Chapter 87: Interlude: Thirteen

Twenty-ninth day, Seventh Moon, 257 AC (+41 days)

He restrained from running his hands over his face – it was important to keep up appearances, even to his Maester.

"No, have them go out again in another area and search again," he said, willing his voice to stay level.

"But my lord," replied Maester Tom, wringing his hands.

"No excuses. Just have them go out and survey another area. They will find something."

The Maester gave a short bow and left Brandon alone in the study, with only the crackling fire and his hound, who lay lazily by the fireside, to keep him company.

"Eventually," he muttered. "They must find something – eventually." They couldn't not.

He ran his hand through his hair as he looked at the map sprawled out before him. Another section to be marked off with nothing to show for it. Survey after survey had failed. He had not had many trained to perform such surveys, but he had sent them all out, with plenty of men to help as soon as he had received the news.

The news that had raced through the North – the new House, Ragnar, had found silver on their lands. Silver!

In lands thought worthless, he found silver. And not in the heart of his lands away from everything – no. No, it had to be right next to his own lands. It could have been his.

But it wasn't, and that was that. Unless his damn surveyors did their job and found something! How could Ragnar have found it? It made no sense. An exposed silver vein would have been spotted long ago. Did the gods decide to move the earth for him? To expose that vein for the new House through an earthquake? A rockslide was not unheard of either.

People had begun to leave already, lured in by the promise of high wages that the Stoney Shore was now known for. He had done his best to keep news of the Stoney Shore quiet – even after Lord Starks letter all those years ago. He had heard from other lords, how many of their smallfolk had moved over the years, and he wanted none of that in his lands.

House Tallhart had never been the largest of Houses, or the most powerful, and mass migration could spell his House's doom. Something needed to be done. But how to get the damn smallfolk to stay? Open up some new land for them to farm?

He shook his head. People were his issue, not land. The land that used to be under plow was still greater than what was under plow now. Lowering taxes would be as good as letting them leave in the first place. What could he do? What did he have to convince them to stay?

Sensing his distress, his faithful hound left the fireside and came to lay down at his feet. If only his smallfolk were so loyal.

He couldn't cut taxes on the farmers, and he lacked the population to increase his village sizes, so he could only give jobs to a few smallfolk. Besides, most of those leaving werefarmers. What did they do when they reached the Stoney Shore? His people were starting to move to the new silver mine, but where did the other lords' smallfolk go?

Brandon had never paid much attention to the details before, but he should have. How did Ragnar attract these people? Clearly, they thought their lives would be better there, but how?

Farming is farming, and the Stoney Shore is not known for its farmland. That left some sort of skilled trades or village work. There was never that large a fluctuation in the need for trades, so perhaps village work required people?

Like a bolt of lightning, it hit him!

The Northern Water! The brandy! He was paying his smallfolk to make it for him and paying them good wages!

He sighed. But he had nothing that could accomplish the same. Perhaps, it was time to swallow his pride and ask Ragnar for advice. Another one of those trade fleets was supposed to be arriving in the next few moons. It would be an ideal time for him to visit and talk to Michael Ragnar.

For the sake of his House, he needed to succeed.