The next morning, Edmund woke up before dawn.
For a few seconds, he remained motionless, looking at the wooden ceiling of his chambers. The silence of the fortress was barely interrupted by the distant sound of boots on the stone floor and by the murmur of the servants beginning their work.
In his previous life, that hour would have been too early to get up after a night of work. In Graymont, however, the day began long before the sun appeared over the mountains.
Edmund sat up and approached the window.
The fortress was located on an elevation south of the city. From there he could observe part of the walls, the rooftops of the houses and, beyond them, the lands that stretched toward the forest.
At first glance, Graymont seemed like a territory forgotten by the gods.
The walls needed repairs. Some houses had been abandoned. The roads were full of mud and stones, and barely any carts could be seen traveling along them. Even from that distance, it could be distinguished that the city had known better times.
Decades ago, long before his father took power or his mother was born, it was said that it was a city on the way to a chain of dwarven fortresses in the mountain range, but they had all fallen because of the sieges of the greenskins, or so it was said.
Edmund moved away from the window when he heard a knock on the door.
"Come in."
Barov entered accompanied by a servant carrying a tray with breakfast. The old man seemed to have slept as little as he had. He had several folders under his arm and an expression that made it clear that he had spent a good part of the night organizing the reports that Edmund had rejected the previous day.
"My lord." Barov had to pause to wipe his forehead; he seemed nervous even while looking at Edmund's brooch on his chest.
"Barov."
The minister bowed as a greeting.
"I have prepared the reports you requested."
Edmund looked at the folders that Barov's assistant was holding.
"I don't remember requesting them."
Barov remained motionless for a moment before answering:
"Yesterday you said that you wanted to hear them today."
"I said I would listen to the rest of the report when I had time."
"Yes, my lord, that is why I decided to bring them as soon as possible and deal with the problems that require greater urgency."
Edmund sighed.
"Leave them on the table. We'll have breakfast while we talk."
The servant placed the tray and the folders on the table near the window. There was dark bread, cheese, a few slices of salted meat, and a small jug of milk. Even in the food, one could see how serious the situation was.
Edmund took a piece of bread while Barov remained standing in front of him.
"Sit down. It makes me uncomfortable that you remain there as if you were waiting for me to condemn you."
The old man hesitated before taking the chair on the other side of the table.
"As you command, my lord."
Edmund opened the first folder.
"Let's start with the most important thing. How much money does Graymont have?"
Barov blinked.
"Do you want to know the annual income or the current reserves?"
"Both," Edmund replied.
The minister adjusted his glasses.
"The available reserves amount to about one hundred and eighty gold crowns, although that figure does not include the outstanding payments to the merchants, the soldiers' wages, or the urgent repairs to the walls."
Edmund stopped chewing.
"Two months at most will give us that petty cash."
Barov lowered his gaze toward his documents, ignoring Edmund's accurate comment.
"This year's income will also be lower than usual, and we believe it will be around eighty crowns after debts. Mining production has decreased, and the last harvest was particularly bad. In addition, the greenskin raids have forced several settlements to abandon their lands and have increased the number of mouths we will have to feed this winter."
Edmund leaned back in his chair.
"And how much do we owe?"
"Approximately four hundred and twenty gold crowns in confirmed debts. Not counting some private loans whose interest is still being negotiated with the local nobles." His tone of voice seemed to contain intense anger toward the nobles.
Edmund closed his eyes for a moment.
His father had achieved an incredible feat, even for an incompetent nobleman: leaving a frontier barony on the verge of bankruptcy while being surrounded by enemies.
"What did he spend so much money on?" Edmund could imagine a few reasons, such as parties or galas; the man was predictable in his tastes.
Barov took a little while to answer, perhaps hesitating about how to say it without speaking badly of his former lord.
"Most of it was spent maintaining the troops, repairing the fortifications after the latest raids, and acquiring food. There were also some expenses related to the expansion of the former baron's residence."
Edmund ignored the first things; in the end, they were only the words of a loyal man defending the honor of his former lord, but the last thing did interest him.
"Residence?"
"The art wing, my lord."
"Of course, the idiot believed that the duty of the nobility was chivalry and art."
He turned a page.
"How many soldiers do we have?"
"One hundred and forty-six men in the main garrison. Another thirty-two serve at the guard posts of the mines and the roads. However…" Barov said, pausing and not seeming sure how to continue.
"However?"
"Not all of them are fit to fight."
