The convoy that rolled into the Hollow of Skulls an hour later was a sight that brought tears to the eyes of hardened warriors.

  Twenty heavy wagons, their axles groaning under the weight. They weren't filled with wool anymore. They were piled high with burlap sacks stamped with the crest of House Vane, and beneath them, barrels of salted fish and root vegetables.

  Uncle Hareth rode at the head of the column. He looked exhausted, his cloak stiff with frozen mud, but when he saw Kaelen standing alive amidst the tribal chieftains, his bearded face broke into a relief that was almost painful to watch.

  "You mad, stubborn boy!" Hareth roared, swinging down from his horse. He marched up to Kaelen and gripped his shoulders, shaking him. "I expected to find your head on a spike! Instead, I hear you've been ringing bells and killing giants!"

  "Good to see you too, Uncle," Kaelen winced, smiling. "Did the wool sell?"

  "Sell?" Hareth laughed, a booming sound. "It vanished! The Viscount’s quartermaster nearly wept with joy. The war in the East made wool scarce as gold. We emptied the wagons and filled them with every sack of grain Clasta had to spare."

  He gestured to the caravan.

  "Sixty tons of winter wheat. Dried corn. Salted pork. Enough to feed these tribes for three months if they ration it."

  The smell of the grain had already drifted through the camp. Tribal children were peeking out from behind their mothers’ legs, eyes wide. Warriors were lowering their spears, their mouths watering.

  Zark walked up, touching one of the sacks reverently. "This... all of this is for us?"

  "For the alliance," Kaelen corrected. "For the builders of the Gate."

  "We cannot pay for this," Karsen grunted, looking at the mountain of food. "We have horses, yes, but if we give you all our mounts, we cannot fight."

  "I don't want your warhorses," Kaelen said. "Not yet."

  He turned to Zarn. "Zarn, bring ten men. And bring empty crates. We are going shopping."

  The "shopping trip" that followed baffled the tribesmen.

  Kaelen led them not to the herd of destriers, nor to the piles of looted weapons. He led them to the rocky scree slopes at the edge of the Hollow, and to the shaded crevices where the ice never melted.

  "Dig here," Kaelen ordered, pointing to a vein of glittery, dull-grey rock.

  "Sparkle-Stone?" Zarn asked, confused. "Lord Kaelen, this is useless. It is too soft for arrowheads. It melts if you put it in a hot forge."

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  "Just dig it," Kaelen said.

  [Item: Star-Silver Ore (Raw)]

  Properties: Highly mana-conductive. Essential for enchanting.

  Tribal Value: 0.

  Market Value: 10 Gold Marks per kg.

  Next, Kaelen took them to the patches of blue, pulsating moss growing under the overhangs.

  "Pull it up by the roots," Kaelen instructed. "Gently. Pack it in the straw so it doesn't freeze solid."

  "Ghost Weed?" One of the Black Fang warriors sneered. "Women's medicine. It stops bleeding, but it smells like old feet."

  "Pack it," Kaelen ordered.

  [Item: Frost-Moss]

  Properties: Alchemical stabilizer. High demand in Mage Towers.

  Tribal Value: Folk remedy.

  Market Value: 15 Silver per ounce.

  Then came the Iron-Root, the ugly, tuberous plants that the tribesmen chewed on to stave off hunger pains. Kaelen had them fill three entire wagons with it.

  By the time they were done, the caravan was loaded with what the tribes considered garbage. Rocks, weeds, and roots.

  Hareth walked along the line of wagons, inspecting the cargo. He picked up a chunk of Star-Silver, turning it over in his hand. He was a veteran soldier, but he knew enough about logistics to be confused.

  "Lad," Hareth lowered his voice. "We gave them sixty tons of grain. Good grain. And we're taking back... landscaping?"

  Kaelen took the ore from his uncle. He held it up to the sun. Faint lines of blue energy hummed within the grey stone.

  "Uncle," Kaelen whispered. "Do you know what the Battle-Mages in the capital use to make their staves channel force? Do you know what the smiths use to make blades that never rust?"

  Hareth frowned. "Mithril? Or... Star-Silver?"

  "This is Star-Silver," Kaelen said, tossing the rock back into the wagon. "The mountains are made of it. The Stone Eaters don't use it because they prefer hard iron for smashing. The tribes ignore it because it doesn't hold an edge."

  Hareth’s eyes bulged. He looked at the wagon bed. It was full. "That's... that's a king's ransom. Just sitting there."

  "And the moss?" Kaelen pointed. "That's the base for every healing potion the Temple sells for five gold pieces a vial. Here, it grows like crabgrass."

  He turned to look at the tribesmen, who were happily carrying sacks of grain away, laughing and clapping each other on the back. They thought they had swindled the stupid Lowlander. They thought they had traded useless rocks for life-saving food.

  "We aren't just saving them, Uncle Hareth," Kaelen said, his voice trembling slightly with the scale of it. "We are about to become the richest Barony in the North. We have a monopoly on the Thunder Hoof's veins."

  Zarn approached, dusting his hands off. "The wagons are full, Lord Kaelen. We filled them with the trash you asked for."

  "Thank you, Zarn," Kaelen said, keeping his face perfectly serious. "I know it seems foolish, but my... alchemists... enjoy studying the mountain flora."

  "Lowlanders are strange," Zarn chuckled. "But the grain is real. The chiefs are pleased. Karsen is even saying you might not be a milk-drinker after all."

  "High praise," Kaelen smiled.

  As the sun began to dip behind the peaks, casting long shadows over the Hollow, the caravan prepared to descend. Hareth mounted his horse, looking back at the "trash" with a newfound reverence.

  "I'll get this to the keep," Hareth said. "I'll send the masons and the tools back up with the next run."

  "Keep the Star-Silver hidden," Kaelen warned. "If a powerfull lord of the north finds out we have a mine's worth of it, he'll annex the Barony."

  "I'll bury it under the turnips," Hareth promised with a grin.

  Kaelen watched the wagons roll out. The immediate crisis of starvation was solved. The defensive line was being drawn.

  But as he looked back toward the High Spire, where the Stone Eaters were gathering, the System pinged one last warning.

  [Diplomatic Alert]

  Faction: Stone Eaters.

  Event: The execution of Krag has triggered the Succession Protocol.

  New Leader Identified: Vorak

  Intel: Traitors extermination