, and the hunter Zarfe followed at the very back. The party maintained their formation while remaining vigilant, passing through the forest at a brisk pace.
Around here, the terrain in the southwest of the Stackspear territory became rugged, shifting from hilly areas to mountainous regions. Once they cleared the forest, the landscape became one where cold villages were scattered across rocky, mountainous terrain. It was a region where there were no longer even dirt roads, but the party continued on silently in formation.
The destination settlement was as quiet as if the entire village had died out.
It was a small moated settlement of about thirty households. Because wolves roamed the surrounding area, they tried to protect the settlement with crude fences, embankments, and a shallow moat. The surrounding fields were neglected, but it appeared that root vegetables and the like had been grown there.
"...This looks like a village of the dead. I don't expect much in the way of dinner, either."
Voltek furrowed his brows as he surveyed the settlement.
Crestle dismounted without a sound, led his horse by the reins, and pushed open the crude gate of the moated settlement. There were no gatekeepers, and the thin wooden door opened with an unpleasant grating sound.
Upon entering the settlement, the scars of the looting that had struck this land a few weeks prior had been washed away by the rain. However, the houses that had burned down and were now exposing their black skeletons, the remnants of daily life sunk into the mud, and the way the villagers were casting fearful gazes from the shadows spoke eloquently of what had happened here.
The young hunter Zarfe was investigating the state of a house that had become vacant. Crestle signaled to him, instructing him not to provoke the frightened villagers.
"Lord Crestle, this way."
The voice of Pale the merchant called out from behind.
As Crestor approached the sound of the voice, Pail pointed to the floor in front of the barn. What remained on the cracked brick floor were horseshoe prints. Judging by the number, there were at least ten of them. They were military horse shoes.
“It seems Lord Crakehall has already been to this settlement.”
Pail was meticulously counting the number and size of the horseshoe prints.
It appeared that those boars had ridden their horses right into the settlement without a care.
He sighed and asked the young scout.
“Zalfe, the number of villagers is too low. Did they flee, or were they taken away?”
(There are no bloodstains or corpses. They weren't killed. They either fled on their own or were forced to walk.)
“Besides the fresh horseshoe prints, there are relatively old footprints of a large group of people. They lead out of the settlement and head south.”
The hunter had a keen eye for the tracks of his prey.
“What about the stride?”
He followed up with another question.
“The stride was... I believe it was normal.”
The young hunter stumbled over his words.
“Check it again. Whether they fled or were taken away, that will give us the answer.”
He gave further instructions. Zalfe saluted, turned on his heel, and ran out of the settlement.
He passed through the row of quiet houses and headed toward the back of the settlement.
The village chief's house had its door closed. After Voltec knocked on the door several times and shouted that he was an envoy of Lord Lannister, the sound of a bolt being drawn finally echoed. The person who peeked through the gap in the door was an old man, thin as a withered tree, with only his eyes gleaming strangely.
“Please, spare me from any more questioning. I have nothing to tell you.”
The old man looked terrified.
“I apologize for the trouble. It will be over quickly.”
Crestor smiled lightly and stepped into the village chief's house. The frightened village chief spoke little, complaining that he had already been interrogated for a long time by a large captain of a search party the other day, and he looked exhausted.
Crestor, along with the gentle Pail, listened to his story and asked about Norwin's actions in chronological order.
When asked about the document he had shown Norwin, the village chief shook his head.
“It was a document of the produce this settlement had turned in, but... it was confiscated by Lord Crakehall.”
“What kind of exchange did you have with Norwin?”
He asked slowly in a calm voice.
“...He compared the ledger with the document and said it was strange that the numbers matched.”
He caught Pail's eye. It is rare for the produce turned in by a settlement to match the tax ledger perfectly. This is because errors, such as spoilage, are common.
“Anything else?”
Pail urged him on.
“...No, nothing in particular...”
The village chief would not meet his eyes.
He felt that the man was hiding something, but he did not press him and moved the conversation forward.
“...May I see the granary?”
Behind the village chief's house was the only stone warehouse in the settlement. He was told this was the grain warehouse where they stored their harvest.
Voltec pushed open the heavy oak door. The sound of rusty hinges creaking echoed, and the group stepped into the not-so-spacious warehouse. Following the brick floor illuminated by the light, there were only a few rough hemp sacks piled up in the back. They likely contained seed grain.
“...This is terrible. There is nothing left to eat until the next harvest.”
Voltec muttered in a low voice. The village chief stood frozen, his eyes welling with tears.
“They took everything, didn't they?”
Pail peered into the hemp sack and grimaced.
"Is this everything?"
As Crestle asked quietly, the village head, who had been cowering behind him, nodded repeatedly with tear-filled eyes.
"Yes... the tax collectors arrived in carriages and took everything... we won't be able to survive the winter like this."
Crestle did not respond to the village head's lament and walked silently to the center of the warehouse. Holding a horn lantern, he carefully examined the reddish-brown brick floor. The floor was cracked in places and covered in dirty mud and dust.
