Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 47: The Glue in the Dark Night and the Heavy String in the Blind Spot

The unusually warm early winter weather created a thick, impenetrable gray fog in the valley of the Blue Fork River.

There was no starlight, no cold wind. The river surged on the distant mudflats with a dull thud. This was the forty-first day since Otto held the charter of Riverrun, formally establishing his title as "Baron of the Blue Fork River."

To the west of the rammed earth wall was a newly dug and deepened drainage ditch for flood prevention. The bottom of the ditch was covered with quicklime that had not yet completely hardened, as well as the animal entrails that had just been dumped the night before. The pungent, sour stench was enough to make even the stray dogs in the nearby wilderness avoid it.

Six figures dressed in coarse black linen silently squeezed through the half-foot-wide gap in the wooden fence into the dead corner inside the rammed earth wall.

They wore no chainmail that could make any noise, not even longswords. They carried only short, finely crafted steel spikes for close combat and a few throwing knives tightly strapped to their calves.

On each of their backs were two fist-sized black earthenware jars tied with oil-soaked hemp rope. They were filled with flammable glue made from pine resin and sea animal fat.

The man in black avoided the sentries holding torches along the main road and crept along the shadows of the earthen walls to the southern section. There, dried alfalfa from the autumn harvest and several large rolls of thick linen for waterproofing were stored. These were essential supplies for Blue Fork River to survive the winter.

"Crack!"

Two black earthenware jars were precisely hurled and shattered against the supporting wooden pillar. The faint light of the tinderbox flashed briefly in the darkness.

The moment the molasses sealed in the jar came into contact with the air and a spark, the flame, like a mad venomous snake, instantly bit into the dried-out pile of alfalfa.

In a matter of moments, a wall of fire burst forth in the darkness. Blinding flames, mixed with acrid smoke, intensely illuminated half of the camp. The surrounding wooden roofs crackled and popped under the intense heat, sparks being swept into the sky by the hot air currents.

"Fire! The south timber shed is flooded!"

The watchman on the wooden tower let out a hoarse roar. He pounded his mallet relentlessly on the cracked bronze gong. The piercing sound of the gong instantly tore through the deathly silence of the night.

The narrow window on the second floor of the stone tower was pushed open.

Otto, wearing only a worn-out gray wool coat, stood by the window, coldly watching the flames soaring into the sky to the south.

"grown ups!"

Instructor Toren, his eyes bloodshot, stormed up the stone steps and barged in without knocking. His scale armor gleamed coldly in the firelight, and he was already carrying the heavy broadsword.

"I'll take those dozen or so brothers downstairs right now, grab our hook-and-sickle spears, and surround those arsonist bastards! The fire just started; they can't have gone far yet!"

"Stop right there."

Otto's voice remained completely calm despite the sudden fire, so calm it was almost oppressive.

"The fire started too quickly, yet not a single knife struck our door. This means they weren't there to assassinate us. They were using the fire as bait."

Otto turned around and looked at the veterans who were eager to go into battle.

"The arsonists want to count how many men I have in the firelight. They want to see how many suits of armor we have, how many spears we have, and what our defensive formation looks like. Once you step into the fire-lit area wearing this armor, all our secrets will be revealed tonight."

"But that shed contains our winter linen..." Toren gritted his teeth, the veins on the back of his hand bulging from gripping his sword so tightly, "and the alfalfa we use to feed the horses! If it's all burned, how will we survive the winter?"

"If it's burned, it's burned. If the cloth is gone, we can buy more with money. But if the truth is revealed, even lives can't make up for it."

Otto strode towards the stairwell and gave the order to Pollifer, who had just gotten up and put on his coat:

"Polliver. Send all the farmers and blacksmiths to put out the fire. Go in tattered rags, make as much noise as possible, and don't bring a single spear."

Pollifer nodded coldly and strode down the stone steps.

Fifteen minutes later, the area under the south wall was in complete chaos, like a boiling pot of broken water.

Dozens of shirtless farmers, wearing tattered trousers, carrying wooden basins and broken buckets, ran around and shouted like headless flies in the firelight.

Someone slipped and fell into the mud while carrying water, only to be trampled over by those behind them, letting out a piercing scream. Someone tried to salvage the burning burlap, but their hand was burned by the pyroglue, instantly developing large blisters, causing them to writhe in pain on the ground. The pyroglue stuck to the dry grass, and when water was poured on it, it not only failed to extinguish the flames but instead spread with the water flow.

Pollifer stood on a sloping hill at the edge of the fire. He ignored the injured farmers, a sharpened stick gripping his hand. His eyes were fixed on the refugees trying to take advantage of the chaos to approach the granary and the storehouse. Anyone who strayed from the firefighting efforts would be mercilessly whipped back into the flames.

The six men in black, hiding in the shadows of the rubble, exchanged glances.

They lay in wait for a long time, but saw neither a neat row of spears nor the legendary, indestructible iron formation. Instead, they found only a group of terrified farmers desperately splashing water for a few pieces of burlap, and a foreman wildly beating people with a wooden stick.

The leader of the men in black made a secret gesture.

Retreat. Retrace your steps and get out.

