Chapter 43: Blackwing and the Mountain Weasels
Preparations took a full month. We assembled a force of over four hundred men, plus four light cavalry for scouting and support. Oh, and by the way—" Dorian suddenly glanced at Ser Grayson, "—I believe that was the day you finished your last contract up North and returned to base."
"It was," Ser Grayson nodded. "I'd just gotten back and was pressed into the battle line before I even understood what was happening. If not for the coin, I'd have gladly twisted off Ser Harrison's head for commandeering me like that."
Ian raised a hand to stop Grayson, then looked back to Dorian. "Continue."
"I don't know if Ser Grayson told you, but we finally found a temporary camp in the woods south of Whitewalls—a site that could hold forty or fifty men. But when we arrived, the camp was deserted.
We continued searching but found nothing. Since the east is open plains where hiding would be impossible, our massive operation ended in complete failure.
But no sooner had we disbanded than the bandits resumed their activities, appearing out of nowhere. We were forced to gather again to discuss new strategies.
Learning from our mistakes, we cut loose all the unreliable sellswords this time and switched from offense to deception. We disguised our best men as a velvet and silk caravan, hoping to lure the enemy out and ambush them."
"Smart plan," Ian nodded approvingly. "But you failed again?"
"Yes. The bandits didn't take the bait. We tried several different schemes, but they simply wouldn't hit us."
"Did they pull back while you were setting the trap?"
"No! They stayed active, but only attacked genuine caravans passing through. They avoided our traps perfectly, like ghosts."
"There's obviously a traitor!" Ian declared. No wonder the Blackwing Company and the knight alliance fell apart. These bandits are clearly raiding everywhere, yet they won't touch the bait. Someone's feeding them information.
"My adoptive father and Ser Wilder reached the same conclusion, but each side suspected the other of harboring the traitor. With no proof, our alliance quickly collapsed. After that, we went our separate ways, each hunting for the Blackfyre treasure independently. We found nothing."
"Wait." Ian stopped Dorian. "There's something important you haven't told me yet."
"What?"
"The Blackfyre treasure! I've heard your entire story, and I still don't understand where you got that idea! You've been talking about a bandit company the whole time. What's their connection to any Blackfyre treasure?"
"Oh, I skipped that part. The connection comes from Ser Simon's assessment during our second joint operation."
"Ser Simon?" Who the hell is this now? I can't keep track of all these damn knights! Ian thought irritably.
"Ser Simon Rivers, the sworn sword of House Darry. He's the only knight Castle Darry sent us."
Ser Bastard of Darry, got it. "What's his reasoning for this theory?"
"The Second Blackfyre Rebellion died before it truly began. Lord Butterwell of Whitewalls and his conspirators must have stockpiled vast supplies for the uprising. However, the histories don't mention Bloodraven seizing any such wealth when he took Whitewalls, so this fortune might have been hidden beforehand," Dorian explained.
"So this bastard Ser Simon is also a maester, is he? How does he know all this?"
Dorian looked blank. "We never asked. He seemed very certain."
Ian frowned. Though he remembered the Second Blackfyre Rebellion—mostly for what a farce it was—he hadn't paid much attention to its aftermath.
It was certainly possible that Lord Butterwell had amassed considerable wealth, but the holdings of a single Riverlands lord wouldn't qualify as a 'Blackfyre restoration treasure.'
"You've been hunting this treasure for months, and it's still just speculation? You haven't found a shred of evidence?" Ian's eye twitched. He suddenly wanted to slap Dorian.
"Those bandits have been operating near Whitewalls all this time—surely they're searching for the treasure too. Why else would they stay here? If they were planning a new Blackfyre uprising, they wouldn't choose the eastern shore of the Gods Eye to launch it, would they?" Dorian said hastily.
"But if they're treasure hunting, shouldn't they do it quietly? Why raid so brazenly?" Ian shook his head, dismissing Dorian's logic.
"My adoptive father wondered the same thing," Dorian said quickly. "His conclusion was that the bandits searched here for a long time without success. They're raiding to resupply, and also out of frustration—trying to recoup their losses."
That actually makes sense. Blackwing had some brains—he wasn't just muscle. "Wasn't he?"
"So your entire belief in a Blackfyre restoration treasure rests on Lord Butterwell possibly leaving something behind? That's an incredibly thin theory. You have no evidence or clues whatsoever?" Ian found it absurd.
"I don't know the details, but since my adoptive father and Ser Wilder were so convinced, they must know something they didn't share with me," Dorian said awkwardly, having just boasted that Blackwing treated him like a true son and kept no secrets.
Ian rolled his eyes, moving past the unanswered question. "Have you made any progress in your treasure hunt this past month?"
"None. After the alliance broke, we didn't dare face the Whitewalls ghosts directly. We just searched quietly for the treasure. They haven't actively attacked our strongholds—just raided passing caravans as usual."
"So no one's doing anything about them?"
"What do you mean?"
"This level of banditry should be reported to your overlord, shouldn't it? Since you can't handle these bandits yourselves, just report them to Lord Hoster at Riverrun. The Tullys will send forces to deal with it.
The Tullys may be political opportunists, but they're good to their bannermen and smallfolk." Ian was playing a Lannister, so he didn't need to speak kindly of the Tullys.
"That's true, but Ser Wilder and the others worry that if the Tullys send troops, they won't get any share of the Blackfyre treasure."
(End of Chapter)
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