Salt, Gold, and Power

276 AC

The cold, salty winds of Ironborn Bay were now steeped in the burning heat of gold and power. The docks of Pyke had never been so bustling. Merchant ships from the Seven Kingdoms and even across the Narrow Sea crowded the harbor, their masts like a forest and their sails blotting out the sky. The dull thuds of hulls striking the stone quay, sailors' chants, merchants haggling, and the bright chime of gold and silver coins mingled in an unprecedented symphony of wealth belonging to House Greyjoy. The air was thick with spices, whale oil, rust, and a new, heart-pounding scent—the smell of gold.

In just one year, the once-empty harbor had been transformed beyond recognition.

And in the great study at the heart of Pyke's central fortress, overlooking the busy harbor and the shadowy depths of Sea Stone Hall, a silent storm had already settled. Kolen Greyjoy, King of the Sea Stones, was like an ancient reef withdrawn into the eye of the storm. He personally placed two heavy seals—the symbols of the seat of power—on the broad black-stone desk: one depicting a roaring sea monster encircled by salt-crystal patterns, the other a bloodied battle-axe entwined with chains.

"Take them." Kolen's voice was low, carrying the complex weight of a burden set down and a future entrusted. His gaze settled on his youngest son across the desk, deep as the sea. "The gift of salt, the Old Way of the sea. You will steer the Iron Islands' course into the future."

Across the desk stood Euron Greyjoy, only six years old. His dark-green sea-monster robe fit him well, accentuating his straight, sapling-like figure. He did not immediately reach for the two seals that could drive every lord to madness. He merely nodded, his mismatched eyes calm and still, as though he had been handed a pair of ordinary pebbles. His composure beyond his years made the old maester Craigon, standing in the corner, unconsciously tighten his withered fingers around his chain once more. It also drew an almost imperceptible glimmer from Lysa's green eyes, silent as the deep sea.

A year ago, when the five-year-old proposed his "Platinum Sand" strategy amid a storm of doubt, no one believed him. "Then give me a year. Let me try!" Now, his indisputable results had turned every voice into one of submission and awe.

Salt Power as the foundation, chains unseen.

The sacred aura of "Platinum Sand" had not left Euron intoxicated by some illusory blessing. Clear-eyed as a blade on a reef, he had forged Divine Grace into the coldest commercial scepter and chains of rule.

Any lord or merchant guild that wanted to buy "Platinum Sand" first had to purchase several times its quota in Pike Common Sea Salt! "The Binding Anchor." That was his first iron rule. Though this ordinary sea salt had undergone preliminary processing and was far superior to the bitter coarse salt of the other islands, it was still grayish white and cheap. The binding, like a heavy ship's anchor, locked buyers of "Platinum Sand" firmly to Pyke's most basic and abundant salt production. Earl Gimond Pottery of Saltcliffe once tried to resist. He owned the largest saltworks in the Iron Islands—how could he tolerate Pyke flooding the market with coarse salt? He grimly stockpiled his own salt and refused to buy Pyke's. And what happened? Not only did he lose the right to purchase "Platinum Sand," but he also lost the means to trade it for gold and grain from the mainland. He could only watch Saltcliffe's storehouses fill with bitter coarse salt that no one wanted, while his wealth slipped away like sand through his fingers. The salt workers' resentment and the hardship in his lands eventually forced him to bow his proud head. The binding ensured that Pyke's saltworks would never be left with unsold stock, while tying every island's economic lifeblood tightly to Pyke's: when one prospered, all prospered; when one suffered, all suffered.

The second iron rule was to build an imposing price barrier. The rough, grayish-white sea salt flowed cheaply to the pots and fish barrels of the Iron Islands' common folk, sustaining their most basic needs. "Platinum Sand," meanwhile, was fashioned into a luxury belonging only to princes, wealthy merchants, and holy places. Its snow-white, gleaming grains were packed into special little crystal bottles or exquisitely carved wooden boxes, stamped with the Drowned God's holy emblem and the Greyjoy sea monster. Each grain seemed to hold the essence of divine grace and the sea. Euron meant to make Platinum Sand a luxury—something that looked too expensive to afford, something only the highborn and wealthy could eat.

The price? Ten times that of coarse salt was only the beginning! In King's Landing, Oldtown, and Braavos, a small bottle of "Platinum Sand" was worth as much as the same weight in silver! It was naked wealth extraction. By exploiting the halo of faith and an absolute monopoly on quality, they reaped astonishing profits from the dining tables of the Seven Kingdoms' nobility, the treasury of the Prince of Dorne, and the ledgers of the Iron Bank of Braavos. The flow of gold became a tamed tide, surging ceaselessly into Pyke's vaults.

