OBS Chapter 35: Iron Hooks and Cartilage in the Mud
Chapter 35: Iron Hooks and Cartilage in the Mud
The deep fog of early morning carried the deathly aura of the late summer.
No light of dawn was visible on the Blue Fork River; only the heavy, fishy smell seeped into one's bones.
On the muddy ground on the east side of the riverbank, worn smooth by footsteps, forty or fifty militiamen and sixteen veterans wearing old leather armor had formed ranks.
The rough, straw-woven soles sank into the mud, and no one bothered to wipe the condensed dew from their faces.
Fifty-six flattened ash wood sticks were held between their molars, suppressing the nausea escaping from deep within their stomachs.
At the front of the formation, the refugee Moss knelt in the white mud mixed with lime.
His wrists were tied behind his back with thick hemp rope, the knots cutting into his flesh, and dark purple blood dripped down the back of his hands.
His already sunken face had shriveled into a dry walnut from fear, with tears mixed with eye boogers hanging down his cheeks.
"My lord! My lord! I'm just dizzy from hunger..."
Moss could not kowtow, so he could only rub his forehead against the cold stones, his voice like a wild duck being choked.
"The merchant gave me a silver deer... I didn't mean to harm anyone, I just wanted to exchange it for a sip of hot fruit wine..."
Otto Hohenzollern stood three steps away.
He was wearing a black cloak with mud-stained hem, and underneath his left shoulder was only a thin linen military uniform.
The damp chill of the early morning caused the wound to twitch in waves.
He didn't look at the pile of rotten flesh on the ground.
Those grey-blue eyes swept across the faces of the trembling farmers in the front row of the formation, one by one.
"Draw the dagger."
Otto's voice wasn't loud, but it was as clear as scraping half-dried tree bark in the deathly still river wind.
Standing behind Moss, the Northern instructor Toren silently took half a step forward.
The broad-bladed dagger, stripped from the dead man, was drawn with a clang, its thick spine still bearing indelible mottled red rust.
I do not look at your hearts. I only look at your footprints.
Otto twirled the cast iron ring engraved with a two-headed black eagle on his right index finger.
"Your footprints are in the ditches and in the ranks of spearmen. You will get a share of hot, thick oats and a blanket to keep you dry under these high walls. If you stretch your footprints outward, whatever the penny you may have."
Otto stopped rubbing the ring with his fingers, his eyes lowered.
"Pull out the tongue, slit the throat."
Moss let out a piercing scream that cut through his flesh, which then turned into a mournful gurgling sound.
Toren's thick left arm grabbed his filthy hair bun and yanked it back.
With savage force, the short knife in his right hand was roughly slashed diagonally across Moss's jaw.
Dark red blood gushed from the crack, splashing onto the bare feet of the farmers in the front row.
The warm, sticky sensation made the two recruits' jaws chatter violently, and they bit down hard, crushing the white waxwood sticks in their mouths. The wood shards pierced the blood vessels in their gums.
They dared not close their eyes.
Moss, like a fish with its belly ripped open, thrashed violently in the mud for the time it takes to breathe.
When the blood and foam in his throat had completely cooled, the body slumped limply into the lime pit, and there was no more sound.
"Take it and feed it to the stray dogs in the woods."
Otto turned around, his black cloak swirling in a stiff arc in the morning breeze.
"Form ranks, raise your spears."
The long note of the bone whistle broke through the fog.
Fifty-six wooden round shields crashed together, the dull thud of metal colliding with hardwood pushing the stench of death and urine back into the depths of the mud.
Just as the murderous aura had cooled in the air, the dull thud of several tall horses' hooves suddenly came from the path through the withered woods to the south.
The hunter on the watchtower suddenly tightened his bowstring.
The horse stance is neither too fast nor too slow.
Leading the way was a tall, grey-spotted horse, its head adorned with a fine steel brow armor.
A triangular flag embroidered with a silver eagle on a purple background was pierced through the thick fog by the rising sun and fluttered above the heads of the remaining soldiers.
That is the emblem of Seafront City, Earl Jason Mellist.
The newcomers did not sound any horns to provoke them.
The old knight Desmond dismounted.
The heavy, luxurious creaking of the chainmail armor worn by the men from the Blue Fork River, a sound far superior to that of the men in their worn-out leather armor, made as they moved.
Behind Desmond followed a full twelve elite spearmen with bushy beards.
Their boots were gleaming, and they carried polished, three-foot-wide shields.
There was no surprise in Otto's eyes.
