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x Carter’s death caused less trouble than it should have.
Todd did exactly as Samwell had suggested.
He told the men that Carter had been murdered by bandits passing through the area.
The Tyrell soldiers shouted for vengeance.
With no better way to quiet them, Todd took a small party and swept the nearby roads and woods.
By fortune or by the gods’ black humor, they actually found a few outlaws hiding close to the camp.
The men were dragged back, cursed, and beheaded in Carter’s name before they even understood why they were dying.
In a twisted way, Samwell supposed, justice had still found someone who deserved it.
Then training resumed.
So did the slow march south.
At noon a few days later, Samwell had finished the morning drills and was sitting beside a fire, turning a haunch of venison over the coals, when a lone rider appeared on the road.
The man saw the expedition and turned his horse toward them.
Gavin took several men to meet him.
After a brief exchange, the rider proved to be a messenger from Highgarden.
He carried a letter from Margaery and a heavy purse of gold dragons.
Samwell’s mood brightened at once.
He told Gavin to see the messenger fed and watered, then broke the seal on the letter.
The ink on the parchment held a faint floral scent.
The words themselves were far less sweet.
Margaery expressed, in polished but unmistakable terms, her displeasure at his wasteful spending and ordered him to quicken his march at once.
Samwell ignored that part.
Once the dragons were in his hand, he did offer sincere thanks to the Lord of Highgarden’s daughter.
Then he began considering what excuse he should use when he next asked her for money.
Before the thought had fully formed, movement rose on the road again.
This time it was no single rider.
A caravan of more than a hundred people and several dozen wagons was coming up the road.
Gavin went to investigate and returned quickly.
“My lord, it is a caravan from Oldtown, bound for Uplands.” Samwell nodded.
By then he had seen the banner clearly: a stepped white tower crowned with fire on a smoke-grey field.
House Hightower of Oldtown.
At first he had no intention of troubling them.
Then a thought came to him.
“Show them my name and ask their factor to come speak with me.” “Yes, my lord.” Not long after, Gavin returned with a short, middle-aged man hurrying behind him.
“Honored Ser Greenhand,” the man said with a bow, “I am Jess, factor of a House Hightower caravan from Oldtown.
On behalf of Lord Leyton Hightower, I offer you his greetings.” “Master Jess.
What are you carrying?” “Arms and equipment for sale in Uplands.” “Arms and equipment?” Samwell set the venison aside.
“May I see them?” “Certainly, my lord.” Jess led him to the wagons and began showing him the goods.
Longswords.
Steel knives.
Bows and arrows.
Spears.
Harness.
Helmets.
Mail.
Samwell’s attention sharpened when he saw a wagon full of leather armor.
He picked up one of the pieces and studied it.
Jess noticed at once.
“Grey lizard hide, my lord.
Tough, durable, and comfortable enough for a long march.
Would you care to try it?” Samwell called Gavin over instead and had the boy put it on.
The factor’s smile grew more eager.
“If it pleases you, my lord, I can send a rider back to Oldtown at once.
The leatherworkers can prepare a full order at a fair price.” Samwell rubbed his chin.
“What other armor do you have?” “Several shirts of mail.
Would you like to see them?” “Plate?” Jess gave an apologetic smile.
“Forgive me, my lord.
Plate takes time and coin.
Oldtown’s smiths are among the finest in the Reach, but even they make only a handful of full suits each year, and those are usually promised to great houses before the work is finished.” Samwell was not surprised.
Plate was the best protection a man could wear in an age of cold steel, and a well-made suit could cost enough for a minor lord to pass it down as a family treasure.
Even if the caravan had carried one, he doubted he could afford it.
Lord Randyll had prepared no armor for the son he meant to discard.
When Samwell left Highgarden, he had kept his coin for recruitment and supplies.
Besides, the body he wore was changing.
Anything fitted to him then would soon hang badly.
Now, thanks to the Rose of Highgarden’s latest purse, he could afford to arm himself and improve his recruits.
Armor mattered.
A man wearing it did not fight like a man without it.
“Show me the mail.” “This way, my lord.” Jess brought him to another wagon and lifted out a mail shirt.
“This should fit you well enough.
Shall we?” Samwell nodded.
The factor helped him into the mail, speaking as he worked.
“Forged by Oldtown smiths over three months, my lord.
Thousands of iron rings, about thirty-five pounds.
It will turn blades, spears, and most cuts a man is likely to meet.” Samwell moved his arms and shoulders.
Heavy, but manageable.
“This mail shirt,” he said, “and one hundred and eight suits of grey lizard-hide armor.
What would that cost?” Jess’s eyes lit with the joy of a man who had found a real buyer.
“Seven hundred and thirty-five gold dragons, my lord.
If you confirm the order, I will send a rider to Oldtown—” Samwell raised a hand.
“The price is acceptable.
I want the goods you have now.” Jess faltered.
“My lord, these pieces are already promised to House Mullendore.” “I understand your difficulty.” Samwell smiled pleasantly.
“But my expedition is going into the Red Mountains.
We need this equipment now.
If I cannot buy it here, I will have to buy elsewhere.” Jess hesitated.
Uplands belonged to House Mullendore, sworn to Oldtown’s lord.
Their delivery could be smoothed over.
A chartered knight heading into the mountains with coin in hand was harder to replace.
At last he bowed.
“Very well, my lord.
I will sell this lot to you and send back to Oldtown for a replacement order.” “A sensible decision.” Samwell paid with Margaery’s fresh dragons and part of the coin Lord Randyll had given him.
Then he ordered Gavin to bring men to collect the armor and distribute it among the recruits.
Gavin held one of the leather coats as if it were a lord’s cloak.
“My lord, you treat us too well.
But spending so much at once…
I worry.” “There is nothing to worry about.” Samwell waved the concern away.
“I told you already.
CREATORS’ THOUGHTS TheDevotedReader I hope you enjoyed this chapter.