Chapter 5: SI III

153 AC

With Storm's End in sight, the great walls standing like a foreboding sentinel before the rocky shores upon which it rested, I couldn't help but feel the likely envy of any Earth medieval architect or engineer. Gazing upon this sort of monstrous work made my memories of Earth's history seem lackluster, or at least, until the latter centuries, where even Planetosi would have been in awe of what we'd built as a species.

However, my thoughts of such marvels was interrupted by the sight of Baratheon colors, an advance guard of sort, riding out to meet me. The lead man looked familiar, I might have seen him the last time I was here, but couldn't place a name to his face.

"Lord Wytch, on behalf of my lord, I bid you welcome to Storm's End," he said, giving a curt nod.

"Likewise," I replied. "I assume other lords have preceded me?"

"Indeed they have, but I ride to you because our lord wishes it. If you would come with me, Lord Baratheon wishes to meet with you in person, before the full summons commences."

As I followed, my mind wandered back to my current situation. Morden Wytch was a man of many things, but amongst all of that, he had been my second father, the man who had sheltered and raised me in this life. While he could never replace my first father, I would miss him dearly. As I had no brothers, Arenna and Shyra were now technically my heirs until I married and had children of my own, as father was also an only child and had no kin I could pass the lands to in the event of our untimely deaths.

With any luck, should even half my ideas work and our lands grow prosperous, I'd be able to afford my sisters good marriages. I'd need the gold to give them a nice dowry, after all, and I'd be damned if I sold them off like some lords to the highest bidder, to some Walder Frey-like loser who just wanted to pump out more kids with little thought to their own wellbeing.

Mother had been beside herself for weeks, growing used to the lack of father's presence slowly but surely as time marched on, like the rest of us. Arenna and Shyra comforted her with hugs, as my siblings could, but I was now technically man of the house, or lord or whatever. I still visited with her and gave her similar interactions, but I had far more duties now, ones I couldn't put aside, not even for family. She knew this, I was certain, but it stung regardless of how far apart we had suddenly been pulled.

An odd circumstance of this new life was that she'd have most likely taken over as regent had she been born a noble lady and raised as such, but for us it was more of an "I rule but I listen to everyone around me" rather than someone else ruling in my stead. I guess I'm lucky in that regard, it won't hinder my plans and projects as much as it would otherwise. I still value her input, but I can tell she's lost much of her earlier fire at father's death.

I was sincere with Morden that I would not be reckless in my vengeance. No, I would meticulously find and make those who had killed my father suffer, in ways this world likely knew little, if any of. I was a student of history, and while I may never have taught it, I learned my fair share of things that would make Westerosi cringe. I would not be a Bolton, for sure, but chopping someone's head off did not inspire as much fear as I'd like it to. No, what I would save for those men would be something lords would whisper about for decades to come. There were so many ways to choose from too, such as good ol' Vlad Tepes, Han-era China, Mongols, that one sect of Buddhists, though I lacked elephants for the last one…

However, that would have to wait, as I soon found myself within the great castle's walls, and from there, within the main hall of my direct liege. An offer of bread and salt later, I found myself escorted away from my fellow Stormlanders, and up a spiraling staircase, until I reached what could only be my lord's solar.

He sat at his desk, his maester alongside him as I was brought in. The number of guards outside seemed a bit… excessive, but then again, I knew little of such proceedings. He stood as I gave my bow, the man escorting me resuming his position alongside Lord Baratheon.

"Lord Wytch, I take it your journey was… without issue?" he asked.

"Indeed, my lord," I replied.

"Your father?"

"Laid to rest alongside his own, in the family crypts."

"I am sorry, Casper, that I've yet to find any evidence of the men who did this," he said, taking a seat. "Your father was my sworn bannerman, as you are now in his stead, and I had been the one to personally accept his oath of fealty. None of the smallfolk or lords whose lands are near your own have been able to determine where these bandits came from."

"I've yet to find any evidence myself, my lord, but I have men working on the matter as we speak, with more to aid them soon. Top men, if you will."

"Let us pray they find the culprits, else my lords might think me unable to keep them safe. How are you faring, son?"

"It is not easy, my lord, especially for my mother and sisters, but I will manage. My father has left me a foundation to build upon, one that will give my family safety and security in these uncertain times. Were it not for his foresight, I feel my family and I would have been left in dire straits upon his sudden death."

