Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 667 - 385: The First Breath of Spring in Cold Sand Territory

Winter in Cold Sand Territory had retreated only recently, but the breeze beyond the castle walls still bore a trace of biting cold.

Dawn's light pierced the sky as mist ascended from the hillsides, with lingering snow gradually dissolving in the fissures of the castle's stonework.

Baron Hold, ruler of Cold Sand, took his seat in the castle's modest hall; the weathered wooden chair groaned faintly beneath his weight.

"Being a lord has turned into pure torment..." Hold grumbled softly, wrinkles deepening on his face, wary lest anyone else in the castle catch his words.

Truth be told, nobody could overhear; save for his servant, scarce few endured life in this fortress.

Cold Sand Territory had suffered poverty for ages. Over the last three years, floods ruined the mines, and granaries emptied year by year.

Without the salt, grain, wood, and iron tools delivered from Red Tide, collapse would have come ages ago.

Still, Hold chafed at it; as Lord of Cold Sand, he ought to reign supreme over these lands.

These days? Red Tide dispatched officials to audit the books; storehouses sported Red Tide's marks, and spring planting obeyed Red Tide's timelines.

Territory folk facing woes turned to Red Tide's envoys, bypassing him entirely.

"A Lord... reduced to nothing but a figurehead." He raked through his unkempt locks, his expression creasing further.

Hold knew full well, though, that Red Tide's aid alone kept him alive through the prior winter.

Those final sacks of grain in his stores persisted thanks solely to Red Tide's handouts.

The medicinal brew his son drank against winter's bite came from Red Tide's healers too.

Rebellion crossed his thoughts, yet Hold lacked the guts to pursue it.

"Maybe stash an extra wagon or two of ore?" Hold mulled warily, then dismissed it fast, "No way, seals guard the warehouse; they'd spot even one missing sack."

He mused once more: "What if... I cook the books?"

At once, visions of Inspection Department enforcers flooded his thoughts, picturing himself dangling from the gates like other lords caught tampering with ledgers.

A shudder wracked Hold's frame as he banished the notion for good.

"Chase away Red Tide's officials?... Absurd, I've just a handful of knights; their squad could crush us effortlessly."

Deeper into his brooding, Hold sank lower in despair, collapsing into the chair: "Lording over this place is no easy feat. If Duke Edmund still lived..."

While massaging his forehead, urgent knocks sounded from his servant: "My Lord, Pete the aide from Red Tide seeks entry."

Hold's pulse raced wildly.

Pete? The Red Tide aid overseer? Here now? What for?

"Disaster, are they auditing me?" His throat constricted, "Did they snag the letter I wrote to Collins?"

Memories of that gripe-filled missive drained color from his cheeks briefly, but he masked it with calm: "Let him enter."

Once the servant departed, Hold yanked at his cuffs, forcing a straight-backed pose despite clammy hands.

Pete appeared in the little hall soon after.

This middle-aged Red Tide bureaucrat draped in a crimson cloak made modest motions, radiating unshakeable assurance.

"Lord Hold." Pete spoke quietly, but with undeniable authority.

Hold put on a show of irritation, countenance icy: "What do you want?"

Pete held back his words, gesturing instead to the servant.

A pair of servants wheeled in a chest reaching waist height, its heft thudding dully on the flagstones.

Hold went rigid, pulse hammering, dreading torture tools as he recoiled slightly in his seat.

Beside the table they set the chest, Pete flicking its clasp undone.

As the top swung up, Hold's breathing ceased...

No papers or stamps filled it, only a hoard of gleaming gold coins.

Beams from narrow windows bathed the treasure in light, setting the chamber aglow like fire.

Hold remained rooted, throat too dry to swallow.

A ledger dropped onto the coins by Pete, voice even like daily reports: "Lord, here's Cold Sand Territory's yearly dividend."

Hold's mouth quivered: "...Dividend?"

"Two thousand gold coins." Pete turned the book to the payout sheet himself and slid it over, "Red Tide's reckoning, flawless as always."

Hold's eyes locked onto that sheet.

"Two thousand" burned into his brain.

His fingers stretched out, shaking violently enough to miss the ledger's edge.

Never before had Baron Hold beheld such a massive pile of gold.

Cold Sand Territory stayed dirt-poor forever; a minor baron's earnings appeared mostly as ledger notes in house records, not real riches grasped.

But this gold chest loomed real and heavy now, its luster impossible to ignore.

A mad notion streaked across his mind: "Is heaven toying with me?"

Pete launched into details: "Rails boosted transport six times faster, steam pumps kept mines running nonstop. Red Tide bought steady at fixed rates, boosting territory revenues naturally."

Hold absorbed it all blankly, head spinning.

He echoed faintly: "Two thousand gold coins... Never in my days... have I laid eyes on a thousand..."

Pete unveiled a second book: "Plus, winter frostbite relief, tool subsidies for farms, rewards for fixing roads and bridges, funds for building schools."

Hold reeled trying to take it in, chest tight one instant, then suddenly free.

Pete sealed it with a flourish, drawing a slim pamphlet from his satchel and placing it before Hold like a knockout punch: "Here's the Red Tide Commerce Association's supply catalog, special discounts for Lords in the Red Tide network..."