He slowly raised his uninjured right hand and made a gesture.
After two short whistles, the formation moved aside in unison, making way for a path leading directly to the log gate.
"Sir Desmond, the morning frost can easily damage the hooves of fine horses."
Otto stepped forward, placed his right hand on his left chest, and performed a flawless vassal's sword-drawing salute.
"Your arrival bearing the Earl's eagle banner is an honor for the Blue Fork River."
Desmond's white beard was covered in dew.
He glanced at the still-warm corpse in the lime pit not far away, then looked at the group of farmers who, though unarmored, stood like iron nails, and his brow twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Lord Hohenzollern's methods of suppressing scoundrels on the border are sung in the taverns of Seafront City."
The old knight walked up to Otto without drawing his sword, but his posture exuded the arrogance of a noble vassal.
He pulled a parchment scroll sealed with Melistoria purple clay from the leather pouch in his belt and unfurled it before Otto.
"My Lord, I heard in the fortress that the Blackwood family's private army is roaming the area, attempting to sabotage the newly lit trade fires in the valley."
Desmond's voice was deep and resonant, his gaze fixed intently on Otto.
"Lord Jason is worried that your territory is too empty. That white salt kiln is related to the important matter of sending salt to Riverrun. The Earl ordered me to bring these twelve of the most elite shield-and-spearmen from Seafront City."
He turned to the side and pointed at the armored soldiers with their nostrils pointing upwards.
"From this day forward, they will be stationed permanently at the Blue Fork River ferry crossing and the saltworks area. On weekdays, they will assist in driving away bandits and check the invoices and scales of the goods when salt is unloaded. This is not only support, but also a gift and protection from the Earl to your territory."
Otto's pale lips were pressed into a thin line.
A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my left shoulder from the thick muslin.
These twelve people blocked the salt kiln and the ferry crossing.
Even if he were to produce an extra piece of jewelry here, it wouldn't escape the eyes of Haijiang City.
If disobedience occurs, they could even behead the young acting knight right there in the fortress.
But Otto could not refuse. Absolutely not.
Turning against them now would be tantamount to abandoning the laws of the seven kingdoms and courting death.
"Lord Jason's kindness is like the clear water of the Blue Fork River, nourishing dying grass seeds."
Otto lowered his head slightly, took the parchment from Desmond's hand, and kissed the purple seal.
He raised his grey-blue eyes, a humble expression of being flattered and honored appearing on his face.
"With the protection of the noble guardians of the Seafront City, the salt kilns of the Blue Fork River have finally gained their backbone! Lord Desmond, please convey my purest gratitude to the Earl. The silver eagle emblem will forever be engraved on the hilt of Hohenzollern's sword."
Otto turned around and shouted orders at the steward, Pollifer.
"Go to the north side of the longhouse! Clear out that large communal area with the stone hearth where the high walls were just built with rubble! Lay down the driest river grass and the wolf pelts we didn't use before winter!"
He turned around, forced a bitter smile at the twelve armored soldiers who were watching coldly, his body slightly hunched, as if he were telling the story of the hardships he had endured to get rich.
"My noble warriors, this territory is newly established, and everywhere is mud and foul-smelling quicklime. The salt-boiling caves are filled with toxic alkali sand that burns the lungs and heart with white smoke. On ordinary days, only the dying and blind do hard labor there."
Otto pointed to the second level of the inner tower, which was not yet fully sealed.
"You are men clad in iron armor and wielding steel shields. How can you risk damaging your iron boots in that muddy ground? The stone platform in the inner city is the highest, offering the clearest view of all directions. Please set up camp there and keep watch for me. The usual smoked jerky and the barrel of barley wine brewed every three days will be offered to your swords first."
Desmond squinted, scrutinizing Otto's slightly sickly yet grateful face.
If his men could lie on the tower with wolf skins as cushions and eat and drink, who would want to spend their days soaking in the ash-filled muddy ditch eating scraps of grass?
This little knight is so sensible, so sensible that no one can find fault with him.
"They will remember your kindness, Lord Otto."
Desmond remounted the gray zebra and took the reins.
"The Earl hopes that when the accounts are audited next month, Baiyan's scales will not show any bias."
The horses' hooves pounded as they headed north into the distance.
Otto stood at the log doorway.
The humility on his face was like a mask soaked in ice water, crumbling and peeling away.
He watched the twelve old soldiers from the Sea Frontier City, cursing and swearing as they slapped the mud off their boots, as Poliffer led him to the innermost, most comfortable, and tallest stone tower in the territory.
