Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 12: Boundary Markers, Testimony, and Blood Account

The summer night breeze brought no coolness.

It simply mixed the smells of blood, horse manure, mud, and quicklime from the Blue Fork Valley together, like a wet cloth soaked in sewage pressed against everyone's face.

There was no cheering in the Hohenzollern territory for the first hour after the battle ended.

The longhouse was filled with low groans. Martha and several women carried in basins of boiling water, the steam condensing into white mist under the sweltering roof. Cole brought out the spirits stored by the hearth, with Pollifer personally overseeing the process. Otto had ordered that it be used only to clean wounds and knives; anyone who dared to steal a drink would be hung on a stake overnight.

Otto stood at the entrance of the longhouse, his left hand on the doorframe and his right hand holding a charcoal pencil.

He did not go inside and sit down.

It's not time for the lord to show signs of fatigue yet.

"Deal with the living first."

He said to Pollifer.

"The wounded are divided into three categories. The first category is those who will die immediately. We don't waste linen on them, we just give them water and pray for them. The second category is those who can be saved. We stop the bleeding, immobilize them, and clean their wounds. The third category is those with minor injuries who can walk. They can clean their wounds themselves and go back to work tomorrow, but they won't go down into the mine."

Pollifer's face was pale, but he wrote down each and every detail.

This classification sounds cruel, but in border camps with limited burlap, salt, liquor, and manpower, it was the only way to keep more people alive.

Inside the longhouse, Bob was placed near the door.

His right leg was crushed by the warhorse and shield, the bone dislocated, and the flesh swollen and purple. Lame Ben and Matt worked together to sandwich two flattened cedar planks between his legs, then wrapped them tightly with boiled linen.

Bob bit down on a piece of wood, veins bulging on his forehead, but he didn't shout again.

Otto walked over to him, squatted down, and glanced at the fixed spot.

"Tighten it another half turn. If it swells and turns black overnight, loosen it and re-bandage it. Don't let the blood flow completely stop."

The lame scriptwriter looked up at him.

"My lord, I'm afraid this leg won't be able to hold the shield."

"I know."

Otto looked at Bob.

"You're not going to sit in the front row anymore."

Bob's eyes snapped open, and he made a muffled sound in his throat.

Otto continued:

"But you're still alive. You know how terrified a person is when a horse hits a shield. After your fever breaks, you'll teach the new recruits how to hold a shield up, how not to close their eyes, and how to bury their feet in the mud. Your rations will be issued by the training unit until you can no longer speak."

Bob bit down on a piece of wood, his eyes red-rimmed.

This is not warmth.

This is a contract.

He shielded the territory from the horses, so the territory cannot discard him like a broken hoe. Otherwise, when the shield wall is erected again, everyone will understand: Otto's promise is not worth a bowl of porridge.

Otto stood up and walked out of the longhouse.

The bodies on the mud pit have not yet been cleared away.

Seven Hohenzollern subjects were covered with burlap and laid out in the shade of the high ground. The enemy corpses, stripped of their weapons and armor, were piled up separately. Otto strictly forbade anyone from taking the rings, purses, and amulets without permission. All spoils of war had to be deposited in the tent first, and then their ownership would be determined.

"Cole."

The one-eyed blacksmith was crouching beside the corpse of a Blackwood Ranger, examining the damage to his chainmail. Hearing the sound, he immediately stood up.

"grown ups."

"The armor is divided into three categories. Those that can be repaired are cleaned and put into storage. Those that cannot be repaired but have intact iron rings are disassembled and kept for later use. Those that are too rotten to be used are melted down."

Otto looked at the blood-stained iron rings.

"Don't rush to distribute them to the soldiers. Repair them first, then distribute them according to merit and shield position. Whoever is closest to the horse's hoof today will wear them first."

Cole grinned.

"That way they'll be eager to stand in the front row next time."

"Won't."

Otto's voice was calm.

"People won't rush to their deaths. But they will believe that standing in the front row is worthwhile."

Cole lowered his head.

"Understood."

On the other side, old farmer Matt and a few others were dealing with a dead horse.

This is a more troublesome matter than dealing with a human corpse.

Human corpses can be buried. Dead horses, however, are both a source of disease and meat. The Hohenzollern territory is not in a position to waste thousands of pounds of edible goods.

As Otto walked over, Matt was chopping open the leg bone of a badly wounded warhorse with an axe. Several young men nearby looked pale, clearly unaccustomed to this kind of work.

"The internal organs have all been burned; they can't be cooked."

Otto said.

"Cut the meat into strips, rub it with salt, and hang it on the tobacco rack. Crack the bones to make glue and broth. Skin the horse and give it to the lame man. Sprinkle lime around the blood and mud, and forbid children from approaching for three days."

