ASOIAF: The Rise of House Ashenblade.

Loras Tyrell entered FireStorm with two clerks, a maester from Storm’s End, and no judgment already written. The remaining riders stayed in the yard beneath Wayne’s eye. His armor was as fine as the songs promised, silver-white plate worked with rose-gold, but he had road dust on his boots and an inventory board in his hand.

”Lord Renly has read Lord Elton’s charges and your answer,” he told Arlan. ”He has no wish to choose between bundles of parchment while his brother plans a royal progress to Storm’s End. You asked for an inspection. You have one.”

”Where do you begin?”

”With whatever you hoped I would not ask to see.”

The first doors opened before breakfast. Loras counted men against Wayne’s rolls, then chose names from the middle rather than accepting the officers Arlan offered. The Storm’s End maester examined wounds, prisoner entries, and dates. One clerk compared arrows and spearheads to purchase records while the other sat Morton beside the four newly separated ledgers and asked why separation had begun only after Rodrick’s arrival.

”Because I recently acquired a man rude enough to insist upon it,” Morton said.

Rodrick inclined his head.

The old running book balanced, but not cleanly. Workshop copper had sometimes been paid from household coin; military food had been removed from common stores and entered days later. Nothing supported Elton’s invented quantities. The looseness did make theft or alteration easier than Arlan could tolerate.

Loras marked the fault instead of pretending victory erased it. ”Separate books remain separate. A second hand witnesses transfers from common stores. Monthly copies go to Storm’s End until Lord Renly says otherwise.”

Arlan accepted. The price was intrusion into FireStorm’s affairs. Refusing it after demanding scrutiny would have made every accusation stronger.

The armory held no hidden Dornish cache. The barracks housed the number FireStorm claimed. Three former raiders in custody were questioned apart; their stories agreed where men remembered the same road and diverged where fear and distance should have made memory uncertain. Brienne described the ambush and repeated the shouted command to keep her alive. Wayne showed positions and weapon marks. Rodrick demonstrated the false citations, seals, and impossible ford dates, then stopped whenever his conclusion outran what the material could bear.

Loras noticed. ”You do not call Lord Elton the author.”

”The papers serve him,” Rodrick said. ”The courier route touches his men and stores. I have not seen him hold the quill.”

”Former maesters are usually less modest about what they know.”

”I was expelled for asking what others preferred not to know, not for confusing it with an answer.”

By noon Loras had found three things he required changed: the mixed accounts, an unsigned prisoner transfer, and patrol reports that named a road but not the hour men returned. None was treason. All could become a weapon if neglected. Arlan ordered the corrections before the inspection moved outside the walls.

Loras rode next to the Rainwood warehouse. The cooper opened it before being asked. The factor’s clerk identified each account he had copied; the stable boy described the violet-stained intermediary; the miller’s cousin knew the horse and token, not the rider’s name. Payment pegs, relay fees, arrowheads, and feed marks converged without asking any one witness to tell the whole story.

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Last came Elton’s camp. Loras returned after sunset with mud along his white horse’s belly and anger held behind courtly calm. Elton had offered no common troop roll. Two allied captains gave different reasons for why they had been summoned. A third believed he had come to escort evidence to Storm’s End, not threaten FireStorm. Stores from the Rainwood warehouse stood beneath a Caron awning. Elton denied knowing the factor and then ordered the man found before Loras had named him.

The decree was written in FireStorm’s hall that night and carried Renly’s seal because Loras had authority to apply the limits already sent with him. Elton was to disband the unauthorized coalition, cease armed interference with FireStorm and its trade, and present himself alone at Storm’s End upon a further summons. Arlan would be required as well. Robert was still expected in three days, and Renly wanted witnesses and originals fit to survive hostile questions.

The decree did not declare Arlan blameless. It required FireStorm to preserve originals, send monthly copies of patrol and store rolls, record confiscations and prisoner transfers before a second witness, and give prompt notice when armed pursuit crossed its recognized boundary. Nightsong was forbidden to use Rainwood officers or local proxies to do what Elton could not lawfully order himself.

”You asked Lord Renly to judge reach as well as guilt,” Loras said. ”Now both houses will discover where his reach ends.”

Arlan signed acknowledgment. ”I will come.”

Before Loras mounted, Morton sent the selected glass and Red Sun Flame as hospitality for Storm’s End, separately inventoried from the evidence. Loras drank water. He intended to remain in the saddle. At the gate he stopped before Brienne.

”Lady Brienne.”

She straightened. ”Ser Loras.”

His gaze touched the fresh bandage beneath her mail and the Ashenblade device near her shoulder. Whatever he thought of her choice, he did not ask it in front of a yard full of soldiers. ”Lord Renly will hear you in your own words,” he said.

”He will have them.”

After the white cloaks disappeared, the village cheered. Arlan let the sound live for a little while, then called Rodrick, Wayne, Morton, and Brienne back to the hall. Storm’s End would contain Robert, Cersei, Renly, Lannister interests, Tyrell interests, and every southern lord quick enough to bring a grievance. The inspection had removed Elton’s easiest lies. It had not removed his coin, his riders, or his need to silence witnesses.

Loras had also left a copy of his authority with the gate watch and another with the Rainwood reeve. Arlan made Wayne read both aloud to the guards. The decree protected inspection and movement; it did not authorize Ashenblade men to arrest anyone who wore a nightingale or to cross Caron land in pursuit. Relief without limits could become the next accusation before the ink dried.

The scout arrived before Rodrick finished assigning eyes along the NovelPhoenix. He knelt with dust on his face. ”West pass, my lord. Seven men hunted by Nightsong soldiers. Their leader calls himself Cade Walker.”

Wayne swore softly. Cade was known among infantrymen for keeping foot soldiers alive during the Greyjoy Rebellion when mounted knights received the songs. Rodrick knew another part from old Rainwood records: missing border coin, weapons sold from military stores, and Raymond Weil’s name where it should not have been. Cade had tried to report the theft. Within days, he was accused of murdering comrades and dealing with Ironborn.

”He carries proof?” Arlan asked.

”The scout says he claims to. Bolt in the left chest, six wounded men with him. Fifty Nightsong soldiers hold the checkpoint and demand we surrender them.”

Morton looked toward the decree still drying on the table. ”Sheltering a wanted man will sound simple before the King.”

”So will killing a witness before he is heard,” Rodrick said.

Arlan buckled on his sword. ”Then we keep him alive long enough to make the question difficult. Horses.”

Half an hour later, seven men stood with their backs nearly touching at the west pass. At their center, Cade Walker held a battle axe beneath half a crossbow shaft buried in his left chest. Fifty spears lowered across the road, and the Nightsong captain saw Arlan’s riders and smiled.

”Good,” he called. ”You can watch us take the fugitive.”