The Glassworks was usually a place of heat and noise, but in the small annex Ronan had built, the only sound was the scratching of sand against glass.
Ronan sat at a workbench, his hands covered in fine white dust. He was holding a small, circular disk of clear glass against a concave iron mold.
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
"My Lord?" Gallo the glassblower watched nervously. "You have been rubbing that piece of glass for six hours. You will rub it away to nothing."
"Not nothing," Ronan murmured, not stopping the rhythmic motion. "Curvature. I need a convex curve. Precise to the millimeter."
He held the disk up to the candle. It distorted the light, bending the flame into a magnified blob.
"Refraction," Ronan said. "If we bend the light, we bring the world closer."
He took a second piece of glass—this one concave—and placed it behind the first inside a brass tube Kennos had cast.
He handed the tube to Gallo. "Look at the weathervane on the barn."
Gallo hesitated, then held the tube to his eye. He gasped and nearly dropped it.
"Sorcery!" Gallo yelped. "The rooster... it is right here! I can see the rust on its tail!"
"It's a Telescope," Ronan said, taking the tube back. "Four times magnification. It's not much, but it's enough to see a signal from five miles away."
The Tower
Two weeks later, the landscape of the Wolfswood had changed.
Four towers now pierced the canopy of the forest, stretching in a line from the Keep all the way to the northeastern border near the Long Lake.
They weren't defensive forts. They were tall, slender wooden skeletons, built for height, not for war.
At the top of the nearest tower, Ronan stood with Varrick. A cold wind whipped their cloaks.
Above them rose a strange mast. It had a large horizontal beam (the Regulator) and two smaller arms at the ends (the Indicators). All were painted matte black to contrast against the grey sky.
Ropes and pulleys ran from the arms down to a control station inside the tower.
"It looks like a scarecrow," Varrick noted dubiously. "A scarecrow doing a dance."
"It's a Chappe Semaphore," Ronan corrected. "Based on the French design. Each position of the arms represents a number or a letter."
He showed Varrick the Code Book he had printed on his grey paper.
• Arms Flat: Idle / Ready.
• Left Up, Right Down: Enemy.
• Both Up: All Clear.
• Diagonal Cross: 50 men.
"We don't send words," Ronan explained. "Too slow. We send codes. Code 4-7-2 means 'Bolton Patrol Sighted, 20 men, Moving South'."
"And the operators?"
"I've trained them. They don't need to be warriors. They just need good eyes and steady hands." Ronan pointed to the brass telescope mounted on a swivel stand, pointed at the distant horizon where the next tower was a barely visible speck.
The Test
"Signal the border," Ronan ordered the operator, a sharp-eyed girl named Liana. "Ask for a status report."
Liana pulled the levers.
Clack.
The massive wooden arms above them swung into position.
Clack. Clack.
She held the position for ten seconds, then returned to neutral.
"Message sent," she said.
Varrick leaned against the railing. "Now we wait for the rider?"
"No rider," Ronan said, checking his pocket watch—a simple spring-driven mechanism he was prototyping. "Watch the telescope."
Three minutes passed.
"Signal received!" Liana called out, eye pressed to the brass tube. "Tower Two is repeating the signal to Tower Three."
Ronan imagined the invisible line of information racing across the hills.
Tower Two sees the signal. Clack. Relays it.
Tower Three sees the signal. Clack. Relays it.
Tower Four (The Border) sees it.
Five minutes passed.
"Response incoming!" Liana shouted. "Tower Two is signaling!"
She watched the black arms of the distant tower move. She translated instantly.
"Code... Eight. One. Zero."
She flipped through the book.
"8-1-0: No Activity. Sector Clear. Morale High."
Varrick stared at her, then at the distant horizon. "That... that is impossible. The border is twenty miles away. A rider takes four hours at a full gallop. You did it in eight minutes."
"Light travels faster than horses, Varrick," Ronan said, closing the watch. "We just shrank the North."
The Spider's Web
Ronan walked to the map table he had installed in the tower.
"Roose Bolton relies on secrecy," Ronan said. "He moves in the dark. He strikes when we are blind. But now..."
Ronan drew a line on the map connecting the towers.
"Now, we have a nervous system. If he crosses the Long Lake, we know before his boots are dry. If he musters troops at the Dreadfort, we know before they saddle their horses."
He turned to Varrick.
"Expand the line. I want towers watching the Kingsroad to the South. I want to know when the King arrives before he even crosses the Neck."
Varrick nodded, writing furiously. "My Lord, the cost of the glass..."
"Is cheaper than a surprise attack," Ronan cut him off. "Do it."
As they climbed down the tower, Ronan felt a vibration in the ground. Not a machine this time.
Horses.
A sentry rode up to the base of the tower. "Lord Ronan! A rider from the Dreadfort. Under a peace banner."
Ronan smiled grimly. "The spider felt the web twitch."
The Messenger
The Bolton messenger was waiting in the courtyard. He looked at the Blast Furnace, the Glassworks, and the new Semaphore Tower looming over the castle. He looked unsettled.
"Lord Locke sends greetings," the messenger said, handing over a scroll. "He... apologizes for the 'misunderstanding' regarding the fire in the woods. He claims it was rogue elements."
"Rogue elements with Braavosi oil," Ronan said dryly, taking the scroll. "How convenient."
"Lord Locke invites you to a hunt," the messenger continued. "To smooth over relations. At his seat in Oldcastle."
Ronan activated [The Architect's Eye].
He looked at the messenger.
• Pulse: Elevated.
• Micro-expression: Smugness concealed by deference.
• Analysis: It's a trap.
"A hunt," Ronan mused. "Where accidents happen. An arrow goes astray. A horse stumbles."
"It would be rude to refuse," the messenger pressed.
"Tell Lord Locke I am busy," Ronan said. "I have a new machine to build. But tell him I appreciate the offer."
Ronan leaned in.
"And tell him that I know he moved three hundred men to the eastern treeline yesterday morning."
The messenger froze. His eyes went wide. "How... that is impossible. No scout could have..."
Ronan pointed to the Semaphore Tower high above them. The black arms were moving, signaling the changing of the shift. Clack. Clack.
"I see everything," Ronan lied (he didn't see everything, but he saw enough). "Go home. Tell Roose Bolton that the Wolfswood has eyes."
The messenger rode away fast.
Ronan turned to Varrick. "He will attack. The hunt was a pretext to get me out of the castle. Since I refused, he will come to me."
"We are ready," Varrick said confidentially. "We have the walls. We have the Arbalests."
"We have defense," Ronan agreed. "But we don't have an economy if we are under siege. We need something that makes them afraid to even march."
Ronan looked at the pile of wool in the warehouse.
"We have the Spinning Jenny," Ronan said thoughtfully. "It spins thread. But the mechanism... the gears... the rotation..."
He pulled out his notebook.
"If we replace the wool with lead... and the spindle with a barrel..."
"My Lord?"
"Nothing," Ronan said, closing the book. The Gatling Gun was too advanced. He didn't have the percussion caps.
"We stick to the plan," Ronan said. "But double the night watch. And Varrick?"
"Yes?"
"Get me more sulfur. We are going to need the black powder sooner than I thought."
Status Update:
• Intel: Semaphore Line Operational (Speed: Instant).
• Threat: Bolton/Locke preparing for direct conflict.
• Tech: Telescopes unlocked.
....
Author Note
Hi guys! Thank you for reading my fanfiction.
I wanted to let you know that I'm releasing bonus chapters for Power Stones. Here are the goals:
100 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
125 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
150 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
Thanks for the support!