That place is the farthest from the salt kiln.
---
Night fell. The night wind howled mournfully as it swept over the high walls, a sound that seemed to herald the approach of winter.
The sparks leaking from the lime kiln could only illuminate the darkest, most secluded room below.
The air was filled with the pungent smell of blood.
Otto was shirtless.
With trembling hands, Pollifer took a tattered piece of burlap that had been boiled in hot water, dipped it in strong liquor, and pressed it onto the bluish-purple bruise on his left shoulder.
"Hiss..."
Otto didn't make a sound, only the cracking sound of his jaw muscles as he clenched his teeth.
"My lord, the claws of Haijiang City have already reached into the walls."
Pollifer dropped the cloth stained with black blood.
"Although Tytos Blackwood failed to bring us down, he has sent men to block all waterways east of the Red Fork River. Now no merchant's rickety ship dares to take our white salt. If we don't pay the 50% quota to Sea Frontier City next month, those twelve old soldiers on the tower probably won't be able to drink in peace anymore."
"Brightwood got stuck in the river, and he thought he was choking me."
Otto picked up the patched-up armor and put it on; the cold iron rings pressed against his sores jolted him awake.
"On this land, as long as you can offer bloody profits, there are plenty of people willing to bite the enemy's throat for you."
Otto pulled a heavy wooden box from under the table with his right hand.
The wooden box was unlocked, and when opened, three half-foot-tall black pottery jars gleamed faintly in the dim light.
That was the finest white salt that blacksmith Cole had extracted from the sealed kiln at the very bottom, after three full water clocks.
It is pure white and flawless, without a single grain of sand.
"Tethos Blackwood worships his old trees that shed red tears; he is a rigid, conservative rock. The area surrounding Raventree City is full of sworn enemies that have existed for millennia."
Otto pressed his hand against the lid of the nearest earthenware pot, his knuckles turning white.
Cross the river south from Crowtree City. That area where red horse flags fly is called Stone Fence City.
Upon hearing the name, Pollifer's pupils constricted sharply.
"The Brecken family? My lord, Earl Jonas Brecken and the Blackwood family are sworn enemies for over a thousand years! It is said that their knights would draw their swords against each other if they met in a tavern, all for a few pastures."
"This is the best knife."
Otto pulled a parchment scroll sealed with black eagle wax from a hidden compartment in the wooden box and handed it to Pollifer.
"Tomorrow, go and choose two of the strongest packhorses. Don't bring any weapons, take these three cans of salt, bypass the spies in Crowtree City, and head directly to Stone Hedge City by land."
"Remember, when you kneel before Earl Jonas Brecken, do not say that you are begging him for help."
Otto stood in the low crypt, his grey-blue eyes fixed on Polyver in the firelight.
"Tell this rude count. Hohenzollern has a white salt business. Down the Blue Fork River, halfway down to Riverrun. Whenever the Brecken family sends out their fleet, flying their red warhorse flag, and he takes away a few jugs of salt, I'll give him twenty percent of the profits."
Pollifer clutched the parchment scroll tightly, his lips dry.
"My lord... if Blackwood sees ships flying red flags carrying our salt crossing their river border... they'll go mad! They'll definitely shoot arrows to stop the ships!"
"So this is the sword that Blackwood drew first!"
Otto interrupted the accountant's cowering.
"Once their first arrow hits the Brecken family's ship, this will no longer be a minor incident caused by a lowly baron like myself, but rather a blatant plunder of the Brecken family's fleet by Tytos Blackwood!"
"If Blackwood resorts to force, that hot-tempered Jonas Brecken will surely retaliate with all his forces. Seafront City has received half of the salt tax; to ensure its own supplies aren't cut off, Jason Mellist must also stand with me and protest!"
Otto slowly clenched his left hand, and even though his knuckles were weak, he still managed to make a crisp sound.
"I will use the substantial profits from this 20% salt to have that fierce hound, Brecken, tear through my enemy's blockade. Let Lord Horst Tully of Riverrun see how two great families fight to the death over a piece of meat. In the end, the Tully family will have no choice but to step in to maintain a semblance of peace and forcibly lift all trade route restrictions!"
The cold wind seeped in through the cracks in the cellar, cutting the embers in the corner and causing them to flicker.
The young lord sat on a mud-covered bench, silent, waiting for Pollifer to speak.
Pollifer stood there, his mouth moved slightly, then closed again, clutching the letter scroll tightly in his hand.