Having clarified his goals, Arthur spent the next several days riding with Jimmy and Zach near the lower reaches of the Torrentine River, scouting the terrain and gathering information.
The local shepherds, farmers, caravan masters, and even landed knights were more than willing to speak with him. Seeing him on horseback with a longsword at his hip and flying the banner of House Dayne, they undoubtedly took him for a knight.
"My Lord, truly, our relationship with the mountain savages wasn't always like this," a shepherd reeking of sheep tallow told him.
"Farmers and shepherds like me, living at the foot of the Red Mountains, used to trade wheat, cheese, and ale with them for ore and leather. We'd take those goods to Starfall Port to sell. The coin was decent enough."
Arthur heard similar stories from the vast majority of farmers and the refugees fleeing from the west bank of the Torrentine.
Until recently, the mountain clans of the Red Mountains rarely raided the smallfolk at the foot of the mountains. Instead, they traded.
This shift from trade to raiding had happened only in the last year. The clans had suddenly ceased all trade and turned to violence.
They raided the property of the lowlanders in organized bands, killing anyone who resisted.
Whenever Starfall dispatched fully armored knights and soldiers to suppress them, the raiders would retreat back into the Red Mountains with their spoils, avoiding direct confrontation with the castle's forces.
"We had no choice but to abandon our homes. We slowly withdrew from Violet Canyon and fled east across the Torrentine."
Under the blazing noon sun of Dorne, a dark-skinned old farmer, his head wrapped in a cloth against the heat, shared his story while huddled in the shade of an orchard.
"Fortunately, my family left in time. I heard some men had their wives and daughters taken. May those savages rot in the Seven Hells."
Arthur asked a few questions about the crops and tossed the man a wineskin filled with Summerwine.
The old farmer caught it with thickly calloused hands. After taking two gulps, he looked panicked and tried to return the skin to Arthur.
"This is Summerwine? My Lord, I... I fear I am wasting... wasting your fine drink."
Clearly, the old farmer hadn't expected Arthur to give him a skin of wine worth a silver Stag, rather than cheap ale worth two copper stars.
"There is no waste. Wine is made for drinking. Tell me about the crops here. What do you grow?"
Arthur sat in the shade, sipping his own wine. Nearby, by an irrigation ditch, Jimmy and Zach were using their helms as basins, scooping water to wash and cool down themselves and their horses.
"Near the Torrentine, water is plentiful. We mostly grow olives, wheat, and grapes. Then come the things the high lords love: lemons, dragon peppers, and blood oranges."
The old farmer had evidently traveled a bit. He took another few swigs and continued, "In the deep desert of Dorne, water is scarce; people usually grow sand-dates near the oases. But down by the Greenblood, they grow citrus, grapes, olives, and wheat again."
"Do these crops sell well?"
"My Lord, we don't sell it all." The farmer's weather-beaten, reddish-brown face twisted into a bitter smile.
"The wheat, after giving the lord or the landed knight his share, is usually ground into flour. We keep it to trade for black bread at the bakery, or boil it into porridge."
"As for the olives, some we eat, some we pickle in salt, and some we crush for oil to rub on our skin. It stops the sunburn and keeps away the heat-sickness."
"Lemons, blood oranges, and other fruits are mostly taken to market to sell."
Arthur continued his questioning. "What are your expenses for the year? How much coin do you have left over?"
"Grinding wheat at the miller's takes coin. Mending tools and clothes takes coin. Since I rent this land, I don't pay taxes directly to the Lord of Starfall, but I give half my harvest to the landed knight who owns the manor."
The old farmer counted on his fingers, finally shaking the wineskin with a smile.
"After feeding and housing the family, if no one gets sick... I suppose I might have enough left over to buy four or five skins of this Summerwine in a year."
Arthur calculated mentally, combining this with information from other tenant farmers he had met. He now had a clear concept of the economics of the local smallfolk.
An experienced tenant farmer might have a surplus of five silver Stags a year. If his wife wove cloth to sell, a household might clear five to ten Stags.
The few freeholders he had spoken to earlier likely earned more. After taxes, they might have a surplus of ten to thirty silver Stags.
---
As the afternoon heat receded slightly, Arthur bid farewell to the old farmer and rode back along the road toward the rented manor in the hills.
This road, a mix of dirt and stone, ran along the Torrentine, stretching from Blackmont upstream down to Starfall at the river's mouth, passing the cadet branch seat of High Hermitage along the way.
"My Lord, riders behind us."
Midway back, Jimmy suddenly spurred his horse forward to warn him. "At least a dozen."
Arthur turned, hand on his sword hilt. He saw a cloud of dust rising on the road in the distance, obscuring the riders.
Only when he saw the purple banner bearing the sword and falling star emerge from the dust did he relax, taking his hand off his hilt.
The two men at the head of the column were Ser Barton Orys and Ser Bard Orys, the knights who had escorted Arthur into Starfall.
Since that day, Arthur had rarely seen them in the castle.
Arthur greeted them first. "Sers, it has been a long time."
Ser Barton looked much more haggard than when they first met. His armor was stained with dried blood.
His voice came muffled from behind his visor. "We were under orders to hunt down and drive out the savages who crossed from the west bank."
Arthur: "How did it go?"
Ser Barton raised his visor. "We only found their trail three days ago. Chased them for days. Killed six, captured four. The rest have been driven out of Starfall's lands and have disappeared into the mountains."
Ser Barton's squire chimed in, "The strange thing is, this time the savages brought their old, their women, and their children on the raid. And when they fled, they didn't go back the way they came. Made us wait for nothing."
The standard-bearer added, "It felt more like they were fleeing something than raiding."
The hot-tempered Ser Bard grunted. "Take them back to the castle and question them properly. We'll know everything then."
Arthur looked toward the rear of the column. He saw four wildlings bound across horses—all women and children.
Several riders at the back were wounded, looking weary and dispirited, their injuries bound only with simple rags.
Arthur offered, "Come to the manor I'm renting. You can treat your wounds and rest. It's right on the way to Starfall, only an hour's ride."
Ser Barton hesitated, then glanced at the exhausted state of his men and horses. He nodded his thanks.
The long tracking mission, sleeping in the open, and the brutal Dornish heat had pushed them to their limits.
---
On the way, Arthur and Jimmy observed the captured wildlings closely.
Unlike the dark-skinned, reddish-brown faces of the Dornish smallfolk near Starfall, these people had fair skin—though roughened by the sun—and beautiful blonde or brown hair. They were tall and lanky.
"Arthur, you're from the North, so you might not know. We Dornishmen are generally divided into three kinds," Ser Barton noticed their curiosity and pointed to his own reddish-brown face.
"Those of us who live in the deserts and the long river valleys are called Sandy Dornishmen. Because of the sun, our faces are usually burnt brown or red."
"And them," Barton pointed to the bound captives.
"Those who live in the Red Mountains—in the high peaks and passes—and the lords of the Dornish Marches like Kingsgrave, the Boneway, and the upper Torrentine, bordering the Reach and the Stormlands... they are called Stony Dornishmen."
"They have the blood of the Andals and the First Men. Their hair is mostly blonde or brown, and they are tall and broad. In terms of looks, they are considered the fairest of the Dornish."
Ser Bard rode up beside Arthur to pick up his brother's thread. "Then there are the Salty Dornishmen who live along the coast. They have lithe bodies, smooth olive skin, and black hair."
"Finally, there are the Orphans of the Greenblood. They are descendants of the Rhoynar who followed Queen Nymeria from Essos long ago. They refused to abandon their traditions and live mostly on rafts on the Greenblood River."