His gaze stopped when he felt something amiss at a certain spot. He removed the cover of the horn lantern and illuminated the area directly with the flame of the tallow candle. In one spot, the mud was unnaturally interrupted, as if someone had wiped it away with their finger.
"...Village head. What was Norwin doing in this place?"
At Crestle's flat, emotionless question, the village head trembled. Perhaps the terror of that time had resurfaced, as his voice was shaking.
"Y-yes... That person was counting the remaining bags of wheat over and over again right there..."
"Is that all?"
He knelt on one knee and carefully traced a small groove in a crack in the brick with his bare fingertip, having removed his leather glove. The mud in the groove was fresh. Was this where something had been dug up?
"Did he pick up anything here?"
"Ah..."
The village head gasped and fell silent. His eyes darted around.
"I'll ask you again. Did he pick up anything?"
He stared intently at the frightened village head.
"I-I cannot answer that, the tax collectors will..."
"This village is recorded as having thirty households. But looking outside, there are only a few people left, including you. What happened to the rest of the people? Did they scatter because they couldn't endure the harsh taxation?"
Crestle pressed him. The village head's gaze shifted toward the north.
"I want to confirm one last thing. Was it the knights of Duke Stackspear who were in charge of collecting taxes for this village?"
"Please, have mercy, the 'Tiger' will come again, please, I beg you...!"
The moment the village head said those words, he realized his mistake, covered his mouth, and backed away. His exaggerated gestures spoke of a terror that went beyond words.
(...But something is missing.)
Crestle stared at the old man with his gray eyes. Even though he should have been terrified to the point of extreme fear, the only scent drifting from the man was that of mud and tallow; there was no sour smell characteristic of cold sweat.
In the Stackspear territory, which was not under direct imperial control, there was a limit to how much he could force the villagers to testify. Crestle stood up slowly and brushed the dust off his knees. He pondered while keeping his gaze fixed on the village head.
Norwin had likely found some "decisive evidence" on the floor of this warehouse while checking the inventory.
(The tax collectors are not Stackspear soldiers, they are the 'Tiger.' And, most likely, many of the villagers have been taken away somewhere.)
"Let's go."
Crestle turned on his heel. Inside the warehouse, where the cold wind blew through, there was nothing left that could pique his interest.
"There is nothing left to see here."
3 Silver Mine
The party left the frontier settlement and proceeded quietly at a walk through the rocky, mountainous terrain. Zalf, the scout in the lead, followed the traces suggesting a group had moved through.
After a while, they saw horsemen kicking up dust as they approached from the east. There were five of them.
“Take cover at the cliff to the front left, dismount, place your shields on the ground, and ready your bows.”
Crestle gave the order. Voltek shouted to hurry his men along. Each of them took their round shields off the pack horses.
Crestle strung his yew longbow and pulled his quiver from his waist. Since there was a convenient cliff, it would serve as a defensive wall. The six of them quickly set up a defensive formation.
However, seeing the banner held by the approaching cavalry, Crestle clicked his tongue. The banner of the “Golden Lion.” They were also vassals of House Lannister.
“...Stand down. They are allies.”
It seemed they had been intercepted by a detachment of Lord Crakehall’s search party. They were the last people he wanted to meet, even more than the “tigers” lurking in the forest.
A man who appeared to be the leader of the detachment called out his name loudly from horseback.
“We are on a search mission by order of Lord Tytos! Disarm immediately and submit to questioning. I am Desmond, of the Fen Wood...”
“We are also special envoys of Lord Tytos. I would ask you to refrain from that haughty tone.”
Crestle, weary, cut off the speech and pulled a seal from his pocket, holding it up.
“I have not heard that Lord Tytos issued a search warrant to anyone other than us. This cannot be ignored.”
The bearded knight of the “Fen Wood,” wearing black chainmail, tried to intimidate them from horseback in a confrontational manner.
Crestle cast a cold gaze at him.
“We are on a ‘top secret’ mission. Lord Crakehall should be aware of the circumstances. If you force an unnecessary delay, you will be smearing mud on his face.”
“...I will verify this.”
Desmond, intimidated by the name of his superior, pulled on his horse’s reins. While checking the offered seal, he watched the party’s expressions, but after looking it over several times, he returned it.
At that moment, they saw another cavalry unit approaching from the west. If they stayed with Lord Crakehall, they would be detained for a full day.
“This is an urgent mission. We can verify this later at Casterly Rock.”
Crestle announced this unilaterally and, ignoring the detachment, signaled his men to depart.
“Wait.”
Desmond still tried to stop them, moving his horse’s head into their path.
Crestle stared at the black-clad knight with gray eyes and said in a low voice.
“If you detain us here, the next time we meet will be in the courts of Casterly Rock.”
Perhaps intimidated, Desmond reluctantly cleared the path.
“Let’s go! Don’t dawdle!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Voltek gave the order. The party slipped past the cavalry and spurred their horses to the east.
They slipped past the front of the detachment and marched at a trot. They put distance between them before the others could change their minds.
“Good grief,”
Voltek muttered, sounding fed up.
