House of Ash and Gold

Chapter 20: Grain Secured, Shadows Cast

They left the hamlet at dusk with the storehouse sealed, the Varissen crest cooling on wax across every sack. The old mill path led them back to the main road under a pale moon.

Hoofbeats sounded ahead. There were four riders. Two wore the guild's copper sun on their cloaks, a tallyman was between them and a hired spear riding last.

The lead rider lifted a hand. "Halt. We're bound for the south hamlet to assess spoilage and purchase grain under the guild tariff."

Cael reined in beside Tarren, calm. "You're late. The stock is already under noble claim."

The tallyman frowned. "Under whose authority?"

Cael nodded to Tarren, who produced a folded slip bearing Varissen wax. “House Varissen,” Cael said evenly. "The seal has been applied, the witnesses have signed, and the reeve’s mark taken. Under guild law, a noble claim stands unless you can prove theft or tampering."

The hired spear eased forward. "We can open and inspect."

"Not without breaking our seal," Cael said. "That's a court matter. You're welcome to ride to Varissen Keep and lodge a complaint. I'll have the seneschal copy our witness list and times." He let the words settle. "Or you can arrive tomorrow and find the stock already on our wagons."

The tallyman shifted in the saddle. "We were informed the hamlet carried surplus without a buyer. If they're withholding—"

"They're not withholding," Cael said. "They're sold. You can note it as a private purchase under our crest."

One of the guild riders tried a different angle. "Private purchases require posted notice at the nearest market."

“Which has already been posted,” Cael said. “The reeve of Mill Run signed the notice himself.”

The hired spear eyed Tarren's bundle and the neat strip of wax visible at its edge. "You move fast for a small house."

"We have to," Cael said. "You can ride on to the hamlet and count the seals in the dark if you like. Or turn around and spare yourselves a wasted night."

It wasn’t a threat. Just advice, and hard to argue with.

The tallyman exhaled. "We'll register a dispute in the morning."

"Good," Cael said. "Address it to Master Loran, seneschal of Varissen. He'll have copies ready."

The guild riders shifted off the road. Cael didn't look back.

A mile later, he slowed and handed Tarren a second slip, this one unsealed but signed. "Take the bay. Ride ahead to the keep. Give this to Master Loran. He's to send six wagons, two ox teams, canvas tarps, and eight men to the hamlet at first light.

Levy three more carts from Oakbend and Mill Run; pay the carters a keph and a half a mile if they bring their own teams. Don't forget to get salt for damp sacks, rope and poles for a covered stack incase rain comes."

Tarren tucked the order away. "Do I tell Jorlan?"

"No need, Master Loran will," Cael said.

Tarren wheeled off. Cael rode on alone, the road to the keep was clear and dark, the plan already moving without him.

***

Edric was still in the hall when Cael arrived, a single lamp burning on the table and a ledger open at his elbow. He looked up once, then waited.

Cael gave the short version: seal, witnesses, guild riders delay, orders to Loran for wagons, tarps, men, and a quiet escort.

Edric listened without interrupting. When Cael finished, he closed the ledger with his palm. "You didn't overpay?"

"I got it for a quarter of guild rate," Cael said. "But we carry the burden of transport."

Edric's mouth moved toward a smile but didn't get there. "It's a win. Treat it like one. Then plan for the pushback."

Cael held his gaze.

“They won’t hit straight on,” Edric went on. “Short weights on our sellers. Surprise 'inspections' on our road. Pressure on the villages we levied carts from. Maybe a petition at Rethmar, claiming we coerced the hamlet.”

"The reeve signed it," Cael said. "Witnesses, times, and posted notice."

“They’ll argue something else,” Edric said. “They always do.” He leaned back, eyes narrowing as if weighing the hidden costs. “You acted quickly. That’s the work of a lord. But quick victories draw eyes. Now comes the harder part, making it hold.”

He called for a runner. "Wake Master Loran. He's to prepare receipts, copy the purchase terms, and seal them with the house crest. Put Jorlan's four best men on the wagons. And no banners, I want this to look like common cargo, not a lord’s prize. If anyone asks, they're carrying canvas and timber for repairs."

He looked back to Cael. "You'll go back out tomorrow?"

"Yes," Cael said.

"Good. The guild will spin their own version. Let's make sure it doesn’t have a leg to stand on."

***

Word spread quickly. By the time Cael stepped into the outer passage, the keep had already shifted tone. The cook's boy whispered to a scullery maid. The quartermaster came out counting on his fingers, lips moving through sums — wages, fodder, salt, new straps for the wagons. Someone said "Lord Cael" without thinking and no one corrected it.

There was no cheering, but relief ran through the keep. It was small and practical, the kind a house remembers.

In the courtyard, Loran was already up, gray hair stark under the torchlight, a bundle of parchments under his arm. He didn't waste time on praise.

"You posted a notice at Mill Run?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good." He scribbled. "We'll want two copies — one for the guild, one for the duke's clerk if it comes to that." He paused only long enough to meet Cael's eye. "You kept your head."

"It was simple," Cael said.

"Simple is hard," Loran said, and moved on.

Jorlan crossed the yard with a pair of men in plain cloaks. He tapped a finger on the wagons without looking at Cael. "Four to the hamlet, two to the toll shed. Father's orders. No swords unless needed. If anyone asks, we're just moving canvas."

"Use the mill path behind the ridge," Cael said. "Keep them out of sight until they clear the toll shed."

Jorlan gave a short nod that was more habit than approval. "You've been riding more."

"A little."

He let out a low grunt, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "At least you’re not tumbling out of the saddle every mile," he said, already striding past without a glance.

***

Serenya didn't have to ask. The keep told her.

She'd gone to the gallery for air and found the servants' hall stirring at an hour it preferred to sleep. Two maids compared stories in low voices — grain sealed, wagons at first light.

She let them talk within earshot, saying nothing until one noticed her and moved to curtsy.

"Don't stop for me," Serenya said, mild. "Who took the order?"

"Master Loran, my lady," the maid said. "Lord Cael wrote it."

Lord Cael. The words had taken root in the keep already.

Serenya stood at the gallery rail and watched the courtyard below. The shape of a plan was visible in the way men moved, measured, purposeful, practiced. She'd expected a boast at supper instead she'd gotten silence and a quiet mobilization.

Her suspicion didn't soften, but it changed. The boy with the reputation for carelessness was… careful and quick.

Perhaps her family had misjudged them. House Varissen didn’t posture like others.

It struck her then that Varissen hadn’t been broken, only crowded. Given the room, perhaps they had more strength in reserve than anyone had guessed.

She filed the thought away. She had not come to the Ridge for romance. But if Edric's son could upset guild timing with a handful of silver and a rider, he could upset other things too.

***

Cael didn't go to his bedchamber. He went to the small room beside the war table where Loran kept old rolls of parchment and spare wax. He sat, wrote out a clean copy of the purchase terms, and pressed the house seal until his fingers hurt.

He listed what the house could now cover if the grain sold well: repairs on the south gate hinge, two new shoes for each ox, and still a buffer for salt and fodder. He wrote it again, cleaner, trimming what he would have wanted from what they needed.

Outside, the courtyard quieted. He thought, just once, of his mother, and let the thought pass before it could turn into anything else.

Morning would bring wagons, signatures, and the start of a fight with the guild. He didn't mind. He preferred battles that were fought on paper.

He folded the terms, sealed them a second time, and rose.

No longer just the other son. Not yet a lord, but tonight the house had moved at his directions. That was enough to sleep on.