Transmigration: Rise of the Iron Lord

Keep Your Hands on the Reins

The courtyard of Greyrock smelled of boiled tallow, oiled harness leather, and cold damp earth.

Lined up in double file across the bailey were twelve heavy freight wagons, each hitched to four sturdy mules. Beneath the thick canvas tarpaulins lay five hundred finished iron hoe heads, eighty heavy plowshares, and twelve crates of dark four-sided pike points. In the lead wagon, secured in an iron-banded chest beneath the driver's bench, sat three thousand freshly minted bronze pennies, their raised rims clinking softly whenever the mules shifted their hooves.

Daniel walked the length of the line, checking the hemp lashings on the crates.

Edmund walked beside him, his breath puffing white in the frosty air. Flanking the wagons were twenty young guardsmen, their chests covered by hardened iron breastplates that had been beaten thin and shaped under the water-powered trip hammer. Each man carried a twelve-foot ash pike and an iron broadsword buckled at his hip.

At the head of the detachment stood Robin. The boy was barely seventeen, but his shoulders were broader now, and his grip on his pike shaft was steady and firm.

"You're leading the rear guard, Robin," Daniel said, stopping beside the boy. "Your job isn't to look for glory. Your job is to keep those twelve wagons moving in a tight column until you cross the bridge into Riverbend."

Robin swallowed, his throat moving, but his voice came out clear. "We won't let them touch a spoke, Lord Wellington."

"Count Brandon's bailiffs will be watching from every ridge between the Narrow Pass and the low marsh," Daniel told him. "They know their lord is sitting in my keep, but some of his younger captains might think they can make a name for themselves by taking back our iron. If anyone rides out to challenge you, don't argue with them. Form a square, drop the pikes, and let the iron do the talking."

"Understood, my lord," Robin said, snapping his mailed knuckles against his breastplate.

Daniel looked up toward the second-story window of the west tower.

Count Brandon stood behind the iron-barred casement, wrapped in a coarse wool blanket. His face was gray and drawn, his round jowls sagging with fatigue. When he saw Daniel looking up, his eyes shifted away in sullen defeat.

Daniel signaled with two fingers. "Edmund, bring him down."

Five minutes later, two guards escorted Brandon into the bailey. The noble was unbound, though his steps were slow and cautious. His fine riding boots had been scuffed by the cellar stone, and his green velvet coat was streaked with dried clay.

"You're letting these wagons leave without me," Brandon rasped, his voice rough from the cellar cold. "You promised my steward I'd ride home."

"I promised your steward you'd ride home after my wagons crossed your valley without paying tolls," Daniel replied, stepping within arm's reach of the Count. "Your bailiffs have charged thirty coppers for every cart that crossed the southern ford for ten years. Today, my wagons pass for free."

Brandon closed his eyes, his fists clenching inside the blanket. "The river trade will break my tolls. If the northern merchants see that common iron can cross the Low Marches without my tax, every guild in the province will demand the same terms."

"Then you should have thought about that before you marched six hundred men into my pass," Daniel said coldly. He reached into his coat and pulled out the signed treaty scroll, along with a copy of Brandon's requisition order. "Robin carries your personal wax seal. If one of your men draws a bowstring on this road, the boy will break the seal and turn back to Greyrock. And the next thing that travels south won't be wagons. It'll be that ledger I showed you in the cellar, carried straight to the High Justiciar's hall."

Brandon looked at the twenty pikemen standing in rigid, silent formation. He looked at the heavy iron plowshares peeking out from the canvas covers. The realization that this ragged frontier outpost was now better equipped than his own household guard hit him like a physical blow.

"Tell your men to stay on the main post road," Brandon muttered, his voice cracking. "Tell them not to light fires near the tenant villages. My bailiffs won't touch them."

Daniel handed the sealed parchment to Robin.

"Keep your hands on the reins," Daniel said to the young carter sitting atop the lead wagon. "Don't stop for strangers, and don't take side tracks through the marsh. Reach Riverbend before the second sunset."

The carter nodded, gathering the thick leather straps in his gloved palms. "Aye, my lord."

"Move them out," Daniel ordered.

Robin raised his pike arm, shouting the command. "Column forward! Clear the ditch!"

The iron-rimmed wheels groaned against the packed gravel as the mules leaned into their leather collars. The twelve freight wagons rolled forward in a steady, unbroken line, passing beneath the heavy portcullis arch and crossing the newly reinforced timber bridge over the outer ditch. The twenty armored guards marched alongside with measured, mechanical steps, their boots crunching on the frost.

Daniel stood by the gatehouse, watching the column wind its way down the winding mountain path toward the southern tree line.

Beside him, Edmund spat into the dirt, watching the rear guard disappear behind the granite shoulder of the pass.

"It's a bold gamble, my lord," Edmund remarked quietly. "Sending twenty of our best men and half our forged tools into Brandon's backyard. If his bailiffs ambush them in the marsh, we lose our trade line and our weapons in one stroke."

"It isn't a gamble, Edmund," Daniel said, turning his back on the road and looking up at the high northern cliff where Cole's masons were already cutting foundation stone for the stone aqueduct. "Brandon wants to live. He wants his manors, his fine cloaks, and his comfort. A man like that will swallow his pride ten times over before he risks losing his head to the King's axe."

Daniel pulled up the empire console with a silent thought.

Trade Convoy Dispatched: 12 Heavy Wagons.

Cargo Value: 3,000 Greyrock Bronze Pennies, 580 Iron Implements.

Estimated Journey Time: 48 Hours.

Projected Return: 600 lbs Raw Copper, 40 Casks Lamp Oil, Regional Trade Integration.

Security Level: Monitored (Hostage Leverage Active).

The numbers were running smoothly. With the convoy on the road, Daniel turned his attention toward the mountain that towered over them.

Boran came jogging across the yard from the upper mine path, his leather apron covered in gray dust, holding a heavy chunk of dark, sparkling rock in his bare hands.

"Lord Wellington!" Boran called out, breathing hard as he reached the gatehouse. "Lucas was right about the drainage fault. We didn't just find a second path into the Dead Seam. You need to come up the hill and see what the pick struck."

Daniel stepped down from the gatehouse ledge.

"Lead the way, Boran," Daniel said. "Let's see what the mountain is hiding."