Like black geckos, the six men clung to the edge of the rammed earth wall, which was poorly defended, and began to silently climb up the wooden scaffolding.

Above them, in the dark crenellations, the light was completely blocked by the rainproof wooden sheds.

Fifteen old, crippled soldiers, some missing ankles or most of their arms, were bound tightly to specially made wooden chairs with rough leather, like withered tree stumps.

Before them, fifteen heavy steel crossbows, already strained to their very core by their remaining strength and wooden ratchet wheels, were clenched into a gnawing tension. The thick, pure steel arrowheads were stuck in their receivers, offering no glint of fire, only a deathly silence.

At the base of the rammed earth wall and on the crossbeams of the scaffold, there were several barely noticeable white lines of quicklime. These were drawn by the Maester of Ilion himself during the day.

The veterans didn't aim at the moving shadows below. Their remaining single or cloudy eyes were fixed on the few lines of quicklime.

When the first man in black crossed the white line by the shoulder.

"put."

The old soldier sitting on the very edge, who only had one left eye, suddenly pressed the trigger with his rough fingertips.

"Zheng—Buzz!!"

Fifteen heavy crossbows fired at the same instant. The thick sinew strings resounded with a deafening boom in the damp night fog.

At close range, a heavy crossbow bolt fired with such force that no leather armor could withstand it.

The four men in black who had just climbed over the wall and whose bodies had just crossed the lime line had their chests shattered by steel-pierced armor.

The crossbow bolt pierced their lungs and spines, pinning them to the hard rammed earth behind them like tattered sacks. They didn't even have time to cry out before blood gushed out from the fletching.

The other two men in black who were crawling below were terrified.

Warm blood splattered on their faces through the cracks in the rocks. Instinctively, they let go, fell backward, and tried to roll into the sewage ditch to escape.

Just as they landed, Rosso, hidden in the shadows of the muddy ground, led two light cavalry scouts out in a surprise attack. Two thick leather ropes with iron weights whistled as they lashed out, striking the black-clad men's shinbones hard.

The cracking sound of bone breaking was particularly crisp in the shadows where the firelight couldn't reach.

The fire was completely extinguished before dawn. The alfalfa was burned to ashes, and several rolls of linen were charred.

The early winter dawn was still dim. In the torture chamber beneath the stone tower, a faint grease lamp burned.

Two men in black, their leg bones broken, were chained to wooden posts. Rough, short wooden sticks had been forcibly stuffed into their mouths to prevent them from biting open poison packets hidden under their tongues. Their faces were deathly pale, and their foreheads were covered in cold sweat.

Maester Ilion approached, carrying a medicine chest. He did not take out a knife to interrogate him.

He skillfully used a thin bone spur to pick out a small amount of black powder residue with a slightly astringent taste from deep within the gap between one of the men's molars.

The scholar crushed the powder on the stone slab, brought it to his nose, and took a deep sniff.

"According to the Citadel's records, this is 'Petrifying Vine' powder from across the Narrow Sea." Illion turned around and threw the bone spur into the charcoal fire to burn. "Chewing it under the tongue can make a person tireless for a day and shield them from fear and pain. But the side effect is that it will cause blindness after the effects wear off."

Ilion looked at the two people hanging on the wooden post.

"On the black market, a tael of this medicine powder can be exchanged for a fine horse. It's definitely not something that ordinary mercenaries who are running around for a few silver deer can afford. Only those powerful noble families with deep roots would use this to raise assassins."

Otto sat on a wooden chair in the corner of the torture chamber. He slowly wiped the silver seal, which was engraved with a leaping fish and a double-headed eagle, with a piece of coarse linen.

"I don't care what drugs they took." Otto slammed the stamp on the table.

"They came to scout ahead for someone. Not only did they fail to find a spear, they also lost their lives in this swamp of sour mud."

Otto's Adam's apple bobbed as he gave an order to Polyver behind him:

"Kill him. Slit his throat with a dagger and let him bleed out."

Two guards drew their short daggers and cleanly slit the bound men's necks. Black blood spurted into the stone drainage channels. After a violent convulsion, the two bodies turned to sludge.

"Polliver."

Otto looked at the flowing dark red.

"Go and strip these six men clean, and chop off their heads. For the four who were pierced by the crossbow bolts, hang their scalps on the spear tips. Use quicklime and tar to stop the decay."

Otto walked toward the wooden window and pointed to the row of wooden stakes outside the south gate, which were now filled with dried skulls.

"Pick out two that are still relatively intact and insert them into the wooden tips at the outermost end of this row of boundary markers."

"For the remaining four, have a carpenter make two airtight wooden boxes, pack them tightly and seal them securely. Stamp them with our newly cleaned silver sealing wax seal."

Otto turned his head and looked at Pollifer.

"Send three to Riverrun. In my name, deliver a letter to Duke Horst accusing the bandits of plotting to burn down the Valley granaries. Tell the Duke that Bluefork River is taking the fall for him."

Otto threw the piece of coarse linen he was holding onto the table.

"The largest one, have Damon's smuggling ship deliver it by water to the Raventree City ferry. The ship won't stop, no need to leave a message."

He turned around and walked out of the stone tower, his voice muffled in his throat.

"Titus Blackwood will know who sent it."