"Were it not that all men could be so thoughtful to the future, too often looking only to the present," Lord Baratheon muttered, before shaking his head. "It is a failing on my part that such a thing occurred."

"I did not see it as such, my lord. Even the most powerful of men cannot be everywhere at once, nor can they patrol the hearts of men with impunity. Such is the purview of the gods, yet with that power to do so, they cannot live in the world as we do."

"An astute observation, but my point still stands," he replied. "My failure in protecting one of my newer vassals, especially one sure to be rising through the ranks, makes my rule, and the Stormlands by association, appear weak. Hells, the more nefarious of whispers could point the blame at me, if this is not resolved soon. How could I make this up to you?"

I paused at that. Normally, my father told me, liege lords were not so forthcoming with offers, usually so as not to show favoritism. He must truly have thought of himself as a failure for the actions of others. I still had much to learn about the world I lived in, it seemed.

"The justice done to those who did this, I would only ask that I dole it out," I said. "However, depending on the severity of those abetting this act, given that there were clearly more than just a pack of bandits at work here, I ask that when I do serve justice, that if the lords in question were to lose their lands, that I do not receive them."

"You would not claim the lands by right of conquest?"

"No, as I have no claims to them, my lord, and they would fall back into the jurisdiction of the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. If you so wished as to bestow them upon me, I would likely accept, but I would rather not expand by claiming the lands of my enemies. Other lords might see me as opportunistic, thinking themselves as the potential next target of an ambitious yet grieving young lord."

"I see," Lord Baratheon said. "We shall see what happens when it comes to such a conclusion. Good luck in your search, Lord Wytch."

"My thanks, my lord," I said.

"Now, then, my boy, I would assume you have a guess as to why I've brought you to my solar, other than offering sincere condolences?"

Playing dumb would do me no good here, and I had an inkling as to why I was here, and not down in the hall, but I needed to be sure, rather than speculate. "There have been many rumors of what has been going on in my family's lands over the past few years, some likely stranger than others. To both sate your curiosity and to appease vassals who may fear the flight of their smallfolk, you wish to know what is happening?"

"Indeed, that's one way of putting it. Developing your lands, most likely, and given how sparse yours were even twenty years ago, I would find no fault in doing so."

"Do you wish to know exactly what I've been doing, or why?"

"Not really, and no."

"Pardon?"

He smiled. "Every lord has the right to develop his lands as he wishes, so long as that development does not pose a credible threat to his liege. If you were to, say, be hiring sellswords and offering rewards or bribes to any lord that would listen, in case you were making a claim for my seat, then I would have every right to be concerned, would I not?"

"Of course, my liege," I said. "Our potential relation through whomever sired my grandfather was an occasional thought of my father's, but he decided that even if we were descended from the Baratheon/Durrandon bloodline, so is most of the Stormlands from Ronard Storm thousands of years previously. I am of House Wytch, not Baratheon, and my father was of this same lineage. Only my grandfather could have laid a claim as such, but he did not, inadvertently giving his life instead so that his son could continue a new legacy, a future untainted by his bastardry."

"An excellent example, young Casper. Yet, no, I do not particularly care why you've been developing your lands, as every lord does at some point or another. I don't even wish to know what it is you've been doing, unless you wished to tell me yourself."

"If I were to tell you, would I receive some sort of recompense for it?"

"Only if you wished. Many lords will gift their liege something as a token of our contract as vassal and liege lord, but if you do not wish to do so, then there is no pressure. Some might think you ought to, given the youth of your house, but we are Stormlanders. Even if we're a bit too proud and brazen at times, we are sensible folk when it matters."

Well, this changed things. I had been preparing to sell my newest inventions and ideas to my liege for a chance that it might earn me goodwill. Now, though, I find he doesn't care, so long as I'm not a threat? Gods, I really do need to learn more about this world I'm living in. In horror, I realize I've practically been skating by this entire time, not really paying attention to where I should have, compared to where I have been. Okay, first things first, advanced political lessons with Maester Gorman when I get back.

Parting with one thing from my sack might earn me a great deal of goodwill from the smallfolk at large, and if I were to help make the Stormlands stronger, then my position would be stronger as well. Though the question remained, what to try and sell to my liege…

Of course! The simplest change is often the most expansive at first, and what was simpler than growing crops?

