Aldric blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. "Ser Karlo, if you become a Sunwalker, you must renounce your lands, your titles, and every secular right of House Schmidt. Do you truly have the heart to discard all you have built?"
Karlo didn't flinch. "Four villages and a manor house? What is that compared to a seat in a new world? I may not be a merchant, but I know when to bet the farm on a winning horse."
Aldric's smile faded into a look of genuine disappointment. "If you approach this as a trade, Karlo, the Light will never answer you. A Sunwalker must be selfless—the Faith of Anshe and the welfare of the people must come before his own shadow. If it is a reward you seek, I will give you one. A full suit of Light-Forged armor? A wagon of sugar that sparkles like diamonds? Healing for your kin until the end of time? I can grant these. But the Awakening? No."
Karlo went silent, the weight of the rejection hanging in the air. "Are the conditions truly so steep?"
"They are not steep at all," Aldric explained. "My Sunwalkers include knights, friars, farmers, and smiths. Most of them own nothing but the clothes on their backs. Many had never held a sword before joining the Dawn. But they believed in the Word, and they were willing to give everything for a world that is fair and just. Anshe grants us power to mend the world, not to fill our private coffers."
Seeing Karlo's slumped shoulders, Aldric offered a spark of hope. "I do not deny you out of spite, Ser. For me, every soul that walks the Light is a blessing. But I cannot turn a holy vow into a transaction. My promises to your house remain. If the day comes where you truly, in your heart, desire the Light for its own sake... tell me. I will perform the ritual myself. And tell the other lords: I hold this standard for all."
Aldric's tone was cold and absolute. Karlo realized then that he couldn't "negotiate" with a man who viewed himself as the voice of a god. He looked at the shifting landscape of the Riverlands. Lands could be seized. Men could be hired. The world was full of landless knights and desperate sellswords who could read and write. If Aldric offered them a place at his table, the six lords of the Alliance would eventually become obsolete—mere relics of a forgotten order.
For the Golden Dawn, the six lords were replaceable. For the six lords, the Golden Dawn was their only path upward in a dying world. Karlo wasn't the strongest knight, but he had the sharpest eyes. He had already secured the best terms possible while Aldric was still vulnerable. To hesitate now was to lose his seat at the table.
Karlo dropped to one knee. "Lightbringer. House Schmidt offers its steel and its soul to your cause. Truly."
Aldric stood, his presence filling the hall. "Karlo Schmidt, as the Hand of Anshe, I accept your oath. So long as the Golden Dawn stands, and so long as your house walks the path of the Word, you shall have our protection."
Karlo looked up. "My eldest son, Dylan, is eleven. I would have him serve as your squire. Let him learn the Dawn from its source."
Aldric nodded. "Send him to me. I will teach him as I taught Jon Snow."
With Fisher Manor secured, the four hundred warriors of the Alliance flooded into the courtyard. Tents bloomed on the parade ground like white mushrooms. It was a bloodless victory, and while the veterans felt a bit cheated of a real fight, the levies were grateful for the safety of it.
Godfrey Brooke had left little behind—mostly rough spirits taken from the road. Since the casks were too heavy to move back to the monastery, Aldric allowed a victory celebration. He ordered the spirits watered down and distributed equally among the ranks. That night, the air was filled with songs and the orange glow of a dozen campfires.
By dawn, the order of battle was redrawn. Dane Bennett's company stayed behind to hold Fisher Manor and begin the Parish-Stewardship reforms. The remaining three hundred men turned their eyes toward the next target: Longwave Castle.
The choice had been Ser Malin Sharp's. Of the remaining three holdout vassals, the Hardings were dead and the Rosts were lead by a woman who would fold once the walls were surrounded. Only House Polk of Longwave remained a threat, having ignored the call of Riverrun to preserve their own strength. If the Alliance took the weaker manors first, they would be forced to split their garrison, leaving them vulnerable to a counter-attack from the Polks.