Horsesty head.

"Sir, there isn't enough salt."

"First use the salt captured from the enemy's saddlebags. Then take twenty pounds of coarse salt from Raymond's stock. Grain can be diluted, but preservation cannot be spared."

Matt didn't ask any more questions.

Otto looked at the shallow well not far away.

"Cover the well. Starting tonight, only two fixed wooden buckets are allowed to draw water. Whoever puts their bloodied hand into the well rope, cut off two fingers."

When these words were spoken, several nearby residents simultaneously withdrew their hands.

Otto knew they were afraid.

But he was more afraid of dysentery.

A knife wound can kill ten people, but a polluted well can kill a hundred.

On the south side of the mud pit, three captured Blackwood Rangers were tied to three stakes. Otto had them tortured. Each man's wounds were simply bandaged, and their mouths were even stuffed with damp cloths to prevent them from dehydrating and passing out.

Pollifer was somewhat puzzled.

"Sir, are you really going to spare their lives?"

"The dead only rot, the living can speak."

Otto squatted down in front of the first prisoner.

The man was in his twenties, with a spear wound in his left arm and his face smeared with dried mud and blood. He looked at Otto with fear in his eyes, as well as the resentment typical of a nobleman's soldiers.

"name."

The prisoners gritted their teeth.

Otto did not draw his sword.

He simply turned to Pollive and said:

"Note: One prisoner refused to give his name. He wore a black raven-patterned leather belt buckle and had the Blackwood family mark on the inside of his saddle. He had a spear wound on his left arm, which had been bandaged."

Pollifer immediately wrote it down.

Otto then looked at the prisoners.

"I don't need you to acknowledge that you're one of Blackwood's men. Your horse harness, amulet, scabbard, and the corpses of your companions will speak for themselves."

The prisoner's expression changed slightly.

Otto continued:

"If you are willing to speak, I will send your words to the City of the Seas. If you do not speak, you are nothing more than a flagless bandit who attacked the vassals of the City of the Seas. The difference is that the former may be ransomed, while the latter will be hanged."

This statement is more effective than torture instruments.

The prisoner's Adam's apple bobbed.

"My name is Hagen. I am a cavalryman from the North Camp of Crowtree City."

Pollifer paused for a moment with his charcoal pencil.

Otto showed no sign of joy.

"Who ordered you to come?"

Hagen shut his mouth.

Otto stood up.

"No rush. You have a night to think it through. Give him water, not meat."

He walked toward the second prisoner.

The interrogation lasted half an hour, without torture or shouting. Otto asked only three questions: name, affiliation, and purpose. The three prisoners' accounts were not entirely consistent, but they all admitted to coming from the Blackwood Border Camp and following Seri across the border on a mission to "investigate rumors about silver mines."

That's enough.

There's no need to force them to say that Count Tettos gave the order personally.

According to feudal legal principles, the combination of armed personnel crossing the border, horse harnesses bearing emblems, the lack of formal correspondence, and the demand for silver mine taxes is enough for Haijiang City to have a legitimate claim.

Otto turned to Polyver and said:

"Make three copies of the confession. Seal the original with wax and send it to Haijiang City with the letter tomorrow. Keep one copy on file and hide the other in the old elm tree box."

Pollifer nodded.

"How do I write a letter?"

"First state the casualties, then the facts, and finally the request."

Otto said as he walked.

"Don't complain too much about being poor, and don't exaggerate your military achievements. Earl Jason isn't a fool. What we need to show him is that his vassals protected his silver mines and paid the price for it."

Pollifer quickly took notes.

"What about the wording?"

Otto stopped in front of the longhouse and looked up at the Black Eagle flag.

"Written: An unarmed cavalry force crossed the border and invaded the territory of Hohenzollern at dusk, trampling the lands, extorting mining taxes, and drawing their swords first. Our troops acted in self-defense in accordance with the special garrison authorization granted by the Sea Frontier City. We have captured three people and seized several horse harnesses, amulets, and sword sheaths with black raven patterns. As this involves nobles from neighboring territories, we humbly request that our lord send someone to verify the evidence and determine the next course of action."

He paused.

"Further note: Seven of our soldiers have been killed and six seriously wounded. Our iron equipment has been severely damaged. Please allow us to use the next three months' worth of silver mine production as collateral to advance us wrought iron, linen, salt, and two packhorses from Haijiang City."

Polly looked up.

"Sir, won't this make us look too weak?"

"We were weak to begin with."

Otto looked south.

"Weakness is not a sin. It is weakness coupled with strength that leads to death. I want Earl Jason to understand that we can bite, but we also need his iron."