"I have taken to developing my lands, seeing them brought to their fullest current potential, so I've needed to… take a deep look at my lands, the way things are done, and the ways things could be done better. Namely, the growing of crops by the smallfolk."

"You would presume to know more than your liege?" his maester said, rather brusquely at that.

"Peace, Robert, peace, none hold more of a monopoly on knowledge than the Citadel, yet even your organization does not know all," Lord Baratheon said with a wave of his hand. "Crops, eh? Just what have you found?"

"Indeed, my lord. Much of what has been done was in accordance to my father's will, and whatever accomplishments that have been made were done so with caution and careful examination beforehand. Why, our lands only use our 'Stormhall crop rotation' as the more affluent smallfolk are calling it, because my father and I started doing so in our own lands near five years ago, tended to outside our holdfast. Not on a mere whim, mind you, but a suggestion as to why leave a field fallow when you could grow food for your animals in it instead, specifically, forage that leaves the soil better than it found it."

"How would that even work?" the man who had led me here asked.

"Well," I began, glad I'd brought copies of my notes with me. "In my rucksack, there's a large folder, full of observations my father, myself and our maester have made over the past five years."

One of the guards, who had been carrying the bag for me, quickly searched through it, likely to determine if there was something nefarious within, such as a dagger or poison. Finding nothing, he handed it over, whereupon I pulled out a rather loosely compiled but ordered pile of parchment.

Fishing out the one I was looking for, I handed it over to my liege, whose maester immediately began to read it after Lord Baratheon quickly perused its contents.

"Basically, for crops, there are two main types, with small deviations between," I began. "There are crops that take from the soil, and give little if anything in return. Corn, for example, be it sweet or field, will devastate a soil's productivity if grown for too long in the same soil without some relief. On the other hand, crops such as clover and beans will often leave a soil better for the next planting, even if only a little. Yet, as plantings go by, that soil will improve dramatically over time."

My liege nodded in understanding. "So then you rotate crops, as some take, and others give, never relying too much on a single one. This is nothing new, we've done so for thousands of years, some years requiring turnips planted before winter, as the maesters predicted a long and hard season."

"As my father and I discovered, the addition of clover, beans and other "giving" crops, rather than letting the fields lie fallow. Not only does the addition of beans allow for more food per field system for us, the clover is good for hay for our animals, especially if saved for poorer times, like winter. With additional food as well, our animals need not graze as much."

"Thus reducing the pressure on the pastures, allowing them to recover quicker from the flocks, and more food for the animals means healthier ones to boot," my lord's maester continued. "Healthier animals may also mean healthier births, and perhaps less animals perishing to disease or poor weather."

"What do you make of this, Robert?" Lord Baratheon asked. "How feasible is this?"

"Within your own lands, incredibly so, my lord," the man said. "Elsewhere, it will be a touchy subject for some lords. Prideful lot, some of them, and telling them how to grow their crops might raise their hackles, even if they follow it."

"I concur. It sounds good on paper, and your notes on the matter seem to be in order, but I cannot risk simply telling my smallfolk, let alone my lords, to plant in fallow fields. The smallfolk alone might strike, seeing it as extra labor when they already toil so much in our lands for yields that the Reach would find meager. My lords, meanwhile, will grumble at my lack of respect for their sovereignty under my rule, even if this could benefit us all. How would you go about solving this problem for me, Lord Wytch?"

Damn, I hadn't thought of that. My smallfolk were used to the increased labor of planting an extra field, seeing as they also had the improved iron plow to work with, and the seed drill to make planting easier and far more efficient. Yet, I didn't want to hand those away too soon, I wanted to maintain a lead on my fellow Stormlanders for as long as I could. The smart ones, upon seeing what works for me, would adopt the same, and there's no patent laws that could stop them from simply buying and copying one of my devices, or bribing one of my carpenters to come make it for them.

Seems like I had a sales pitch to make. Securing my other papers in my rucksack, I began.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Stormlanders II

Jon Windhill was an old man for his time. He'd been naught but a glint in his grandfather's eye when the Conciliator had assumed the throne. Now, he had seen war, the worst in many generations, having fought in it himself despite his age at the time. In it, he'd lost his heir, and his second son he'd lost a decade later to a pox, joining his dead lady wife in the family crypts. Now, he stood within the main hall of Storm's End once more, dread filling his belly even as he suppressed the shakes his hands were beginning to make.

