ASOIAF: The Rise of House Ashenblade.

Arlan pushed Raymond Weil’s confession across the table.

”Your tax collector arranged an ambush, brought Blacktooth raiders as false evidence, and carried instructions for an accusation against House Ashenblade. Storm’s End already knows enough of the matter to send men once.” Elton Caron did not touch the parchment. The knights behind him shifted almost imperceptibly. Arlan tapped the Baratheon seal.

”If you want to forbid lawful trade in Rainwood, do it openly. If you want to arrest me, do that openly too. Then we can let Lord Renly decide whether Nightsong’s authority includes manufacturing treason charges against a vassal.” Gareth started forward.

”You insolent little—”

”Enough,” Elton said. His son’s mouth closed. For half a minute the only sounds in the tavern were the fire, distant horses, and the breathing of men trying not to attract a lord’s attention. Then Elton laughed. The sound held no amusement.

”Arlan Ashenblade has misunderstood the matter,” he said to the room. ”Rainwood is a market. Lawful trade has never been forbidden by House Caron.” Several merchants looked at one another. Elton’s gaze sharpened.

”But smuggling, collusion with raiders, and treason remain crimes. Anyone who breaks the laws of the Stormlands will answer for it, whoever he trades with.” It was retreat disguised as policy. Arlan did not force him to call it anything else.

Elton turned and left the tavern; Gareth remained long enough to glare at Arlan, then followed his father and the knights into the street. The silence lasted until the hoofbeats moved away; then every merchant who had hidden his purse brought it out again.

Morton was nearly knocked sideways by the rush toward the table.

”One at a time! If you cannot give me a name and quantity, you are not buying anything!” Nobody listened.

The remaining Red Sun Flame sold quickly; buyers no longer needed convincing that House Caron would tolerate the sale for at least that evening, and Elton’s own public words became a shield merchants could repeat if questioned later. Morton collected payment while Wayne’s men carried purchased goods toward the buyers’ wagons and brought back the emptied crates.

The glass moved even faster. Clear cups that had been handled cautiously an hour earlier were now being claimed in lots, and merchants began placing orders for future pieces before FireStorm had proved how many its kiln could produce in a month. Glass cups, decanters, flat pieces, and the better decorative work disappeared into crates marked for buyers before two hours had passed. A glass set retained for display was bought for two gold dragons by a merchant with connections farther north.

More valuable than the immediate sales were the contracts.

More than a dozen merchants agreed to recurring supply: roughly five hundred bottles of Red Sun Flame and one hundred pieces of glass each month. Morton collected thirty percent in advance and wrote return cargo beside each account, tying future liquor and glass to grain, iron, salt, cloth, and transport. FireStorm no longer depended on one frightened buyer or one hidden road.

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Elton’s public statement also forced another result. Harlan was released. The Old Fox arrived angry, bruised, and far more loyal to profit than before. Arlan preserved his exclusive role in the black-market side of FireStorm’s trade and helped keep his property from being swallowed entirely by the men who had arrested him.

Harlan went to one knee.

”You kept the road open when every sensible man thought it closed. My channels are yours so long as you keep filling them.”

”Keep them profitable,” Arlan said, ”and we will both be satisfied.”

The four original freight wagons had become part of a larger return convoy; purchased wagons carried grain, iron, seeds, cloth, herbs, and other necessities the blockade was supposed to deny them. Coin rode under guard in leather bags and locked chests; the guards who had entered beneath drawn bows now passed the gate with their backs straight.

No Caron soldier stopped them; night had fallen by the time FireStorm’s watchtower saw the torches.

The horn brought villagers running to the road; children followed the wagons until adults dragged them away from the wheels. Men began unloading grain and iron before Morton had dismounted; women carried hot water and porridge to the returning guards.

For people who had recently watched most of their wheat burn, the sacks mattered more than the silver. Morton had men count them directly into storage while women checked for damp or spoiled grain. Iron went to the smithy under guard, seed to a separate store, and the herbs to the cleanest room available until FireStorm could create the infirmary Arlan now intended to fund.

That night, Arlan gathered Morton, Wayne, and the men responsible for the village’s workshops around the table in the stone hall; the accounts from Rainwood were spread in front of them.

After costs and deposits were counted, the trip had produced twelve gold dragons and three hundred and seventy silver stags. Morton’s ledger valued the total at more than seven thousand silver stags in the reckoning being used for the holding, an enormous change from the few coins FireStorm had possessed when Arlan woke.

Nobody suggested storing all of it; coin that stayed in a chest could not plow, guard a wall, repair a roof, feed a child, or increase the output promised to merchants. The danger now was spending so quickly that one bad month emptied the reserve, so Arlan forced every proposal into a category before allowing Morton to write a number beside it.

Arlan divided the capital into five uses. First came production. The distillery and glass kiln would expand, and twenty additional workers with steady hands would be assigned or recruited to keep contracted supply from outrunning FireStorm’s workshops.

Second came food and farming. FireStorm would reclaim more wasteland and buy oxen, seed, and tools, so the growing population did not depend indefinitely on bandit grain or merchant deliveries.

Third came defense. Walls and watchtowers would be strengthened, two additional arrow towers built, and weapons and armor acquired as the guard expanded toward eighty men.

Fourth came the households themselves: each would receive half a sack of rye and two copper stars. FireStorm would also establish an infirmary and purchase herbs for the wounded, elderly, and sick. The fifth portion remained untouched as reserve. Morton wrote until the candle burned low, and the meeting ended near dawn.

Arlan remained at the table and opened the Forging Group. With part of the new wealth converted for trade, he ordered practical tools for the next phase: blueprints for steel farming implements, an improved iron-smelting furnace design, and a batch of better steel weapons and leather armor.

Larry’s reply arrived with predictable satisfaction.

”Made money, did you? About time. I’ll send you the useful designs before you waste it all on shiny nonsense.” Arlan was still reading when the door slammed open. Wayne stood there breathing hard.

”My lord. The grain store in the back hills is burning.” Arlan rose. Wayne’s face told him there was more.

”The three men guarding it are dead. Whoever did it left a mountain-raider totem at the site.” The room went still. Outside, the warning horn began to sound. FireStorm had finally gained enough coin to plan beyond the next week. Someone had chosen that same night to burn its food.