Night fell completely.

In the distance, Jack returned from the woods with two scouts, their clothes covered in grass clippings and mud.

"My lord, the four riders who escaped headed south. Seri was shot in the shoulder but is still alive. They did not turn back."

"What will they say?" Pollifer asked in a low voice.

Otto did not answer immediately.

He knew that those who escaped would exaggerate Hohenzollern's military strength in order to save their lives, saying that they had been ambushed, that the city of Haijiang had secretly sent professional infantry, and that hundreds of spearmen were hidden in the mud.

This actually works.

Fear will buy time for the gray wall.

"They'll lie."

Otto said.

"But their lies will deter Blackwood from sending another fifteen men to test the waters for the time being. Next time, they'll either not come at all, or they'll be well-prepared."

Pollifer's face turned even uglier.

"So what do we do?"

"Turn tonight into an account."

Otto headed toward the southern boundary of the camp.

There were only a few rough boundary stones there originally. Tonight, Cole, along with several strong men who could still move, is erecting three thick pine stakes. At the top of the stakes are no heads, only tattered black cloaks taken from enemy soldiers, torn shields, and a severed stirrup.

Otto himself nailed a wooden sign to the central stake.

The wooden plaque bore words that Pollifer had just carved:

Anyone who crosses the border with weapons will be considered a bandit. They will be disarmed and tried; resistance will result in death.

There were no insults, no madness.

Only border laws.

Cole looked at the three wooden stakes and muttered something in disappointment:

"Sir, I thought you were going to hang their heads up there."

Otto glanced at him.

"The head is the last language. We haven't reached the point where we can only speak with our last language."

He turned around and looked towards the dark treeline to the south.

"First, send the parchment to Haijiang City. Then, send the live prisoner to speak. Once everyone is pretending not to hear, we'll make the stake talk."

Cole lowered his head.

"clear."

At midnight, the families of the fallen were summoned to the hearth of the longhouse.

Seven small lambskin bags were laid out on the wooden table. Each bag contained the first half of the pension: seventy-five silver deer. The remaining half would be distributed after Pollifer approved the family register. Families of the fallen were exempted from five years of hard labor, and orphans would be fed by the communal hearth until they were able to work.

Otto stood by the firelight, without saying anything sentimental.

"They stood behind the shield for the territory according to the contract. Now it is the territory's turn to support their home according to the contract."

A woman who had lost her husband clutched her money bag, crying uncontrollably.

Otto did not offer any words of comfort.

Comfort cannot keep a child alive through winter, but silver deer and grain can.

He looked at the remaining soldiers and militia.

"The three who deserted today will be interrogated after sunrise tomorrow. If they retreated out of fear, they will be whipped, have their rations reduced, and be retrained. If anyone abandons their shield and runs away, they will be expelled from the territory and never allowed to enter the hearth again."

Silence fell over the crowd.

This punishment is severe, but it is not indiscriminate killing.

Otto didn't want people to think he was bloodthirsty; he wanted people to know that rules would be followed and promises would be kept.

At the last moment of the night, Pollifer placed the letter he had written in front of Otto.

Otto read it word for word and changed two overly intense words.

He changed "Brightwood Cavalry" to "Cross-Border Armed Forces with Black Raven Emblems".

They also changed "enemy attack" to "armed intrusion without a letter".

Pollifer was puzzled.

"Sir, isn't this leaving them some room to maneuver?"

"no."

Otto dripped sealing wax and pressed it onto the double-headed black eagle ring.

"This is leaving room for Earl Jason. Only if he has room to maneuver will he side with us."

The sealing wax cools.

The envelope was handed to Jack.

"Set off before dawn. Change horses and take the old hunting trail, not the main road. If you encounter Frey patrols, tell them you are delivering a list of casualties to Seafront. If you encounter Blackwood men, burn the letter and turn back."

Jack took the letter, nodded, and left.

Otto went outside the longhouse one last time.

The mud pit had been covered with quicklime, the white powder obscuring most of the bloodstains. Three boundary markers stood in the south wind, and black crows swayed low in their tattered rags. Inside the longhouse, wounded soldiers were still groaning, but the hearth fire remained burning.

This territory is not safe because of victory.

On the contrary, it truly came into the view of the River Valley nobles in their power struggles.

Blackwood will remember the loss.

Frey will sense an opportunity.

Haijiang City will weigh the costs.

Otto must transform the mud, blood records, testimonies, and silver mines into a wall of law that can protect Hohenzollern before anyone else takes action.

He looked up at the double-headed black eagle flag in the night.

He said in a low voice:

"Iron and blood, a promise as firm as steel."

This is not just a slogan.

This is the first survival rule in the ledger.