Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 126: The Price of Mud, Dead Wood, and the Blackwood River

The spring floodwaters, carrying withered branches and dead animal carcasses from upstream, crashed heavily against the bluestone walls of the flood control canal.

The turbid river water roared like a raging beast across this land soaked in coal dust and acid fumes.

The pungent smell of sulfur was pressed to the ground by the damp, cold air, making even the thick phlegm coughed up taste bitter, like charcoal ash.

On the south side of the inner fortress, the enormous wooden waterwheel, designed by Dolan and forcibly driven by the rushing river, is emitting a tooth-grinding creaking sound.

The heavy iron hammerhead was lifted high by the water-drenched wooden teeth, and paused for a moment.

"Boom—Crack!"

The hammer slammed heavily onto the empty anvil. The enormous impact sent mud and water scattering in all directions, and even the distant stone tower seemed to tremble slightly.

The blacksmith, a refugee, stood blankly beside the anvil, his hands tightly gripping the empty iron tongs.

The firelight from the furnace illuminated their numb and weary faces. Without any red-hot iron blocks being brought up, the hammers could only relentlessly pound away at nothing.

If the speed of filling the iron cannot keep up with the speed of the water flow, the released behemoth will irrationally crack its own expensive transmission wooden shaft.

The head steward, Pollifer, stood at the edge of the swamp. The cold, black mud had already reached above the ankles of his deerskin boots.

He pushed up his rain-soaked brass-rimmed glasses and looked down at the sheepskin ledger in his hand.

The densely packed income records, arranged like black ants, completely ceased to exist three days ago on the day the spring snow melted.

He turned around and trudged through the mud and water toward the stone tower. Each time he pulled his boots out of the black mud, they made a dull, teeth-grinding sucking sound.

Inside the redwood study on the second floor of the stone tower, the charcoal fire in the fireplace burned brightly, but it still couldn't dispel the damp chill seeping from the cracks in the stone.

Otto Hohenzollern sat in a large, high-backed chair.

He was wrapped in a thick, gray-black woolen overcoat and held a freshly opened parchment letter in his hand.

The sealing wax on the envelope was a roaring golden lion. It was a routine official letter from Casterly Rock demanding the payment of silver.

Tywin Lannister's sharp, razor-sharp handwriting was clearly visible on the parchment—less than twenty days remained until the Westerlands' requirement of "delivery a month ahead of schedule."

Pollifer pushed open the heavy oak door and walked into the study, his body reeking of the lingering smell of mud.

He laid the mud-stained sheepskin ledger flat on the mahogany table, his movements stiff and rigid.

"The supply of raw ore from the Liulin mining area has been completely cut off."

Pollifer's voice was as dry as two pieces of dead wood rubbing together in winter.

"Dolan's hydraulic hammers used to consume five times the amount of iron a day. But now, they can't even get a basket of ore the size of a fingernail into the inner fortress."

"Old Muldur is disobeying orders?" Otto's gaze remained fixed on Tywin's letter.

"He's working desperately."

Pollifer shook his head, his gaunt cheeks twitching slightly.

"In the shallow mines over in Willow Grove, one-third of the load-bearing wooden pillars have been removed as instructed. William is using the Codex to subdue the group of refugees, and the ore extracted is piled up like a mountain. But the road is blocked."

The head butler walked to the window and pushed open the heavy oak shutters.

A cold wind, mixed with raindrops, rushed into the study, causing the oil lamp flame to flicker violently.

He pointed out the window to the black swamp that could devour everything.

"The spring flood caused the Lancha River to overflow, turning the ten-mile dirt road from the south slope to Liulin into a muddy swamp that could submerge your thighs."

"Once the cart is pushed up, the wheels get stuck on the axle. Even the strongest draft horses and mules can't pull their legs out."

"Yesterday, William hacked two refugees who tried to abandon their vehicles and run away in the mud, but their bodies remained buried in the mud without even a ripple. Human lives can be taken, but mud doesn't tolerate a whip."

Otto folded the secret letter from the golden lion and placed it under a cast iron paperweight.

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the desolate yet greedy swamp.

Without raw ore, the blast furnaces would be forced to shut down; without blast furnaces, there would be no pig iron to pay the pig iron dividends to the Brecken family and the five smaller families; without the flow of materials, the refining of raw silver within the high walls would have to stop.

If Tywin Lannister defaults on his delivery, the lion will not listen to any excuses about Spring Mud.

"Call Dolan here." Otto turned around.

A moment later, Dolan, a scholar from Pentos, was led into the study by two Iron Oath soldiers, wearing a thick coat with a mink collar.

