Tumbleton was the largest market town in the northwest corner of the Reach, and for years, it had been the place where Caden Storm earned his bread. Brother Gale gazed at the bustling streets beneath the castle walls, watching the teeming crowds with wide eyes.
"The Blackwater is but a narrow ribbon of water," Gale murmured, "yet the difference between the Riverlands and the Reach is like a vision of the Seven Heavens compared to the Seven Hells. The gods are truly unjust."
Caden shook his head, his gaze sweeping the colorful awnings of the market. "Anshe shines on all things equally, Brother. It is the stupidity of men that creates the dark. They trade peace for pride and manufacture widows and orphans to feed their own greed."
Gale nodded, lost in thought. "Stoney Sept was this bright once. Only a year ago, I rode there to collect tithes for the monastery. The streets were even more crowded than these. You went that way with Brother Rolf, didn't you? How is it now?"
"We turned back before we reached the gates," Caden replied. "But the travelers we met... they say the Lannisters picked the town clean. I don't know how many families were left to the crows."
"Old Angie was a good soul," Gale sighed, his voice trailing off.
They reached the town gates, paid the entry tax for their party, and vanished into the throng. Caden and Gale were the spearhead of Aldric's economic campaign. They carried three hundred gold dragons—the "medicine-fund" Aldric had saved while serving in the North.
In a world before the war, a single dragon could buy two hundred silver stags, and a single stag was enough for two men to feast and drink in a country inn for a night. The sum they carried was a small fortune. In the Reach, where the harvests were rich and the fires of war had not yet reached, three hundred gold could buy ten thousand stones of unground wheat.
But Gale, a veteran of the monastery's ledgers, knew the math of the market was never that simple. No Lord would allow a stranger to walk off with his entire surplus, no matter how much gold was offered. Their true mission was to open a vein of trade for St. Maur's, ensuring a steady flow of grain rather than a single, unsustainable haul.
Caden secured an inn for their seven companions before leading Gale and his squire, Jasmine, to a two-story timber mansion overlooking the plaza. After announcing their names to the porter, a large man in a blue silk doublet waddled out, embracing Caden with a booming laugh.
"My dear Ser Caden! I never thought I'd see you back in Tumbleton. Have you finally tired of the wandering life? My captaincy is still open for you."
Rosen the Merchant spoke with the practiced charm of his trade. Both men knew it was a polite fiction. A knight of the realm, even a landless one, did not "take a job" with a merchant; he provided a "courtesy escort" for which he received a "gift of gratitude." To do otherwise was to subvert the social order—a stain that no amount of gold could wash away.
"Your kindness is noted, Master Rosen," Caden said smoothly. "If the road ever grows too long, I will remember your offer. Permit me to introduce Brother Gale of St. Maur's Monastery by the Gods Eye."
Rosen opened his arms wide, his face a mask of holy reverence. "Oh! A servant of the Seven! Your presence brings a sacred air to my humble home. Welcome, Brother Gale."
Gale returned the embrace. "May the Father grant you fair scales, and the Smith ensure your goods are without flaw."
Rosen beamed. "A blessing after my own heart! Come, why stand in the sun? Parker! Have the kitchen send up tea and cakes. I must host my friends!"
They settled on the third-floor balcony, shielded by a canvas awning. A servant brought plates of honey-biscuits and a pot of rose-hip tea. Caden took a biscuit, the crunch of sugar and honey a sharp contrast to the grit of the road.
"These are excellent," Caden noted. "Heavy on the honey."
"A quarter-spoon in every cake," Rosen boasted. "Anything less is an insult to the palate."
Gale took a bite, closing his eyes. "I've never tasted the like. It is as if the Mother herself prepared it." He sighed, his expression darkening. "In the Riverlands, even the Lords are lucky to see butter. The smallfolk are eating black bread mixed with sawdust."
The mention of the war sobered the room. "I've heard the news," Rosen said. "My contacts in the north have gone silent. Is it truly as bad as they say?"
"A slaughterhouse," Gale said heavily. "Tywin's dogs—Clegane and Lorch—have turned the Trident into a wasteland. They burn the crops they cannot carry and slaughter the people they cannot use. Even the demons of the pit would shy away from them."
Rosen made a sign of the star over his chest. "Father protect us. If there is anything I can do for the poor souls of the north..."
"There is," Caden cut in. "I serve the monastery now. Brother John, the Overseer, has gathered nearly a thousand refugees. He needs grain to keep them alive until their own crops turn. I remember you keep a well-stocked granary, Rosen."
Rosen frowned, his merchant's mind clicking. "I do, but it is for my own laborers and the town market. To feed a thousand mouths... that is a tall order."
"We aren't asking for a handout," Caden explained. "The monastery has seed in the ground. We only need to bridge the gap. We aren't here to buy from your private store; we want you to introduce us to the grain-lords who can move weight. St. Maur's will pay a fair commission for the introduction."
Rosen's eyes gleamed. "What sort of commission?"
Gale and Caden shared a look. "Half a percent of the total purchase," Gale said.
Rosen scoffed, shaking his head. "In this climate? An intermediary takes all the risk. If a Lord thinks I'm selling to the North, I could lose my head. One and a half percent. Not a copper less."
"Impossible," Gale countered. "That percent is grain out of the mouths of orphans. I cannot accept it."
As the two men descended into the dance of numbers, Caden stood and walked to the edge of the balcony. He leaned his elbows on the railing, looking past the town toward the south.
His gaze settled on the vast green smudge of the Kingswood. That forest had once been the haunt of the Kingswood Brotherhood—the most notorious outlaw band of King Aerys's reign. They had kidnapped nobles and vanished into the brush, protected by the smallfolk who saw them as heroes against the Lords.
It was Ser Arthur Dayne who had broken them. Not with steel alone, but by listening to the people. He won their hearts by granting them the right to take timber and deer, and promising that the King's men would pay for what they took. Once the peasants turned, the Brotherhood was exposed. Barristan Selmy had slain Simon Toyne; Arthur Dayne had ended the Smiling Knight.
Caden's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, Petal-Breaker. It was a masterwork of Serene-Steel, its rippled patterns a haunting shadow of the legendary sword Dawn. Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had been the pinnacle of knighthood. Caden had grown up dreaming of that honor.
But the Lightbringer had shown him a different path. Serving a King was not the end; serving the People was the goal.
He felt the weight of the task ahead. He had to find a way to show his blade to the right man—someone with enough gold and enough pride to pay for "Valyrian" prestige. But finding that opening in the polite society of the Reach would be like trying to find a specific leaf in the Kingswood.
"Caden?"
He turned to find Gale and Rosen raising their cups.
"A deal?" Caden asked.
"Master Rosen has agreed to one percent," Gale smiled. "On the condition that we use his wagons for the transport and provide our own protection for his goods on the return trip. It is on our way to the Goldroad regardless."
Caden looked at Rosen, then at Gale. "So we guard your goods for free, and pay you for the privilege?"
Rosen shrugged, a massive grin on his face. "You're heading that way anyway, Ser Caden. It's practically a favor between friends."
Caden managed a dry smile. "To friends, then."
The three cups clinked together, the sound sharp and clear in the warm afternoon air.
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