"What? That boy Dareon Hightower was attacked?!"
"More than twenty corpses were hung at the edge of his lands to dry in the wind?"
His eyes wide, Brandon Cuy, Viscount of Sunflower Hall, could scarcely believe his ears.
After hearing the report from the subordinate he had sent to "watch" Darean, the grim-faced middle-aged man sank into thought.
He swore by the Seven that he truly knew nothing about this affair.
But he was no fool, either. The moment Dareon Hightower arrived on his lands, people had come right to his doorstep to kill him.
Only an idiot would believe that was a lovely coincidence.
Brandon Cuy did not like this foolish boy, who, in his eyes, had already lost his power, one bit.
He had been eating and drinking at Brandon's expense all day, every day.
A landowner might have grain to spare, but why should he give it to you?
Still, he knew perfectly well how forceful the earl who had spent these past years secluded in the Hightower had been in his youth.
So he did not dare do anything to Dareon Hightower, either.
As it happened, he had now made contact with another Hightower and kicked this boy off to a remote corner.
Let him play in the mud with those peasants.
A knight's holding was not worth much anyway. That fool Hosman could not even pay the taxes he owed him; there was no way the place had been doing well.
That was Brandon Cuy's calculation.
But he absolutely did not dare let a legitimate Hightower, one not yet entirely forgotten by the Hightower and of the Old Man of Oldtown's blood, die on his lands.
Who knew when that lord might ask after his youngest son? As his vassal, Brandon would then face utter ruin.
Sunflower Hall owed allegiance to Oldtown and had nothing to do with Highgarden City. Even if old Hightower ordered him beheaded on the spot, the Queen of Thorns would have no right to interfere.
Oldtown's inclusion in the Reach had itself been the result of a compromise back then.
The Tyrells would not say so much as a word to the Earl of Oldtown over someone as insignificant as him.
"Go, fetch my captain of the guard!"
Brandon Cuy gave the order to the attendant standing silently beside him.
Before long, a burly man with a full beard appeared before the Viscount of Sunflower Hall.
The viscount wasted no words and asked directly:
"Tell me, if it were you, leading a dozen raw recruits who had only trained for a short time, could you withstand a night attack by twenty or thirty pirates?"
The captain thought his lord was testing him. Without a second thought, he thumped his breastplate with a loud clang and declared:
"My lord viscount, trust me. With Sunflower Hall's castle, even if they took us by surprise, my sword would drain their blood before they could storm the hall!"
Rubbing his temple with a slight headache as he looked at his not particularly bright captain, the viscount patiently explained:
"I didn't say at Sunflower Hall. Out in the wasteland, without any cover, while you and your men are resting, knowing nothing of what's coming, unable to anticipate it or prepare."
The captain froze for a moment. He furrowed his thick brows and thought for a long time before giving a less than reassuring answer:
"My lord, that would probably be difficult. Pirates are generally nimble, and in pitch darkness, they can easily cause confusion. My lads and I all wear heavy armor. Defending behind cover is no problem, but out in the open, that would be... a bit much."
Having known this would be the answer, Brandon Cuy unconsciously tapped his left hand against the mahogany desk and murmured to himself:
"Yes... that's how it should be. But... how did that boy manage to lose only one man?"
Unable to find an answer no matter how he considered it, the Viscount of Sunflower Hall ordered:
"Go, take a squad and station yourselves at the edge of what used to be Ser Hossman's lands."
"Remember, keep your eyes open. Report anything you see to me immediately. Also, if anyone tries to make trouble for Dareon Hightower, remember to give our young friend some help."
"When he's about to die."
Just as Brandon Cuy began to take a slight interest in Darean.
The young noble was out in the fields near the former village, accompanied by the men under him with the most farming experience.
"Take a look. How is it? These fields have been left untended for a week at most. Will that affect the harvest?"
The old farmers immediately went into the fields to inspect the crops carefully.
After a while, they returned to their lord with their feet covered in mud.
They exchanged glances before the oldest reported:
"My lord, we've had a look. There hasn't been any heavy rain these past few days, and the weather has been good. It shouldn't affect the harvest much."
"But..."
The man gritted his teeth, turned, and pointed to the fields behind him, saying helplessly:
"My lord, there isn't much wheat planted here. The rest is all grapevines for making wine."
"Neither the wheat nor the grapevines have had anyone tending them properly, by the look of it."
After listening to him ramble on for quite some time, Darean finally understood what he meant.
The good news was that the wheat was fine and only needed some tending, but the other cash crops were not.
Moreover, the previous lord had clearly managed things poorly, and the overall yield had not been promising to begin with.
It was already terrible. It could hardly get much worse.
"Just tell me whether there's enough wheat to feed the hundred-odd people we have."
"There should be, my lord."
Looking at the crooked, uneven wheat, the farmers did not dare give a firm guarantee.
Darean was baffled. If that fellow Hosman could not even feed his own people, how had he persuaded them to plant grapevines for wine?
Greed clouding his judgment was the only explanation.
"All right, I'll leave this place to you, then. But without my orders, no one is to approach those ruins. Anyone who disobeys will be expelled from my lands!"
Darean spoke sternly.
As soon as he returned to the settlement, where construction was in full swing, Darean spotted Clyson waiting off to one side.
Seeing that something was wrong with his expression, Darean asked:
"What is it? Speak plainly."
"My lord, something happened to the party we sent into the woods to forage this morning. A woman named Mena was bitten by a snake, and she's unconscious now."
"The people in the foraging party are afraid to go deeper into the woods now. We lack a maester, my lord."
He did not blame the women for being careless, because that would have been meaningless.
In theory, a knight's holding could not receive direct assistance in the form of someone sent by the Citadel.
When problems arose, treatment generally relied on local folk remedies.
These bizarre practices included, but were not limited to, bloodletting, fumigation, soaking in water heated to forty or fifty degrees, and eating all sorts of hallucinogenic mushrooms.
Those who survived truly had only their own robust constitutions to thank.
Darean and Clyson had both seen enough of the world to know that those supposed remedies were actually killing people.
With the territory only just being established, they had not realized this problem before.
"It looks like I'll have to make a trip back to Oldtown."
Darean said.
Before you continue