He glanced at Pollifer's gloomy face, then quickly pulled a piece of parchment covered with charcoal lines from his sleeve and laid it on the mahogany table.

"Sir, if the mud swallows the wheels of a cart, we won't use a dirt road."

Dolan pointed to the tight support structure on the sketch, his eyes gleaming with fervor.

"A log road! Use sturdy logs, laid side by side, horizontally across the mud to form a hardwood track. Then replace the ore carts with hardwood rollers and skids. The stress is distributed over a wider area, so even if the mud below is deep, the ore can slide across unimpeded!"

Otto looked at the blueprint: "Go to the storeroom and get the tools. We'll open for business first thing tomorrow morning."

"It can't be laid out, sir."

Pollifer coldly interrupted Dolan, his gaze fixed on the sketch on the table.

"We don't have a single extra piece of wood left."

The air in the study was still. Dolan opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Pollifer opened another red-covered ledger on the mahogany table and tapped it twice heavily with his finger.

"The speed of the hydraulic hammer is too fast. The blast furnace has been running day and night for the past month, consuming charcoal at three times the rate of the entire winter."

"To maintain the furnace temperature and facilitate the purification of raw silver within the high walls, the birch forests on the south and west sides of the inner fortress were cut down into a barren wasteland ten days ago. Those refugees even dug up the tree roots and stuffed them into the furnace."

The butler swallowed hard.

"According to the blueprints, if we were to lay a log road from Willow Grove to headquarters, which would be twelve miles long, we would need at least three to four thousand mature, sturdy logs. Blue Fork River's current territory doesn't even have a single ash tree suitable for making spear shafts. The mill's enormous appetite has already reached the limit that this territory can sustain."

Just as the study fell into dead silence, a muffled sound of horses' hooves came from beneath the stone tower.

Two old horse-drawn carriages stopped at the side gate of the inner fortress under the watchful eyes of more than a dozen Iron Oath soldiers.

A middle-aged man wearing a gray cloak stepped off the carriage, his feet stomping through the mud. The wind blew open his cloak, vaguely revealing the withered tree emblem embroidered in gray thread on his black robe.

The butler of the Blackwood family.

Pollifer glanced out the window, then turned to Otto: "The people from Raventree City. They've come to buy a second batch of spears."

In order to maintain this line of flesh and blood, the proud Earl of Tytus Blackwood had no choice but to send men with real gold and silver to his mortal enemy, who had once humiliated them by piercing heads, to buy these inferior weapons that didn't even have a family secret mark.

Otto walked back to the mahogany table and sat down again in the high-backed chair.

"Let him in."

A moment later, Butler Blackwood entered the study, reeking of cold and the stench of earth. Without any pleasantries, he slammed three heavy sheepskin bags onto the mahogany table.

"Three hundred old gold dragons. Excellent purity."

The butler's cheeks bulged out as he forcefully suppressed the hatred in his bones.

"According to the price in the last contract, nine hundred cast iron spears and one hundred sets of crossbow parts. Lord Tethos requires that they be loaded onto the wagons before sunset tomorrow. Consumption at the border is too rapid; we don't have time to wait."

Pollifer stood by the table, his withered fingers not touching the gold coins. He quietly looked at Otto, who sat in the main seat.

Otto leaned back in his chair, gazing at the three hundred shimmering golden dragons.

He picked up the quill pen on the table and slowly drew a glaring ink mark on the supply contract that Pollifer had just prepared.

"The contract is void."

Otto's voice was like a stagnant pool.

Butler Blackwood abruptly raised his head, veins bulging on his forehead.

"You want to back out?! Hohenzollern, are you planning to swallow the gold coins and not deliver the goods? Or are you taking advantage of the tense situation at the border to humiliate Raventree City by raising prices on the spot?!"

The butler placed his right hand on the self-defense dagger at his waist.

"Blue Fork River doesn't need to humiliate buyers to gain emotional satisfaction. This is just a transaction."

Otto didn't even glance at the butler's hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"But these three hundred golden dragons cannot buy nine hundred spears today."

Otto pushed the sketch of the log path drawn by Dolan to the center of the mahogany table.

"The price of the spear hasn't changed. What has changed is what Blue Fork River is offering in exchange today."

Otto raised a long, slender index finger and tapped it on the mahogany table.

"One spear can be exchanged for ten mature logs. One hundred sets of crossbow parts can be exchanged for five hundred logs. They must be hardwoods that have been stripped of their bark and trimmed neatly."

Otto's grey-blue eyes stared at the butler's face through the flickering candlelight.

"Behind Lord Tethos's Raventree City lies the oldest and densest Blackwood Forest in the Riverlands. The timber I need is there."