He turned to his granddaughter, the only one of his bloodline left. Gods, how small she'd been, sickly and frail, but she was a fighter then, and a fighter now. Mylenda WIndhill was no great beauty, all knees and elbows right now like a young filly was all wobbly legs, that he could not deny, but perhaps she would grow into her looks in the coming years. He reckoned upon her majority she would be more than enough for young Casper Wytch to come to care for.

A noise drew his attention, where Lord Baratheon, ensconced away in his solar for the past few hours, emerged into the hall, followed closely by young Lord Wytch, who took his seat at a respectful distance from his liege. There were some mutterings at that, namely how close the boy was to their lord in the first place. Some seemed surprised, a few upset, but more seemed rather curious at this turn of events.

Casper Wytch, a boy on the cusp of manhood, and more than a bit worrying to think of. A house founded upon the death of its sire, but already rivalling, nay, surpassing, his own house and the neighboring lords. They'd come to him, to form an alliance of sorts against this new young lord, immediately after the suspiciously tragic death of his father. He wanted nothing of the sort with them, his Marcher neighbors enjoyed the Wytch coin and food that flowed in and out of their lands in equal measure too much to allow one of their own to become part of such a cabal.

He'd talked with Morden Wytch more than a few times, mostly on the business of ruling lands and the management of their smallfolk. He'd been a stern but fair man, unlike most of their neighbors, but he'd also been one of the smallfolk decades before. Such a man was not expected to rise as he had, and that inspired fear and jealousy in his neighboring lords.

Now that Casper had taken his father's place, he could see that his fears for the boy were both true and unfounded. The lad was destined for things for certain, as it was clear the Smith and Crone had blessed the boy with almost unnatural skills. Yet by all accounts the lad was still properly pious, listened freely to the advice of others, and treated his smallfolk as a lord should, with a stern but guiding hand.

Joining their houses had been an idea of his, but he'd wanted to wait until the both of them were older. Now, though, with Morden's death and Casper's elevation to lordship, time was not on his side. Clenching his fists to calm the shakes, he knew that time had stopped being on his side a long time ago.

"My lords!" Lord Baratheon called, the mutters and conversations dying quickly. "I bid you welcome to my halls, and to this assembly. We've a great deal of things to discuss, and a great deal more to implement for the future of the Stormlands. However, before we can begin, there is another matter to be taken care of. Bring out the ale!"

Cheers were met at that, and as servants brought forth the drink and food, he saw his lord nod in his direction. It was time.

Rising from his seat amidst the gathering, he worked his way through the crowd of thirsty lords, Mylenda in tow. "My lord," he said, giving a quick bow to his younger liege. "My granddaughter and heir, Mylenda Windhill."

"My lord," she said, giving as graceful of a curtsey as she could.

"My lord and lady, it was good you could make it to the summons," their liege lord said. "Now, though, is not the time for pleasantries. Lord Wytch?"

The young man stood and moved closer to them, coming to his lord's side.

"Now then, Lord Windhill, you have sent the letter of betrothal?" Lord Baratheon asked.

"Aye, my lord."

"Well then, you three, go off and take care of this. My lords may have great appetites and greater thirsts, but eventually I will need the undivided attention of all present, and cannot have the potentially distracting unsaid words between vassals drawing away that same attention. Now, off you three, but be quick about it."

With his heir in tow, he followed one of his liege's guards to a side room, where several chairs, a table, and a small pile of parchment lay. The castellan was there as well, a Buckler if he recalled, likely to serve as a witness.

"Lord Wytch," he said, offering his arm.

"Lord Windhill," the boy replied, gripping it with a surprising strength. Were it not for the barest of peach fuzz on his otherwise smooth face, and the slight crack his voice still gave, one could have almost believed the young lord to be nearing his majority. "My lady," he added, giving Mylenda a polite bow.

"Lord Wytch," she replied, mirroring her curtsey from before.

They sat at the table, the stiff wood hurting his backside. He wasn't a young man anymore, he preferred his seats softer, but he needed to appear strong yet, for Mylenda's future. "You have given thought to my offer?" he asked.

"Most of the ride here, actually," the young lord replied. "Lord Windhill, do I trouble you as I undoubtedly do our other neighbors?"

