House of Ash and Gold

Chapter 19: First Steps and Tournament Stakes

The pouch in his sleeve weighed more than the coin inside. It felt more like acknowledgement, a sort of test, and a warning all in one.

Don't disgrace yourself in the tournament.

His father's voice was still clear in his head.

In the Southern Duchy, tournaments were no idle sport. Every two years, the Duke of Leth hosted the Tournament of Rethmar — part spectacle, part proving ground. To the crowd it was entertainment, but to the noble houses it was reputation, money, and power decided in the open.

Victors earned prestige, favors, and sometimes direct offers from wealthier houses. Defeat brought mockery, and repeated defeat carved deep wounds in a house's reputation.

For House Varissen, once spoken of for its fighting strength, the tournament was more than a spectacle, it was a chance to prove they were still dangerous.

The last time they had competed, they'd been eliminated on the first day. A second embarrassment would brand them as weak beyond recovery, while a strong showing could silence rivals and even draw crowns back into their coffers.

That was the heart of Edric's warning.

If Cael faltered there, the other houses would stop treating Varissen as a contender at all.

He crossed the great hall, its high windows spilling pale evening light across the flagstones. The place was still alive with the business of the day. Petitioners waited in lines, merchants rehearsed their bargains, and servants moved with careful steps under the eyes of guards.

At the far end, Edric sat on the high seat, the Drevane lord beside him. The Drevane heiress — Serenya occupied the next chair, posture flawless, hair pinned with elegance. Her eyes didn't move as Cael approached, but he could feel the weight of her attention as surely as if she had spoken.

A merchant in green and gold silks was in the middle of his pitch, a long, winding tale about transport costs and scarcity that ended with a price well above market rate. Cael waited only until the man paused for breath.

"That figure is wrong," Cael said, his voice carrying easily. "Three shipments came through the south road last week, not one. Two of them carried goods identical to yours. Your cost is inflated by nearly twenty percent."

The merchant flushed under the murmurs spreading through the hall. He stammered, reaching for his ledger, but Cael had already stepped past him toward the table, laying a finger on the correct column without looking away from Edric.

"Here," he said, "is what you paid last season, and here is the surplus you sold in spring. If you've forgotten your own records, perhaps they should be kept somewhere safer."

The man retreated in tight-lipped silence. Edric said nothing, but he didn't contradict him. The lack of rebuke was approval enough.

From her seat the heiress studied Cael openly now, as if assessing a piece being moved on a board.

When the petitions ended, Cael went back to the courtyard. Several knights were drilling for the tournament, the dust around them marked with fresh footprints and discarded shields.

He was just about starting a training session when a shadow moved towards him. Tarren, who he had given a new task after his last test, slipped toward him with an urgency that needed no words.

"A rider came from the south hamlet," Tarren said in a low voice. "They've got a lot of grain. The poor harvest last year in the neighboring villages meant they had nothing to trade, and their granaries were already near to rotting."

Cael's brow tightened. "Guild inspectors?"

"Already on the road," Tarren said. "If they get there first, they'll call half the lot spoiled and take the rest at their own rate."

There was no time to waste. The pouch in his sleeve was meant for moves like this.

The two crossed to the eastern stables. A pair of horses were already being rubbed down by grooms. Cael chose a bay horse with steady legs and as he checked the tack, he also considered the route to take.

The straight road would meet the guild riders head-on while the old mill path ran longer but cut through woodland. As long as they moved with speed, they could arrive before the guilds.

He mounted, speaking to Tarren. "You'll ride ahead to speak for me. Keep your answers short, your eyes down, and if it comes to it, don't hesitate to use kephs to smoothen the journey." He handed the boy a small wrapped bundle.

Tarren nodded once, his attitude had already shifted into readiness.

Just as they were about to ride, Serenya stepped from behind the gate pillar. She wasn't dressed for the hall now but for travel, a dark riding cloak clasped at her neck, gloves tucked under one arm.

"Where are you off to so late?" she asked lightly, her tone balanced between curiosity and tease. "Most heirs would still be celebrating their cleverness in calling out that merchant at court today."

Cael reined his horse a touch closer, keeping his tone polite. "Celebrations won't change my situation. As you reminded me yesterday, in a not so subtle way."

Her lips curved faintly, though whether in amusement or challenge was hard to tell. "Then perhaps you'll ride with me instead. The fields east of the ridge are said to be worth seeing in the evening."

Cael inclined his head, voice courteous but firm. "Another time, my lady. I've matters that can't be delayed."

He gave a signal, and Tarren urged the second horse forward. Together they started down the lane.

They rode until the towers of Varissen were hidden by trees. The old mill path was narrow and uneven, the undergrowth heavy with last season's fallen leaves. Cael kept the pace measured, listening for the sound of the other convoy more than the creak of his saddle leather.

They eventually reached the ridge above the hamlet. The long shape of the grain storage stood by the stream. From here, Cael could already see the sag in the roof and the dark stains along the outer planks — signs of damp and rot that could destroy the harvest if left another week.

This was no idle rumor. The surplus was real, and so was the risk.

Tarren was to ride down first. Before the boy went further, Cael had leaned close and murmured, "Keep your words short. If they press, just tell them your lord will make it worth their while. Hint at the kephs you have on you, nothing more."

He went on after the small lecture, speaking to a pair of men outside the storehouse. One vanished inside while the other stayed leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. Cael stayed mounted on the ridge, watching. Patience was as much a weapon here as steel.

When Tarren returned, his grin was quick but restrained. "They're willing to deal, but only with you."

Cael gave a short nod. The boy had followed instructions well enough, but he would handle the rest. It was one thing to trust the boy with errands. Another to let him bargain against grown men. That part would remain Cael's hand, not Tarren's.

After a few greetings, they went straight into bargaining. Cael kept his tone even, never raising it, but each figure he named struck true. He pointed to the stains on the planks, the sagging roof, the smell of damp, all kinds of details guild inspectors would pounce on.

By the time he finished, the men weren't arguing the price anymore, only how quickly the grain could be moved. They eventually settled at a quarter of guild rate, with Cael taking the burden of transport. It was better than he'd hoped.

Cael looked back the way they came, there was no dust from riders, even looking far off. It meant they still had time, but not much.

"Seal it," Cael said. "Every sack. Mark it with our crest before we leave."

By the time it was dark, the Varissen crest was stamped on every grain sack in the storehouse. Guild law was clear: goods already marked with a house crest couldn't be claimed as spoiled stock without direct proof.

For a small house like Varissen, even a single surplus like this could mean the difference between begging the guilds for loans or paying soldiers through winter. By stamping their crest first, Cael wasn't just buying grain, he was outmaneuvering rivals on their own field.

Moving it would have taken days, but now the claim was made.

It wasn't a full victory but it was the first step, and the first real move he'd made with his own hand.

As they rode back toward the keep, the training yard banners of the tournament seemed to occupy a large part of his mind. Soon, he would stand in the tourney grounds not as an onlooker but as a competitor.

If the grain deal was his first step, the tournament would be the measure of whether he could carry the Varissen name in front of every rival house.