The source of the Blue Fork broke into countless tiny streams at Sevenstreams, winding like silver threads over muddy land.
When Daemon's retinue arrived nearby, the noon sun was heating the road until steam rose, but the atmosphere at the town entrance was colder than the battlefield of Seagard—a dozen leather-armored guards held spears horizontally, blocking the narrow crossing completely. Rust on spear tips glinted eerily in the sun.
"Halt! Inspection!" A bearded guard stopped a merchant caravan wagon. His rough hand reached directly into a crate, fishing out half a bag of spices and stuffing it into his own tunic. "Not peaceful lately. According to rules, toll fee doubled."
The merchant flushed red with anxiety. "My lord, last time it was only one silver stag—"
"Last time was last time!" The bearded guard pushed him. "Bandits are rising all around here now! How can you do business peacefully without our protection! Can't pay? We'll take your wheels off!"
From The Cannibal's back, Daemon's gaze passed over the crowd to the other side of the checkpoint.
A noble under a yellow banner was pulling on his reins. The two crossed rusted longaxes with black handles and a black crown in the middle on the banner were strikingly visible—House Dustin of Barrowton in the North. The noble was about thirty or forty, impatience filling his blue-grey eyes.
Yet he was blocked by two guards; one was rubbing his hands, muttering "Noble lord spare some wine money."
"Daring to block a named noble?" Daemon Targaryen whispered from Caraxes's back beside him. "House Frey's gall is truly getting bigger. Do they think all Northmen are vegetarians? Especially a reckless lot like House Dustin."
Just then, the shadows of three giant dragons completely covered the checkpoint. The Cannibal's low growl vibrated the ground slightly. The breath of Caraxes and Dreamfyre condensed into white mist in the air. Guards dropped their spears with a clatter. Even the guard extorting the Dustin noble froze on the spot, face pale.
A tall, thin man drilled out from the pile of guards. His profile when bending to pick up a spear was as wretched as a chicken-stealing weasel, bearing a seven-point resemblance to the previous Walder Frey.
He ran quickly to Daemon, mud spots on his robe, trying hard to squeeze out an obsequious smile: "Two True Dragon Princes! Princess! Please don't be angry, don't be angry. This humble one is Lord Frey's nephew, heir to Ser Haigh, Arwood Haigh!"
He pointed to the badge on his chest—a black pitchfork on a golden stripe over a brown field. "It hasn't been peaceful around here lately; bandits are rampant. My cousin 'Slim' Walder—the third son of Lord Frey with my late aunt—disappeared inexplicably a while ago. Haven't found him till now; no person alive, no corpse dead! That's why inspections are stricter these few days. Startling the Princes, please forgive us!"
Daemon didn't speak. The black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder suddenly grew hot, like a fire burning under the skin.
He glanced beside the checkpoint. A thin-faced guard was using inspection as an excuse to reach for a merchant wife's waist. The woman screamed in fear; the merchant tried to resist but was pinned by another guard.
"Roar—" The Cannibal suddenly lowered his head, spewing a small ball of dragonfire. It landed with a boom by the thin-faced guard's feet, instantly scorching the soil black, scalding him into jumping up, smoke rising from his boot soles.
Arwood Haigh's smile froze on his face. Daemon patted The Cannibal lightly, violet eyes sweeping him. "Inspections are fine; follow the rules." His voice wasn't loud but carried a scorching temperature like dragonfire. "But dare to use this to make trouble or extort again—"
The Cannibal let out a threatening low growl. Huge wings flapped a gust of wind, blowing Arwood's robe tight against his body.
"Dare not! Dare not!" Arwood waved his hands hurriedly. "Let them pass! Let the Prince's retinue pass!"
Guards hurriedly cleared the way. Even the blocked Dustin noble froze for a moment, then nodded slightly toward Daemon's direction and urged his horse to follow.
Passing through the checkpoint, Daemon noticed most houses in Sevenstreams were low, mud walls crooked. Only a stone house in the town center looked decent, hanging the pitchfork banner of House Haigh and the blue twin towers of House Frey—clearly the Haigh residence.
"People of House Frey, whether juniors or in-laws, are indeed cut from the same cloth." Daemon Targaryen flicked his cane, sneering. "Even learned toll collection so shrewdly."
Gael on Dreamfyre looked at the crisscrossing streams outside town with pale violet eyes. "He mentioned Walder Frey's disappearance. Seems House Frey has already sensed something about Oldstones."
Daemon looked back at the checkpoint. Arwood was directing guards to block the road again, only much more restrained this time, even looking at merchants with wariness.
He touched the brand on his right shoulder, the heat there fading. "Let them sense. They have no evidence, and dare not challenge dragons."
"Princess Gael can rest assured; this humble one handles things flawlessly. Even if they suspect, where can their thoughts go? Probabilities of 'bandits' and turf wars are far greater." In the retinue, Larys Strong heard the voice from low altitude above the group and smiled directly from his grey donkey. "And this humble one guarantees absolutely 'no person alive, no corpse dead.' These weasels dare not offend true dragons; they just want to use the topic to grab more toll fees."
The retinue passed through Sevenstreams, heading toward the Hag's Mire outside town.
The source of the Blue Fork turned into countless mud pits here. Green algae floated on the water surface, and the air was filled with the fishy smell of humus.
The Dustin noble's retinue followed behind. The noble spurred his horse to catch up with Daemon and the others. "This one is Roderick Dustin, Lord of Barrowton. Thank the Princes for resolving the siege."
"Why would a Northman come to the Riverlands?" Daemon Targaryen asked.
"Heading south to discuss some fur business, and stock up on winter grain early; this spring is colder than usual." Roderick's gaze landed on The Cannibal with awe. "Though didn't expect Sevenstreams to become like this. House Frey is becoming more outrageous."
Daemon didn't reply, just urging the retinue to speed up. The rotten road of the Hag's Mire extended ahead. Bubbles occasionally surfaced in mud ponds, like some creature breathing.
The Cannibal flew at the front, occasionally landing willfully to rest, but huge claws stepping in mud left deep prints, and an angry dragon tail sweeping roadside thorns kicked up muddy water.
Arwood Haigh's figure grew smaller at the town entrance. Daemon knew this checkpoint at Sevenstreams was but a microcosm of House Frey's greed.
Once they left, the extortion here would only intensify until the next "true dragon" appeared.
But he had no mind for this now. The mist of the Hag's Mire began to spread, blocking the sunlight. The road ahead blurred. Only the roars of three giant dragons echoed over the swamp, guiding their direction through the mud ponds.
---