"Not so much trouble as intrigue," he admitted. "For such a young house, despite your father's passing, you have done remarkably well in all things to be expected of you. Well-fed and content smallfolk, regular trade beginning to flow, piety worthy of a lord, honorable acts and intentions, it all rings of a good choice to join our houses together. Yet I am not entirely convinced."

"Why so?"

"Mylenda is my heir, the last of my bloodline. I would not so easily see the Windhill line face extinction, even if it surely could. Part of the betrothal and eventual marriage, should it come to it, would include the stipulation that a second or third son, if something should happen to the first, would assume the name Windhill, and take over the lands my daughter brings as part of her dowry."

"Acceptable terms," Lord Wytch replied. "However, I am curious, as my maester tells me the laws of the lands of the Stormlands, let alone Westeros, are as ill-defined as they are often contradictory. If I were to die in battle, or from an accident, or even from a sudden illness, would my sisters or my wife inherit my lands, assuming I have no children of my own at the time?"

"Your next eldest sister, for she has the blood claim to it," he said. "If neither of your sisters live by then for some reason, then Mylenda would inherit."

"What about if Mylenda were to die? I pray that it does not do so, but come marriage, furthering our line will involve childbearing, and as my mother's older sisters showed, childbirth can be a dangerous time for women. She lost two to the birthing bed, and nearly a third."

"In that event, assuming my own death beforehand, my granddaughter's lands would pass under your purview, unless Lord Baratheon were to object, as is his right, and then they would pass to him, to deal with as he sees fit. Yet, let us not discuss such dark thoughts, but more practical ones."

"Agreed," Lord Wytch said.

"My heir's dowry is my lands, for we are not a rich house, but we are comparable to yours in size, though perhaps not in number of smallfolk, numbering perhaps half, or a hair more," he said. "Where you have three towns of note, we bear only Ore Town, the town directly under our seat of Windhill. Our lands have enough farms to sustain one such town, but no more than that. What we rely on for our trade are the quarries and mines nearby, in the foothills near the mountains, where veins of good stone, tin, copper, iron, and rarely, slips of silver, can be found."

"What about coal?"

"Here or there, for sure, but common enough to be worth the effort, though few mine it in any great quantity," he replied. "In exchange for utilizing these mines, however, there will be a stipulation."

Casper leaned back in his seat. "Name your price, Lord Windhill."

"During the entirety of this betrothal, I wish for you to invest in my lands, as you have done so in your own. I need not the gold to purchase that which you may sell me, but this… Wytch-stone, these plows, this seed drill, I would have your aid in dispensing them amongst my smallfolk."

"Developing another lord's lands might be seen as encroachment by some."

"Those lords will not think so once they witness what you have to offer." He suspected many of the shrewder, politically savvy or less prideful lords would come calling soon, once more than rumors reached them of Casper's accomplishments.

"In exchange for this service, I will have need of access to your mines, primarily your copper and iron mines, as well as first rights to whatever coal can be found in your hills."

"Why the coal?"

"I have my reasons, primarily experimental in nature, which could see us both become quite rich off of the stuff. However, your copper and iron concern me the most, for I will need copper for some personal projects still in development, and the iron for the plows that we will both need. Just as well, the excess food from my lands would be sold to yours at much reduced rates."

Casper's treasury likely could afford to take the hit, while his could not. Now, to secure the last details. "A road directly from your primary lands to Ore Town will be needed, for trade and transport alike."

"One I am willing to invest in, for proper compensation."

He grunted. "I have already given you more than enough rights to ores and preference in trade. I'll not have the gold to pay for my expenses, whatever I purchase from your lands, and whatever your ideas will cost as well from lost revenue."

"I do not wish for more such advantages and resources, I simply wish for you to have my back, should our mutual neighbors turn unpleasant."

"You'd seek my alliance in war?"

"Hopefully it will not come to that. I ask not for your soldiers to fight on my behalf, but alongside mine, and only in the event that I am the defender, not the aggressor."

"Defensive alliance? Aye, I can agree to that. However, during this investment, all smallfolk involved will answer to me, so long as they are in my lands. Anything you do in my lands will require my oversight, approval or supervision as well."

"That would increase labor costs and delay results, Lord Windhill, depending on the task at hand. The longer such delays occur, the greater chance of setbacks or problems, such as winter storms or a lack of supplies."

"I cannot have my bannermen and smallfolk alike seeing my authority, nor that of my heir, disregarded or outright usurped within my own lands. I would, of course, extend to you the same courtesy, were our situations reversed, and I were in your own holdings."