Edmund raised his gaze; it was obvious that he was only going to receive bad news about this place, but even so, it did not reduce his headache.
"How many?"
"Perhaps one hundred and thirty men can fight effectively. Some are sick, others are too old, and several have been wounded in the latest skirmishes; five of them may not survive."
"And the knights?"
"Eleven sworn knights, counting Commander Jhon. Although only seven are currently in Graymont."
Edmund nodded slowly.
One hundred and thirty effective soldiers to defend a frontier city, its mines, its villages, and its roads. It might sound possible, but Edmund knew that calling these men soldiers was a joke. They knew how to fight and had surely had experience against greenskins, but they lacked training as a group and had the discipline of barbarians.
"What kind of enemies do we have exactly?"
Barov frowned.
"Do you mean the greenskin tribes?"
"I mean all of them, Barov, even the town thief, if possible."
The minister watched him for a few seconds before opening another folder.
"The main problems are the goblins and orcs that descend from the mountains. The raids have increased in recent months. There are also bandits on the eastern roads and…"
"I want to know even the rumors about ghosts, Barov; I don't want surprises later."
"It is said that there is an increase in troops in the neighboring territories," said the assistant minister, shaking his head.
Edmund frowned and asked:
"Mercenaries?"
Barov nodded at the question.
"The wars between the Border Principalities have intensified again." Some lords are gathering troops; Commander Jhon believes that we still have time before the claims reach Graymont.
Edmund left the bread on his plate.
"What would they want to claim from this place and who?"
"The northern mines, mainly. There are also disputes over two villages near the river. With House Gastonne, they believe that by securing the area, they can do so in their war against Ortega."
Houses Gastonne and Ortega were part of the twelve great houses of the Border Princess region; it was said that they had centuries of history and had fought in the Wars of Settra.
"And what did my father do about it?"
Barov simply remained silent.
Edmund ran a hand over his face.
"Fine. Let's leave my father out of this. What do we have to produce income?"
The minister seemed to regain some confidence when approaching a subject he knew well.
"The iron mines are our main source of income. We also extract small quantities of copper and silver, although the silver veins are not very productive. Hunting provides hides and meat, and some merchants buy wood and raw minerals."
"Are all the mines owned by the barony?"
"Most of them. There are two private concessions granted years ago to noble families."
Edmund raised an eyebrow.
"Under what conditions?"
"They pay a fixed part of the production and a tax for each shipment."
"And who supervises how much they produce?"
Barov did not answer immediately.
Edmund looked at him.
"Barov."
"The mine administrators submit their records every quarter."
"That was not what I asked."
The old man sighed.
"We do not have enough inspectors to verify every record, my lord."
Edmund let out a dry laugh.
"Then we don't know how much they produce."
"We have estimates."
"Estimates are what one uses when one does not have information."
Barov did not seem offended. In fact, his expression became somewhat more serious.
"My lord, Graymont does not have the necessary resources to maintain an administration like the one you seem to be imagining."
Edmund raised his gaze.
"And what am I imagining?"
"I don't know. But yesterday you requested population, production, taxes, arable land, mines, and troop records. Now you are asking about inspectors, contracts, and concessions."
Barov intertwined his hands on the table.
"If you allow me to say so, it seems that you are trying to understand the integral functioning of the territory."
Edmund held his gaze for a few seconds.
"And that seems strange to you?"
"It seems… ambitious, with all due respect, my lord. The kind of things you are asking for is something that would require a lot of manpower that we cannot afford."
"I just inherited a barony in debt, surrounded by enemies, and with the walls about to fall. I think understanding how it works is the least I can do."
Barov lowered his gaze.
"Yes, my lord."
The numbers were worse than he had imagined.
Mining production had decreased by almost a third in the last five years. Taxes were collected irregularly. The more distant villages had begun paying tribute to bands of bandits to avoid being raided. Merchants demanded increasingly higher prices for food, and the grain reserves would barely last a few weeks if the next harvest failed.
And, to make matters worse, the garrison was not only poorly equipped, but some of its members showed signs of malnutrition.
Edmund closed the folder that evidenced the inefficiency of this world of barbarians.
Edmund stood up and picked up his plate, passing it to the servant waiting beside him.
"Today I want to tour the fortress and the city. See the walls, the warehouses, the workshops, and the mines. I want to observe the territory with my own eyes."
Barov frowned slightly.
"The mines are several hours away."
"Then what luck that we just had breakfast; ready the horses."