Longwave was a relic of the Age of Heroes. It sat on the banks of the Maiden's Stream, a fortress of grey stone with walls fifteen feet high. Ser Varen Polk was a man of forty with a stubborn streak of independence, and he watched the approach of four hundred men with a snarl.
"Karlo Schmidt!" Varen roared from the battlements. "I hosted you as a friend, and you return with a siege-train?! Have you no shame?"
"Varen!" Karlo shouted back from beyond bowshot. "Because we are friends, I am giving you a second chance! High walls won't save you in this storm. Only brothers can protect your kin. Open the gates, and we can still share a cup!"
"Lies!" Varen spat into the wind. "You're a rabble of rebels and thieves! You have no king's warrant, no lord's command! You'll rot in the Seven Hells for this!"
"And which king do you serve, Varen?" Karlo laughed. "The Young Wolf who is trapped in the West? The golden boy in the capital who doesn't know your name? You're a dog with no master, and no one is coming to save you!"
Varen's response was a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush. Aldric, tired of the shouting, signaled for the siege to begin.
They had brought the ladders from Fisher Manor, but for Longwave, Aldric added a new terror. Under his direction, the woodcutters had fashioned four Torsion Catapults. They were rough, unpeeled logs held together by heavy rope, but they worked. On the fifth day of the siege, the machines began to hurl jagged chunks of river-stone at the battlements.
The Polks' defense crumbled. Men were either crushed by stone or fled the walls to escape the hail. As the battlements cleared, Aldric personally led an eighty-man "Storming Party" of Sunwalkers and veterans.
Aldric was the first up the ladder. He climbed in full plate, his warhammer swinging with a rhythmic, terrifying force. Every time a defender tried to rally, a flash of golden Light would erupt from the breach, blinding the guards and giving the Dawn more room to push. They took the gatehouse from the inside, the heavy portcullis groaning as it rose. The Alliance flooded into the courtyard like a tide.
The castle was won.
Aldric sat in the high seat of Longwave's hall, his armor slick with sweat and grime. He took a half-empty flagon of wine from the table and drank it down in one go.
One by one, the lords of the Alliance entered. Charles Costa, Dane Bennett, Malin Sharp, and Tucker Ward knelt before him, their shadows long against the stone floor.
Charles felt a bitter twinge in his gut. I was the first, he thought. I brought him the grain, the coin, the dagger. Why is Karlo the one whose son squires for him? Why is my Torin just a vice-captain in a common squad? He resolved to fix the slight as soon as the campaign ended.
But then, Dean Blount stepped forward. He didn't just kneel; he bowed his head until it touched the floor. "Lightbringer... I wish to offer you my lands."
The hall went silent. Charles's heart skipped a beat. Offer his lands? What madness is this?
"Commander," Dean continued, his voice thick with a strange, old fervor. "My ancestor was of the Warrior's Sons. We held our manor in trust for the Faith, waiting for a day when a true champion of the Seven returned. For two hundred years, the Church forgot us. But you... you bring the Word as it was meant to be. I've listened to your lectures. I see the future you describe. I surrender the wealth of my fathers to your Order. I ask only that you let the Light of Anshe cover this soil."
Aldric frowned, his hand tightening on his hammer. He hadn't expected this level of devotion. "Dean, I have no warrant from the High Septon. I cannot claim your tithes in his name."
Dean's face went a mottled red. "The High Septon? That fat leech who grovels for Lannister scraps? He has no soul left to give orders! The Light has been dark too long in this land. Raise your banner, Aldric! Sweep the rot away! House Blount will be your vanguard, even unto death!"
The room was stunned. Aldric looked at the balding, round-faced knight and saw a fanatic's fire. He weighed the offer. "Do you swear this, Dean? By the Light itself?"
"I swear it! On my soul and the souls of my kin!"
Aldric nodded. "Then tell me, Ser Dean... are you ready to walk the path? Are you ready for the Awakening?"
Dean's eyes blazed. "Give me the honor! Let me serve as a Sunwalker!"
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