Lord Wytch was silent for a few moments, something akin to annoyance briefly flickering across his yet-boyish face before he sighed and nodded. "Aye, my lord, I can agree to those terms." Hard to believe he was still such a boy, even if he carried himself as nearly a man did. "Very well, I shall marry your granddaughter, as long as we still agree on these points?"

"Then the betrothal is settled," he said with a nod, his nerves cooling as the shakes he had continuously suppressed faded away. "Upon two moons after reaching your majority, Mylenda and you shall wed in your hall, should I still live to see it. If I pass before, then you shall marry a moon after my body is laid to rest, regardless of her age."

"Then let us pray for your good health, that you may yet see great grandchildren," Lord Wytch said.

He knew it was a false hope, but one he held close to him nonetheless. His maester knew not when his palsy would consume him entirely, but he would hold out as long as he could, to see this great work done and his heir left in capable hands. For while he knew little of Casper's personal life, he knew a smart man when he saw one, and Casper seemed smarter than most.

Only time would tell if his decision was the wisest course of action.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Lord Greycairn watched Lord Wytch leave the room he had entered, carrying that odd rucksack tightly to him and resuming his seat near his liege lord. Gods, the balls on the boy, to sit so close to his liege, and the folly of Lord Baratheon, to let him do so! Just what was in that sack, anyway?

Then Lord Windhill and his ungainly heir emerged a moment later, resuming their seats as well. He looked to his conspirators, primarily Lord Carggner, who was with his bastard Roland, a knight and a member of his personal guard. He subtly shook his head, which the lord nodded in agreement with.

Well, the duel idea was out, and directly stifling him was out of the picture as well. Four lords against one? That could be managed as them simply taking precautions against an upstart. Four lords on two, one whom had likely tied his house with that same upstart? That would not look so good, especially since the Windhills were an old house, founded well over a thousand years ago, and had the strength of arms and old friendships to back up that prestige. Other lords, especially their liege, would not like such trouble in his lands, especially those so close to the Dornish Marches and the Dornish themselves.

Just as well, the damnable boy had spoken with their lord for hours, he'd seen them leave for the solar himself. Whatever they had talked about must have been important, and as his lord had seemed in good cheer, it must have been good.

This bode ill for their plans of accusations. Perhaps at a later time, they could do so. For now, with looks to his fellow lords, he knew they would need to discuss this sooner, perhaps after the summons had completed.

Much of it turned out to the same as usual. Word on skirmishes with bandit kings hiding in Dorne, news from Kings Landing and the dragon-less dragons living there, fights with pirates off the Stepstones, and much else as it usually was. However, one major change was a new implementation upon the fields of their liege lord, one their lord credited Lord Wytch in discovering and implementing in his own lands.

The muttering amongst his fellow lords was not as contentious as he would have liked, in fact, they seemed more curious than anything. Lord Baratheon's maester confirmed that the 'Stormhall' system of crop rotation would see their liege's fallow fields planted with beans, clover or other "giving" crops, whatever that meant. It was not a formal declaration, simply an update in the direct lands of the Baratheons. However, before moving onto other matters, Lord Baratheon did mention that any lord that was interested would have to meet with Lord Wytch on the matter.

Bah! Planting a fallow field, and hoping anything could come of it. Had the boy somehow convinced their liege to go against common sense itself? Besides, what was he going to do with clover, feed the smallfolk with it?

Yet as the evening wore on, and the gathering's true purpose, a tally of the forces available to the Stormlands in case of war, came to an end, a good number of lords took the time to meet with Lord Wytch on the matter. Notable lords too, Connington, Selmy, Caron, Estermont, even the heir from Tarth seemed interested in what the young lord had to say. A few seemed to brush it off after the young man finished explaining it, but the others, they appeared very thoughtful as they walked back to their seats.

Their group would need to implement one of the other ideas, if only to halt this sudden madness by his fellow Stormlanders. If they couldn't yet accuse him of smallfolk poaching, nor duel him over it, then charging tolls until his lands were avoided by merchants would be the next best thing. If that didn't work then… other steps would need to be taken, but first, he would need to discuss things with the others. There could be no turning back now, but they could also not differ on the method of attack. Too much at once might arouse suspicion, at a time when they needed it the least.