6kv Chapter 4: The Price of Order
Chapter 4: The Price of Order
The river breeze brings more than just water vapor from upstream.
The murky liquid inside, mixed with rotting grass and dead fish, was heavier than yesterday, and felt like a piece of old burlap that hadn't been wrung out properly against my face.
Otto Hohenzollern stood on a boulder at the edge of the camp. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and beneath his feet lay several acres of freshly cleared dark red clay, with the grayish-white embers of the previous night's campfire still visible on the surface.
"Sentry, changing of the guard."
Otto spoke coldly. On the old oak tree on the north slope, struck by lightning, two hunters carrying longbows nimbly slid down the trunk, their two sleepy companions quickly taking their place. Even though there were only fourteen people in the territory, even though everyone had to do heavy physical labor during the day, the double sentry system at night was absolutely non-negotiable. This was the first lesson of military discipline; it needed no explanation and was not open to discussion.
Pollifer squatted by the edge of the shed, carving on the wooden planks by the dim firelight. He didn't dare look up when Otto's shadow fell over him.
"Sir. It's still the same number, twenty days. If we go into the forest every day to dig for wild vegetables and tree roots, our rations can barely last until the twentieth day. But by then, the strong men won't have enough strength to wield the heavy plow."
"Twenty days." Otto twirled the iron ring in his hand.
Just then, a slight rustling sound came from the reeds on the opposite bank of the river. The two hunters standing at the arrow tower immediately drew their bows and nocked their arrows.
"It's me!"
The limping man's hoarse voice rang out in the mist. He waded across the shallows and climbed ashore, limping over to Otto and lowering his voice to a whisper.
"My lord, there's something going on in that grassy hollow on the other side. Not wild animals, but people. Seven or eight bandits with shoddy weapons have started a fire in the center of the hollow." He swallowed hard. "They also have five or six sheep tethered in their camp, with twin towers and flame marks on their ears—those are the sheep of the Frey family of the Twin Rivers."
Pollifer's charcoal stick stopped on the wooden board, and he looked up, his eyes gleaming.
"Sir, this is an opportunity. Kill them and take the sheep. Five or six sheep should be enough to last us for another half month."
Otto glanced down at Pollif, his eyes cold.
"Polliver, you're a good accountant, but you're a fool."
He drew the chipped longsword from his waist and carefully wiped away non-existent dust from the blade with a rag.
"Whoever finds sheep bones bearing the Twin Towers mark in their camp is the thief who stole the Frey family's property. Old Walder Frey has four thousand armored soldiers; he'll send light cavalry to raze our few dilapidated sheds for the honor of the sheep."
He swiftly sheathed his sword.
"Hohenzollern isn't a thief. These sheep are our bargaining chip for collecting security fees from the Frey family."
He turned to look at the five hunters.
"Take your bows and short axes. Prepare to cross the river. There's a muddy ditch behind the depression; it's their only escape route after they've been frightened. Old John, you take two men and ambush them on either side of the ditch. The rest of you, follow me and advance head-on. Remember, the first volley is on the legs."
The muddy water in the depression reached above my ankles, and each step made a sticky, sucking sound.
As Otto approached head-on with two hunters, the summer sun had just pierced through the clouds, turning the tall grassy hollow into a golden hue. The bandits' smoldering fire had long since died down; the men huddled in the grass, never expecting anyone to come, and even less expecting the place to be so quiet.
The first volley of arrows was almost instantaneous—two muffled thuds as arrows pierced the thighs of two bandits, their screams erupting from the grass. The remaining five men, in a panic, dropped their weapons and screamed as they ran wildly towards the muddy ditch behind the depression.
In the muddy ditch, their speed was greatly reduced. Half their bodies were stuck in the mud, and they could only struggle slowly, using their hands and feet. Old John and the others, who were lying in ambush on both sides, remained silent and calmly drew their bows. One arrow after another, without pursuit or shouts, as if they were dealing with pests in a field.
The last tall bandit struggled to climb out of the ditch, took off one boot, and tried to escape into the woods. Otto followed from behind, without using a bow, striding across the mud, and using the momentum of his charge, cleanly pierced the bandit's heart from behind with his longsword.
The sound of it entering flesh was dull, like a crowbar being driven into wet wood.
Otto drew his sword, letting the bandit slowly fall. Watching the dark red pool at his feet gradually expand, he expressionlessly gave an order to the hunter behind him:
"Cut off their heads. Tie up the five sheep. Don't touch a single piece of their flesh."
