CH861 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 861: The Redwater Plot

On the tenth day of the expedition, the fleet reached the Redwater River.

Roland stood at the bow of the shallow-draft gunboat and looked out at the sparkling water ahead, feeling something he could only call satisfaction—a word that had grown familiar over three years but had not lost its edge.

Behind him the fleet stretched back in disciplined lines. Some ships had turned east three days earlier, but the ten remaining paddle steamers were still a sight the river had not seen before: iron chimneys rising in a forest of columns, hulls painted snow-white, black smoke boiling upward to form a permanent low cloud above the convoy. On the Central Region banks the traffic had thinned—the kingdom’s trade center was migrating west—though the influence of the great inland cities remained visible in the quality of the sailboats they passed, two- and three-masted vessels with carved rails and lacquered hulls, nothing like the rough single-masted craft of the Western Region.

Every merchant ship kept its distance. The bolder sailors hung over the gunwales and pointed, their mouths moving in exclamations he couldn’t hear across the water. Captains who recognized the High-Tower and Spears flag bowed from their quarterdecks.

Three years. He turned the thought over carefully.

What satisfied him most was not the fleet, or the roads, or the cannon foundries. It was the officials. Young men and women drawn from ordinary households, trained in classrooms that hadn’t existed a decade before, now running departments that the old nobility had treated as personal estates. They had no century of lineage behind them, no powerful uncle to intercede on their behalf. A short education and the ability to read—in Neverwinter that had proven enough. Under the old system these people might have managed a minor ledger for some lord’s steward. Here, they had become the backbone of every ministry.

Their loyalty followed from necessity rather than sentiment. No one else would have hired them. Because they had never managed anything before, they defaulted to the rules instead of bending them—when problems exceeded their authority, they escalated rather than improvised. And because they came from ordinary households, they understood ordinary people. Ministry of Agriculture officials walked the furrows with the farmers. Ministry of Construction men mixed cement alongside the laborers, demonstrating its properties in the rain. A centralized state required reach into the grassroots. These people were that reach.

They were not without flaws. A man who has never held property and suddenly inherits it will sometimes clutch at it badly. The level of education in Neverwinter was still limited, personal ethics uneven at best. Nightingale and the Security Bureau’s internal review had done the essential work of culling those who confused their new authority with personal license. The ones who remained had learned where his tolerance ended.

A growing corps of such officials was his guarantee. More than the First Army, more than the gunboats, the officials made unification possible. He could only hold what he could administer.

Now, he thought, the foundation is real.

He turned to Nightingale, who had materialized at his shoulder in her usual way—present without announcement. “Notify the Adviser Department to assemble in the observatory. It’s time for them to give me a plan for Redwater City.”


The Adviser Department had arrived at the right conclusions, if not quickly.

“Your Majesty,” the lead adviser began, spreading the map across the table, “Redwater City is second only to the old king’s city in the Central Region. Its territory is vast, its noble families numerous. Willow Town could be handled by a show of force and a single decree. Redwater City cannot.”

Sir Eltek—father of Morning Light, the girl who had become one of his witches—leaned forward and traced a finger along the river intersections on the map. “Earl Delta controls the crossroads of the inland waterways. The Delta family has managed this region for generations. He is not an ambitious man; his tax levies make that clear. He could demand far more from the river traffic and has chosen not to. If the earl surrenders his domain, his family still lives comfortably. He would choose security over resistance.”

“The difficulty,” the adviser continued, “is that Redwater City is not only Delta. The Tririver family and the Rock Ridge family are both powerful and are known to be hostile to Delta. Once your intentions are publicly proclaimed, opposition may coalesce—as it did in the Western Region. We expect the First Army will need to demonstrate force before some of the surrounding lords yield.”

“That is not necessarily unwelcome,” another adviser added carefully. “Destroying open rebels simplifies later administration. Your strength deters the fence-sitters. Our suggestion: summon Earl Delta privately, persuade him before the public announcement. The surrounding nobles have guessed your intentions by now. Those who resist after the decree can be cleared by the army.”

Roland studied the map in silence. He had no objection to military action—the First Army knew that work. But the phrase just as it happened in the Western Region caught at something. Eliminating the five great Western Region families had taken far longer than taking Long Stronghold or the king’s city. The fiefs sprawled across territory rather than concentrating in cities; a single detour had cost days. Redwater City’s surrounding manors were larger still. If every city in the campaign demanded that kind of time, he would arrive at Coldwind Ridge with summer half gone.

“Is there a faster method?”

The advisers paused. Faster implied risks they were trained to flag.

“Faster, Your Majesty, would mean—”

“I can’t spend three weeks on each city. There are several more after this one. If I reach Coldwind Ridge in autumn instead of summer, the whole campaign shifts.”

Silence settled around the table.

It was Edith who broke it—Pearl of the Northern Region, leaning slightly back in her chair with that expression she wore when she had been waiting for a question. “There is a method. It might cost you reputation. Gather them together and announce to everyone simultaneously.”

Roland looked at her. “Go on.”

She described how she had dismantled the Hawes and Lista families in the City of Evernight—not by announcing intentions and waiting for a response, but by moving faster than the nobles could organize. “If I had followed noble tradition and declared before acting, the Northern Region would still be in their hands.”

The other advisers stirred. One muttered something about evidence and trial. Another raised the suspicion of neighboring lords.

“Have you forgotten,” Edith said, without particular heat, “that there are to be no other nobles in Graycastle besides His Majesty?” She turned to Roland. “But it depends on whether you want to carry it out. Reputation—”

“Only the victor writes history,” Roland said. “And no one will know what you’ve done if you choose not to say so. I’m grateful for your trust. As for Redwater City—we follow your plan.”

He saw something shift in her then: a brief catch of breath, quickly controlled. The Pearl of the Northern Region composed her face and bowed her head.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Discussion

Suggest a change