Once they were out of sight of the search party, they slowed their pace and turned their course to the southeast. The footprints of the group from the settlement that Zalf had been tracking had disappeared halfway. However, judging by the stride, he said he could see traces of a group moving on foot. If they were forced to move as a group in this direction, their destination was limited.
“We are heading to the flooded silver mine, ‘Cotter’s Hollow’.”
He quietly told the platoon their destination.
There was no doubt that a flooding accident had occurred at the silver mine. However, restoring it would be extremely difficult. Even Crestle, who was not an expert, knew that maintaining the drainage channels to pump out the water was a major challenge. He did not believe that the “Lead Stag” trading company, originally fur merchants, possessed that technology. If they could do it, it would only be by mobilizing a large number of people to force the water out.
Revealing what was happening at the silver mine would likely reveal the full scope of this disturbance.
After a while, the journey to Cotter's Hollow became a steep mountain path, the road narrowing until it eventually led into a deep forest.
The party marched silently along the mountain path in the forest. Although it was a clear day, the sun did not reach them, blocked by the gloomy trees of this deep forest. The dirt path was dry, but it grew even narrower, becoming the width of a game trail.
As the forest grew deeper, the sense of unease intensified. Furrowing his brow, he focused all his nerves on his ears and kept a watchful eye on his surroundings.
…It is too quiet.
Normally, a deep forest is filled with various sounds and signs of life. However, the birds' songs had vanished, and only the sound of the wind echoed eerily. There were no signs of the beasts that should have been there. It was the aftermath of something passing through.
As a forest ranger, Crestel had spent his days patrolling vast forests, cracking down on poachers, and watching over the growth of the trees.
Making a living by roaming the forest as if sniffing out the presence of 'intruders' who would ravage it, he was more sensitive to such signs than anyone else. Zalf, the hunter who served as his right-hand man, seemed to have sensed something as well, as he brought his horse closer to convey his unease. Crestel raised his right hand to halt their movement.
Perhaps sensing the oppressive nature of the narrow, low-visibility path, Voltek switched the formation to a double file and instructed the riders on the right to hold their round shields in their right hands.
Crestel placed his hand on the hilt of the longsword at his waist, then checked the string of the yew cavalry bow he carried on his back. His family was a branch of the Yew house, which had produced master archers for generations since ancient times. While Crestel was also skilled with a longsword, he never grew overconfident, thanks to having someone exceptional like Harwood nearby.
(I can leave the sword-swinging to him.)
The air in the forest changed. The wind shifted, and the scent of a 'foreign object' slightly mixed in from upwind struck his nose. It was the smell of something that was not a beast.
“...Voltek, return to the previous formation. Single file.”
Crestel gave the order quietly, but in a firm tone.
“In this terrain?”
Voltek protested, but Crestel stopped him with a look.
Voltek instantly grasped his intent and returned to a single-file formation with gaps between them. The party slowed their pace and proceeded with sluggish movements.
“Are we being watched?”
Voltek asked without breaking his natural demeanor.
“If we continue like this, we will likely be surrounded. They are probably the ones who caused the 'Norwin Disappearance'.”
Crestel said while gently pulling on the reins.
“The terrain favors them, damn it.”
Voltek casually placed his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
“But they are foolish 'tigers' to lie in wait upwind.”
He scanned the surrounding thickets sharply, but the enemy was nowhere to be seen. However, the wind on his cheeks and the smell in his nose confirmed that someone was indeed lurking there.
Crestel smiled faintly.
(It seems there is something they really do not want seen at the silver mine.)
Crestel turned his horse around.
“...There is no need to force it here.”
(I will settle the remaining issues in Lannisport.)
The flooding accident at the silver mine, the whereabouts of the reports and requests for support, the obstruction of the investigation, the behind-the-scenes maneuvering of the 'Lead Stag' trading company, the split in the Stackspear family, the foreign 'tigers' lurking in the forest, and the vanished villagers.
Even if these individual mysteries could not be solved, looking at the whole picture revealed a certain pattern. If he could verify the details behind this picture, the true face of the enemy would naturally emerge.
(I will definitely take them down eventually.)
“That is all. We will reach the main road before sunset.”
With Crestel's command, the party began to head back the way they came.
(007 Crestel II End)
Sooty Stone Part I: Lion's Cub, Chapter I: The Cradle's Oath
Crestel II (007 Crack in the Rocky Mountain)
248 AC, Summer (Late) / West, Lannisport - Stackspear Territory
POV: Crestel Yew
[This work is fan fiction of 'A Song of Ice and Fire']
It has no relation to the original author, George R.R. Martin, or any related publishers, production companies, or other rights holders.
This is an unofficial spin-off work based on the world of 'A Song of Ice and Fire,' depicting the Seven Kingdoms | Westerlands fifty years before the original story (from 248 AC onwards) through a unique interpretation.
▢ Next Chapter 008 Noel I (008 The Chased Mouse)
▢ Previous Chapter 006 Harwood II (006 Memories of Blood)
▢ Setting Materials/Table of Contents are here