Then Euron seized the moment to establish the Ice and Fire Trading Company, whose reach had quietly extended to the major ports on both sides of the Narrow Sea. It announced to every potential buyer: "Want to buy the Iron Islands' 'Platinum Sand'? You can! But you must also buy salt produced in the Iron Islands! Whether it's Pyke's 'Gift Salt' or the coarse salt of the other islands, it only needs to come from the Iron Islands! Anyone caught buying salt from elsewhere as a substitute for Ironborn salt will permanently lose the right to purchase 'Platinum Sand'!" Monopoly was the key to setting prices—and the most profitable way to do business! That was Euron's third iron rule: the Blade of Monopoly.

These three directives hung over every merchant and lord coveting "Platinum Sand" like swords above their heads, forcing them to keep their procurement focused on the Iron Islands. This not only consolidated Pyke's absolute power to set prices for Ironborn salt, but also hitched the entire archipelago's salt production to House Greyjoy's wagon, greatly increasing the bargaining power and overall value of all Ironborn salt. Saltcliffe's coarse salt rose in price simply because it came from the Iron Islands. Though Earl Gimond's feelings were mixed, he still got a real share of the profits, and his will to resist quietly melted away before the sight of real gold.

New power over the Old Way, with the blade in hand.

The other power King Kolen had granted him—the authority to allocate Raid Permissions under the "Old Way, New Rules"—was wielded by Euron like a precise surgeon's scalpel. He divided the "Old Way, New Rules" into different grades of waters and shipping routes. Based on each island's loyalty, contribution—especially its salt taxes and enforcement of the tied-sales policy—and past "discipline" in raiding, particularly its strict avoidance of ships from the Seven Kingdoms, he issued "Raid Permits" of varying value. Loyal islands that contributed greatly, such as Great Wyk, whose Dunstan Drumm was closely bound to Pyke by marriage and fine-salt quotas, often received a "Golden Route" leading to Lysene merchant ships loaded with spices and silk or to slave-trading fleets. Those whose loyalty wavered and who failed to comply, like Baelon of Blacktyde Isle, who had once paid lip service to the rules, might receive only risky, unprofitable routes on the fringes, or be left to harass some poor fishing village. Euron issued the permits because only he knew the route information passed along by all the spies.

This intelligence served as invisible reins, directing the Iron Islands' raiding forces and turning their destructive power into a tool for targeted wealth extraction, all firmly in service of Pyke's broader strategy. A portion of every raid's spoils had to be paid to Pyke as a "Management Fee." Meanwhile, the Ice and Fire Trading Company became the largest hub for fencing goods and supplying provisions, collecting money with one hand and selling goods with the other, bringing even the flow of ill-gotten gold under its control.

A Song of Ice and Fire, a black-and-white symphony. The Ice and Fire Trading Company's banner, with a sea monster formed of ice on one side and a battle-axe wreathed in flames on the other, had become a new power commanding attention on both sides of the Narrow Sea.

On the surface, it conducted "legal" business: shipping salt from the Iron Islands—especially the ordinary salt sold as part of the tied-sales policy—along with ironware and salted fish to the mainland in exchange for grain, timber, cloth, and luxuries, then carrying mainland goods back to the islands for distribution. Its true source of profit, however, lay hidden beneath the currents. It efficiently distributed the "spoils" seized by the islands, from Braavosi ingots of refined gold to Dorne's Sunset Red wine, from Myrish lace to Summer Islands ivory. It also provided Ironborn fleets with precise intelligence, some of it coming from "eyes" controlled through poison and Ironborn blades; safe ports for resupply; and urgently needed repairs and weapons. With one hand it laundered ill-gotten gold, and with the other it supplied the blades, weaving a vast web that spanned both commerce and violence. In just one year, the wealth it amassed had, according to the parchment rolls the old maester Craigon shakily tallied in the dim candlelight, far exceeded the combined raiding and trade income of House Greyjoy over the previous ten years! Gold coins seemed to have been summoned by magic, flooding the vaults and cellars that had once stood empty beneath Pyke.

King Kolen stood before the study's great stone window, gazing at the harbor alive with sails and the mountains of crates piled beneath the castle, listening to the faint clink of coins. His rough fingers unconsciously rubbed the cold stone windowsill. A year ago, his five-year-old son had proposed a shocking salt strategy in the stormy council chamber and faced a barrage of doubts. Now he sat like bedrock at the center of the game of power. He had silenced faith with the "Drowned God's gift," anchored the economy with the chains of tied sales, built a wall of wealth with a monopoly, seized the reins of violence through precise raid allocations, and played a symphony of black and white through the Ice and Fire Trading Company. Every move was precise, ruthless, and effective. In the face of the surging tide of gold and his absolute control, the voices of doubt had long since broken into foam on the crest of a wave.

Many lords had even proposed naming Euron their heir!