NOVEL NEXT CHAPTER 87: River of Rumors
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POV: Jorryn, the Saltpans Trader
The road between Maidenpool and Duskendale was hard under frozen slush, and Jorryn's cart rattled with every stone. Salt and wool rode behind him. But stories—those earned him coin faster.
At a crowded roadside inn, he leaned across the table toward a bored sellsword. "You heard of the northern fighter? Some call him the Snow Demon now."
The sellsword raised an eyebrow. "Another one of your ghost stories?"
"Not mine," Jorryn said, grinning. "Came from a gullship crew out of the Vale. Said he broke ironborn steel with nothing but his hands."
"That what they said?"
"And more. His wolf speaks, they claim. In a dead god's voice. Another swore the man doesn't bleed when cut."
The sellsword snorted, but didn't move away. The innkeeper leaned in too.
By the time Jorryn reached Saltpans, the tale had grown wings. "Ten ironborn, split in half. Blade that hums. A wolf that knows your name." He sold his bolts and salt. But it was the story people paid to hear twice.
And each man who heard it told it differently by sundown.
POV: Redna, The Hollow Vale
Redna stood over the war table as three candles flickered. Routes and names crisscrossed the map. Merchant lanes, holdfast watchlists, coded symbols for shrines and patrol paths.
Thom entered quietly. "Two reports. One from Gulltown—a trader asking about breath-fighters. Another from Duskendale. A Septon there claimed 'man shouldn't sculpt his soul with breath and blood.'"
Redna frowned. "That's doctrine now?"
"Close enough to stir."
"They're building him," she murmured. "Piece by piece."
She pointed to three overlapping circles she'd inked herself—Whispers, Watchers, Webs.
"Whispers will draw noise to the east. Start rumors in Lannisport about a drowned sorcerer in the hills. Give them something strange to chase."
Thom nodded. "And the Watchers?"
"Double-checking all eastern merchant docks. No loose paths to White Harbor or the Ridge. And Webs—"
Thom hesitated. "One was caught. The woman in Lannisport."
Redna stared at him. "Dead?"
"No. Just gone."
She folded a ciphered scroll. "Replace her. Quietly. And audit all downstream contacts. One break becomes rot."
POV: Arthur, Wolfsblood Ridge
Snow laced the high summit above the Ridge. Arthur stood alone, watching cloudshadow pass over distant treetops. His eyes were calm, his breath slow.
He didn't look up when Redna approached.
"She said nothing with breath should shape the soul," she murmured.
Arthur spoke softly. "And yet breath is the only thing we ever truly own."
Redna stepped beside him. "One of the new boys calls you Snow Demon. He thought it clever—said it might scare off the next challenge."
Arthur didn't smile. "Fear fades when it isn't earned."
"They're using your image."
"They don't know me."
She studied him. "And if they make something of you that isn't true?"
He looked down toward the ridge. "Then we stay with the truth, and let them exhaust their need for stories."
POV: Arthur, Ridge Courtyard
Later that night, he entered the courtyard to find six recruits repeating the phrase between exercises.
"Snow Demon. Snow Demon."
He stood before them without raising his voice. "Stop."
They turned, startled. One stepped forward. "It's just a joke, ser."
"It's a lie. And worse than that—it's a shield you haven't earned."
The recruit blinked. "But they talk about it in every camp now. In inns—"
"You want to fight like shadows and call yourselves monsters. But you haven't bled for anything yet."
The boy looked down. "We thought it made us stronger."
"No," Arthur said, stepping closer. "It makes you louder. That's not strength."
Silence returned to the yard. Arthur moved to the training circle. "Start again. In silence."
POV: Rickard Stark, Winterfell Solar
Maester Walys handed Rickard the scroll with quiet hands.
"A letter from Lord Yohn Royce. Gulltown traders speak of breath-fighters. Of a northern warrior they compare to Harren's Doom."
Rickard read it twice, then laid it beside the hearth.
"It's spreading."
Walys adjusted his chain. "Is that what we wanted?"
"No," Rickard said. "But it's what we feared."
POV: Redna, The Hollow Vale – Inner Circle
Torchlight danced on stone. The inner circle of Redna's network gathered—informants, scribes, silent agents with no titles.
"We adjust," she said. "The noise has grown. So we become quieter."
She turned to a thin man beside her. "Whispers will shift east. Give them enough mystery to keep them looking."
She nodded to the woman beside him. "Watchers confirm all exposed lanes. Any line to White Harbor, Wolfsblood Ridge, even Bear Island."
And finally, she looked to a hooded girl near the wall. "Webs—we've lost one. You know the rules. If they break cover, we seal it."
The girl nodded.
Redna stepped back. "From now on, we train in three silences. First: the silence of footstep. Second: the silence of name. You will not speak Arthur's name again unless ordered. And third: the silence of breath."
They stood, quiet and steady.
"You will be wind without shadow. He may be the sword. But we are what holds the blade steady. Do you understand?"
They bowed—quietly, deliberately.
Conviction did not need banners.