Blackwood's butler stood frozen in place, a loud "buzz" going through his head.

He stared blankly at the rough drawing of the timber road on the table, then turned to look out the window at the blast furnaces belching black smoke but unable to operate at full capacity due to the interruption of the mud supply.

He saw through Otto's scheme.

This gray-blue-eyed monster not only armed Breken with cheap weapons to consume the flesh and blood of Raventree City, but now he also forces Raventree City to personally cut down their ancestral forest and send the timber to Bluefork River to repair the muddy road that allows the monster to continue producing weapons!

Use the trees of Blackwood to pave the roads of Hohenzollern and to forge spears to kill the men of Blackwood!

"You're a madman..."

The butler's voice trembled.

"That forest dates back to the time of our ancestors! It is land watched over by the ancient gods! Lord Tethos would rather bleed to death on the border than dig up the roots of Raventree City and give them to you to fill your muddy graves!"

"The homeless vagrants armed by the Brecken family are less than five miles from the mill on the west side of Crowtree City."

Pollifer coldly delivered a follow-up heavy blow.

"Without these spears to fill the gap in the border, the three farms and two ferry crossings outside Raventree City will not hold out until the next full moon. At that time, the people of Stonehide City will come with torches and burn your forest to ashes."

Otto presented the steward with a newly drafted timber transaction contract.

"The logging crews of Bluefork River are already waiting at the border. If Lord Tethos thinks that cutting down the Old Gods Forest will dirty his hands, my men can cross the border and do it for him. You just need to clear the way for the watchtower and close your eyes."

Otto tossed the quill pen beside the contract.

"I'll only give you one hour to think about it."

After half an hour.

Filled with humiliation and helplessness, Butler Blackwood signed the order for timber in exchange for spears with trembling hands, and gritted his teeth as he handed over the border watchtower's pass.

He didn't take a single spear with him, because according to the contract, he had to cede the forests of Raventree City before Bluefork River would deliver the goods.

The oak door to the study was closed again.

Pollifer locked the three hundred gold dragons back into the tin box at the bottom of the mahogany table. These coins couldn't be spent now, but one day in the future, they would become even more deadly weapons.

"grown ups."

Pollifer held the timber contract, his dead-fish-like face showing no sign of relief.

"The timber has been secured. But I just recalculated the labor required to lay the log road during the spring flood season. Dolan's plans require laying the logs from headquarters all the way to Willow Grove, a total of twelve miles, which will require working in icy water and mud."

Pollifer placed a rough parchment scroll covered with names on the mahogany table.

"The ice and snow from the spring floods had just melted, and the water temperature in that swamp was so high that it could freeze a person's bones to the bone. After the logs were brought back, they had to be driven into the icy mud, aligned, and tied by hand. The newly arrived refugees didn't know the rules and were also weak. If they were not careful, they would trample the logs, which weighed hundreds of pounds."

Pollifer slowly traced the scroll across the parchment.

"We can only use the most skilled and disciplined people to pave the way. The group of settlers at headquarters who have been working for more than two years are the most suitable."

The air in the study had dropped to freezing point.

"The water temperature was too low, the suction of the mud was too strong, and the labor intensity exceeded the limits of the human body."

Pollifer reported the number of dead and wounded.

"After soaking in ice water for half a month, these people will suffer from widespread colds, lung diseases, and have their bones crushed by logs. Between forty and sixty people will be affected. We will not count the subsequent deaths from these illnesses."

Pollifer quietly took a half step back. The decision of whose life to use to fill that quagmire had to be made by the lord himself.

The embers crackled softly in the fireplace.

Otto stared at the densely packed names on the parchment scroll. Two months ago, at this mahogany table, he had canceled the night shifts for these men and added half a block of coarse cheese to their daily allowance.

He picked up his quill pen and, at the end of the register, signed his name as Lord Otto Hohenzollern. The quill pen swished cleanly and decisively across the parchment.

"Transfer people there."

Otto raised his head, his eyes calm and still.

"Give these elderly people who are paving the road double the amount of cheap beer and hot ginger soup every day. No matter what method you use, the twelve-mile log track must be open to traffic within half a month."

He pushed the roster back to Polliff.

"Send people ahead of time to dig pits for quicklime at the edge of the muddy swamp. In case anyone freezes to death in the mud..."

Otto looked at Pollifer.

"Leave them directly in the mud, use them as foundation stones under the logs. Don't waste the energy of the living retrieving corpses."

Pollifer adjusted his brass-rimmed glasses, put away the roster, bowed, and left the study.

Outside the window, the cold spring rain started falling again.