Fortunately, the precious food supplies had been spared in the lordship's first battle.
Earlier, Darean had forced Brandon Cuy, Viscount of Sunflower Hall, to "sponsor" him with a considerable quantity of food and supplies.
At least openly, this vassal of House Hightower really did not dare do anything to Darean, a member of the family's direct line.
Though everyone knew that bastard must have found someone backing him.
Having ample food was good news.
However, without organizing production in time, they would simply eat through everything they had.
They could not expect to gather enough from the surrounding woods to feed over a hundred people every day.
Moreover, this surprise attack had sounded a warning for Darean.
With just over a hundred people and his purse as lord cleaner than his face, stone walls like those of Oldtown or Highgarden were out of the question.
But there was always a way around a problem.
If stone would not work, they would use wood.
As it happened, the Cape Lordship contained vast stretches of forest.
Darean led his people in first marking out the lord's residential area.
It was not that he was eager to enjoy himself. This was simply how things were done when developing a new lordship and building a castle or settlement in this day and age.
Only once their lord's "nest" was ready would the people feel at ease working on their own homes.
The strong men turned over the soil and drove in the wooden posts the carpenters had prepared to serve as foundations.
Darean planned to follow his predecessor, Ser Hossman, and start with a two-story wooden house.
Then they would surround it with a ring of logs, plastered with mud to form a simple earthen wall.
"My lord, built this way, it certainly won't last long. Exposed to the wind and sun, the wood inside might rot away completely within two or three years."
Clyson frowned as he offered Darean his opinion.
Having lived in Oldtown since childhood, he was used to broad, thick stone walls and the Hightower soaring into the clouds.
He really could not bear the sight of the tiny stretch they had just finished, which he was not even sure qualified as a "wall."
He worried that his master was doing this on a whim.
Yet Darean merely shot him a sideways glance, waved a hand, and replied:
"Clyson, from now on, spend less time thinking about what things will be like in two years. When considering something, first think about whether it will work right now. The plan that produces results fastest is a good plan. Do you understand?"
Clyson, already in his late twenties and nearing thirty, was completely stunned by Darean's words.
He had no idea that his master was sighing inwardly at that very moment.
Darean would have loved to make some long-term plans, build up his strength, and seize the right opportunity to reap a windfall.
But what time was it now?
It was 297 AC. Counting the days, Jon Arryn, Warden of the East and Duke of the Vale, should soon be sent to meet the Seven by his dear wife Lysa in the Tower of the Hand in King's Landing.
Once news of the old duke's death reached Winterfell, the wheels of history would begin rumbling into motion again.
Though House Hightower had always kept its distance from the political struggles of the Seven Kingdoms, the coming civil war would be on an even greater scale than the War of the Usurper that had destroyed the Targaryen Dynasty.
If he could not quickly build up a certain amount of strength, some bastard in the Hightower might well send him to serve under Renly in the name of family honor, dragging him off to fill the ranks.
By then, the tide would be impossible to turn, and as for his eventual fate...
Better to get it over with and burn to death in Wildfire on Blackwater Bay; otherwise, he would end up frozen stiff in the ice and snow outside Winterfell.
Noble blood brought not only honor and power, but also corresponding responsibilities and obligations.
But sometimes, those last two things could get a man killed!
After struggling for words for quite some time, Clyson saw that Darean was not joking at all and could only agree sullenly:
"Yes, my lord."
Nodding, Darean continued:
"Take some men and supervise the people's work. Divide the tasks equally among them, then establish a rule: whoever finishes their own task first and passes your inspection can immediately choose the best timber to build their own house."
Raising a hand to silence Clyson, who was about to say something, he added:
"Don't skimp on food, and don't be precious about the timber we've cut or the iron nails we've forged."
"Remember, here, only people-me, you, and them-matter most."
Darean did not expect Clyson, who had grown up steeped in traditional aristocratic society, to understand his way of thinking.
It was enough for him to obey and carry out Darean's will.
Greed and oppression would only inhibit the development and advancement of productive capacity.
Darean would have to be mad to do that.
With full bellies and "new homes" to tempt them, just as Darean had expected, once the simple, honest craftsmen and laborers confirmed that their lord was not talking drunken nonsense,
they immediately erupted with tremendous enthusiasm.
By dusk, a neat ring of deep pits had been dug around the "castle" where Lord Darean would live, and a small portion had already been fitted with beautifully prepared logs.
At this pace, the inner "wall" would be standing by the day after tomorrow.
Then they would only have to let it dry in the wind for a little while before plastering it with mud.
As for the outer wall, that would have to wait. After all, the inner wall enclosed only Dareon Hightower's private grounds, and one person hardly needed much space.
The outer wall, however, had to enclose the entire settlement. The amount of work involved was on an entirely different scale.
Out in the clearing, clusters of bonfires still blazed.
The invaders' corpses had quickly dispelled the people's fears for their own safety.
Once this busy stretch was over, and after waiting a little longer, Darean planned to send Clyson and the others to inspect the ruins of the original village.
If that grisly place, strewn with flesh and bones, remained there, it would surely keep lowering the lordship's stability.
When he had first arrived, he had had no time to deal with it. Later, Darean had worried about diseases brought on by the decomposing bodies.
War was very likely to be followed by a great epidemic.
Though Darean planned to get a maester out of the Citadel to work for him later, none had arrived yet, so it was best to be careful about everything.
As he pondered, Darean continued sensing the faint fluctuations of magic drifting through his field of vision.
Ever since he had become able to see them, he had forced himself to study them carefully whenever he had a spare moment.
The Book of Strange Script was quite honest. When it said a slight increase, it really meant slight.
Since Darean's burst of power in the last battle, when he had delivered that strike imbued with the Force of Sharpness, he still had not accumulated enough energy within his body to do it again.
Let alone the Garth Greenhand's Gift he had most recently "learned."
Even straining until his face turned red, Darean had only managed to make a newly sprouted bean seedling grow a little under half a day faster than the others serving as a control group.
As for producing a "miracle" visible to the naked eye,
Darean truly could not do it at present.
He had no idea what exactly was recorded in the third section of the Book of Strange Script, either.
He was itching to know...
Before you continue