286 AC, Castamere
Cerion 'POV'
"Let me see that letter," I commanded, extending a hand.
Ser Benedict handed the parchment over. The seal was cracked—red wax, stamped not with the Lion of Reyne, but with a simple, unadorned circle. I moved closer to the torchlight. The script was cramped, written by a hand shaking with either age or fear.
To Lord Roger. The shipment from the Alchemists' Guild in King's Landing has been delayed at the Golden Tooth. They demand double the payment for the 'Substance.' If we are to breach the rock of the Five-Finger Vein without collapsing the castle, we need the wildfire. Maester Allar warns against it, but he is old and cautious. We need the fire.
Wildfire. My blood ran cold. The Reynes hadn't just been mining; they were planning to use pyromancy to blast through the bedrock. If any of that volatile substance remained here, dormant and decaying for years…
"Change of plans," I said, my voice tight. "We're not just looking for books. We need to find the Maester's turret. If they stored wildfire here, and Tygett's men start swinging torches around in the mines below—"
"Boom," Ragna finished, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. "The whole mountain comes down."
"Exactly. Move."
We left the solar, moving briskly toward the eastern wing where the Maester's turret stood—a lonely spire that had miraculously survived the worst of the siege damage. The corridor leading to it was narrow, the stone walls weeping with moisture.
"Hold," Lynd whispered, stopping abruptly. He held up a hand, his twin swords sliding silently from their sheaths. "We're not alone."
Ahead, the shadows shifted. Three men stepped out from the gloom of a side passage. They weren't the ragged bandits Tygett was slaughtering in the mines. These men wore boiled leather armor that was well-maintained, and their weapons were clean. Mercenaries. Or perhaps deserters who knew the value of what they guarded.
"Lost, little lion?" the lead man sneered. He held a crossbow leveled at my chest.
"Orton," I said calmly.
The giant didn't hesitate. He lunged forward with terrifying speed for a man of his size, his massive spear thrusting out like a striking viper. The mercenary fired, but the bolt skittered harmlessly off Orton's shoulder pauldron. In the same motion, Orton's spear tip caught the man in the chest, lifting him off his feet and slamming him against the wall with a sickening crunch.
"Kill them!" the second mercenary screamed, charging with a broadsword.
"Mine," Ragna grunted. He stepped past Orton, his bearded axe swinging in a brutal, low arc. The mercenary tried to parry, but Ragna's strength was overwhelming. The axe bit through the sword guard and into the man's thigh. As the man fell, Ragna silenced him with a stomping boot.
The third man turned to run, but Lynd was already moving. He was a blur of motion, leaping over the fallen leader. His twin blades flashed in the torchlight—snick-snack—and the runner collapsed, hamstrung before he could take three steps.
The skirmish was over in ten seconds. My retinue didn't even look winded.
"Good work," I said, stepping over the bodies. "Check them for keys. They were guarding this hallway for a reason."
Ser Benedict knelt by the leader's corpse, rifling through his belt pouches. "Iron key," he announced, holding up a heavy, rusted object. "And this." He tossed me a small glass vial found in the man's pocket.
I caught it, holding it up to the light. It was empty, but the residue inside faintly glowed green.
"They've been moving it," I realized, a knot forming in my stomach. "They're not just hiding here. They're trying to extract the wildfire."
We reached the heavy oak door at the base of the turret. Benedict used the iron key, and the lock turned with a protest of grinding metal. The door swung open, revealing a spiral staircase that didn't go up—it went down. A cold, chemical draft blew up from the darkness, smelling of rotten eggs and old magic.
"Torches out," I ordered sharply. "If the fumes are thick down there, a naked flame will kill us all. We go in dark. Eyes adjust. Move slow."
Orton grunted unhappily but extinguished his torch. The darkness swallowed us, leaving only the faint, grey light filtering from the arrow slits behind us.
"Into the belly of the beast," Lynd whispered.
I drew my own dagger, feeling the weight of the moment. "Let's hope the beast is sleeping."
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Hey guys sorry for the gap but I was busy in writing my own novel that is available on Royal Road named 'The Grey Bastion:Rise of the Border Lord'.