Seven men, eight heads—the two bandits who had been shot in the leg with arrows didn't survive to be taken back. Otto had the heads neatly laid out on the ground beside the boundary marker, and quicklime was scattered around them. The white powder covered the bloodstains on the ground and suppressed the stench that was beginning to emanate. The five sheep were tied to the wooden stakes nearby, quietly chewing grass, the twin towers on their ears clearly visible in the sunlight.
He wiped the sword clean again, sheathed it, and returned to the camp to wait.
In the afternoon, eight light cavalrymen, carrying the blue and silver twin towers banner of the Frey family, rode along the border of the Blue Fork River.
Leading the group was Raymond Frey, one of the many unremarkable grandsons of the Marquis of Walder, with a freckled face and an arrogant expression. He stopped fifty paces outside the Hohenzollern camp, carrying the stench of his warhorse's sweat and leather from afar, and pointed with his whip at Otto standing by the boundary marker:
"I heard a beggar from Braavos came here? I'm looking for some sheep thieves; you'd better not have seen them."
"I saw them, Lord Frey. And I left them behind."
Otto calmly kicked the burlap sack at his feet. The sack opened, revealing six glaring, deathly pale heads. White lime seeped from the edges, leaving a ring of deathly white on the muddy ground. Beside him, five sheep grazed quietly.
Raymond paused for a moment, then noticed the fire mark on the sheep's ear, a smug satisfaction playing on his lips.
"You're smart enough not to steal our Frey family's sheep." He waved his hand, signaling his cavalry to take the sheep. "I'll take these heads with me; they'll be perfect for a job back in Twin Twins. Since you're so well-behaved, my men will try their best not to trample your muddy ground when they pass through here in the future."
"Thank you for your generosity, sir."
Otto bowed his head and gave a perfectly standard knightly salute, his voice still steady.
"Now that we have recovered your property and eliminated the threat, would you be so kind as to reward us with a small token of our appreciation? A little oatmeal and salt would be enough to keep these peasants who guarded the borders for you alive."
Raymond looked at him like he was a madman, then burst into loud laughter.
"Are you asking me for a reward? Who do you think you are? A beggar knight guarding a few dilapidated shacks?"
Otto spoke softly, but made sure only Raymond could hear him clearly.
"Because this will bring you double the benefits, sir. Your return to the Twins with these heads can be considered a testament to your personal planning and execution of the transgressing bandits. This military achievement is yours."
He pointed to the Blue Fork River valley behind him.
"And I only need fifteen bushels of moldy oats and two bags of coarse salt. With that much food, my refugees can survive. As long as we establish ourselves here, this valley will be the first line of defense for bandits heading north into your noble family's ranches. A little bit of stale grain slipping through the fingers of a great nobleman can be exchanged for a free dog to guard your south gate, saving you ten percent of your ranch's annual losses."
Otto bowed slightly.
"This is not a reward, sir. This is the most profitable deal you've made at the lowest possible cost."
Raymond narrowed his eyes. He quickly did some mental calculations: fifteen bushels of aged wheat wouldn't even sell for a silver deer in the Twins, but if he could use these heads to curry favor with his grandfather, the reward would far exceed this paltry grain.
"Fifteen bushels? You beggar's appetite is quite something. Here, take ten bushels of aged wheat and a bag of salt. I'll have someone bring them over before sunset tomorrow. If I find out you've let a single bandit pass through your area, I'll hang you and your peasant wretch!"
"Thank you for your kindness, sir."
Otto bowed his head again.
The Frey cavalrymen swaggered away with sheep and human heads, their hoofbeats quickly swallowed by the forest.
Pollifer emerged from behind the shed, his face flushed.
"My lord... he's treating you like a dog, humiliating you! This is something you and your brothers risked your lives to achieve!"
"Face is worthless, Pollifer."
Otto straightened up and patted the dirt off his clothes.
"He took away empty glory, while we gained food to sustain life. More importantly, from this day forward, the Frey family has tacitly acknowledged our de facto control over this valley."
The valley fell silent again. Frey's cavalry had gone far away, the sound of their hooves had faded, and the wild grass stood upright again, bending and springing back in the wind, rustling softly. The white circle on the ground, sprinkled with lime, was still there, the stench of blood mostly suppressed, leaving only the dry, astringent smell of stone powder. The sheep-tethering stake was empty, with a worn-out end of coarse hemp rope still hanging from it, swaying gently in the wind.
Otto stood beside the empty wooden stake and glanced at the line of numbers that Pollifer had carved on the wooden board.
Twenty days.
Now there are ten more days.
"Go tell Matt," Otto said, turning and walking toward the longhouse, his boots making a solid sound as they sank into the sun-baked black earth.
"The ground can be dug even deeper."