The predicament facing Carlo Schmidt and Marin Sharp was a mirror of Kaden's own trial at Tumblestone: they carried a king's ransom in goods but lacked the steel to protect it.
Kaden knew the play. Someone had caught the scent of the Sun-Sugar and snatched the "Riverlords" to squeeze them for coin. The suspect had to be high-born enough to know the sugar's value and arrogant enough to ignore the reprisal of minor vassals.
But searching for one greedy noble in King's Landing was like looking for a specific flea in a kennel. Lord Tywin had been uncharacteristically generous before his death, handing out boxes of the sugar to half the court. It was a Lannister habit—buying loyalty with gifts while ensuring the "tribute" wasn't poisoned by testing it on his peers.
Viktor had reported that the Gold Cloaks hadn't drawn blood; they'd simply told the attendants to "find help." It was a classic shakedown—testing to see if the Rivermen had friends in high places. If they did, a deal would be struck. If not, they'd rot until the sugar was eaten and their purses were dry.
Luckily, Kaden Storm was no stranger to the City Watch. Though he'd been demoted to a Red Keep gate-warden, his reputation for sharing a flagon and a coin stood him in good stead. After a night of heavy drinking in the taverns of Flea Bottom, he found his lead: two "suspicious Rivermen" were being held at the barracks near Shoemaker's Square.
"Why do you care about a pair of mud-foots?" asked Roberto Brown, a brawny Gold Cloak sergeant with a mouth full of sour leaf.
"Friends of friends," Kaden lied smoothly. "Their squires came to me crying. I don't want to step in a pile of dung if it's a Royal matter. What's the charge?"
"Charge?" Roberto laughed. "Lalf's department handled it. Probably nothing but a light purse. Go see him; he's reasonable if the gold is yellow."
The barracks near the square was a collection of low, sagging timber huts. Gold Cloaks lounged against the walls, sunning themselves like lazy lizards. Inside, the air was a thick miasma of sweat, stale ale, and the sharper tang of the latrine.
Kaden paid a copper to a guard to see the "Riverland suspects."
The cage was made of rotting oak beams. Inside, Carlo and Marin were sitting in the filth, methodically picking lice from their tunics. They looked exhausted, their fine clothes stained with the grime of the city.
"You two still in one piece?" Kaden asked through the bars.
Marin scrambled to his feet, his eyes wild with hope. "Ser Kaden! Tell these fools we had nothing to do with Tywin! We were presenting a letter of submission, for the Smith's sake!"
"They don't care about the Lion," Carlo grunted, joining him at the bars. "The captain is one Ned Leke. Ask him his price, Kaden. My ribs can't take another 'interrogation.'"
Kaden tossed a Silver Moon to the cage guard. The man caught it with a toothless grin. "I'll see they get some water, Ser."
Kaden found Ned Leke behind the barracks, stripped to the waist and hacking at a pile of firewood with a heavy axe.
"Captain Leke?"
The man stopped, wiping sweat from his brow. "Who's asking?"
"Ser Kaden Storm, Red Keep Guard. You have two of my associates in your cage. I'm wondering what crime they've committed against the King's Peace."
Leke spat. "I know you. The one the Knight of Flowers brought in. Started as a captain, ended as a gate-watcher because you couldn't hold onto a Stark girl."
Kaden's jaw tightened, but he kept his voice level. "I served my penance. My friends, however, are here to offer fealty to the Throne. Why are they behind bars?"
"Ask my commander, Ralf Koch," Leke shrugged, returning to his wood. "He's at the Lion's Fang on Seed Street. He's the one who wanted them squeezed."
The Lion's Fang was a pit of low-grade ale and loud voices. Kaden pushed inside, ignored the stench, and spotted a group of Gold Cloaks gambling in the corner.
"Ralf Koch?" Kaden called out.
A bearded, barrel-chested man looked up from his cards. "Red Keep business?"
"Kaden Storm," another voice cut in. It came from a man not in uniform, but clearly in charge. He was short, wiry, and had eyes that flickered with a dangerous, mercenary light.
"Bronn?" Kaden asked, stunned. "What are you doing here?"
"That's Ser Bronn of Castle Stokeworth to you," the man grinned. "I recruited half these bastards. What do you want with Ralf?"
"He's holding two Riverlords," Kaden said, staring at Ralf Koch. "On what grounds?"
"Suspicion of conspiracy," Ralf said, glancing at Bronn. "They showed up with sweets for the King right when the Hand was murdered. Smells like a plot to me."
"Hah," Kaden snapped. "Everyone knows the Imp killed his father. The Kingsguard are searching the tunnels, not the inns. You're shaking them down for the sugar, Ralf. Don't play the patriot."
Bronn barked a laugh. "See, Ralf? I told you the city boys are sharper than the ones you brought in from the camps."
Ralf sighed, leaning back. "Fine. They didn't 'pay the toll' for doing business in the square. Twenty-five gold dragons a head, and they walk."
Kaden felt his temper flare. "Fifty dragons? For two minor knights? I'll go to Lord Adam Marbrand myself. He doesn't take kindly to his men playing brigand."
"Adam Marbrand?" Ralf roared, slamming his cards down. "The Lord Commander hasn't paid this squadron in two moons! I'm feeding eighty men out of my own pocket while the Great Houses eat pheasant. Fifty dragons, Storm. Or they starve in that cage."
Kaden walked out of the tavern, his face a mask of cold fury. He didn't go back to the Red Keep. He went to the Great Sept.
After a quick council with Viktor and the High Sparrow, a plan was formed. The five small squads Aldric had sent as an escort were mobilized. They were veterans of the Order of the Dawn, trained in the Lightbringer's disciplined tactics.
Kaden "borrowed" fifty spare Gold Cloak surcoats from his own armory. Under the cover of dusk, the Dawn warriors donned the yellow cloaks and moved into the alleys around the square.
Kaden marched straight to the cage, an axe in his hand. With one violent swing, he shattered the lock.
"Ser Kaden?" Carlo blinked, confused.
"Move," Kaden commanded. He looked at the gathering Gold Cloaks in the yard. "This cage is an illegal act of extortion! Ralf Koch is trying to provoke the Riverlands into a new war just to line his pockets! Stand aside if you value your lives!"
The common Gold Cloaks, realizing this was a clash between officers, slunk back into the shadows. They had no interest in dying for Ralf's side-hustle.
But Ralf Koch had heard the commotion. He rode into the yard with twenty of his personal sellswords, steel drawn.
"Storm! You're dead for this! Drop the prisoners!"
"This is King's Landing, Ralf, not a bandit camp!" Kaden shouted. "You don't ransom nobles on the street!"
Ralf didn't argue. He waved his hand. "Break them!"
The Gold Cloaks surged forward with clubs and spears. But they weren't fighting peasants.
On Kaden's signal, the "fake" Gold Cloaks snapped into formation. They split into Three-Man Cells—one to block, one to parry, one to strike. They moved with a mechanical, brutal efficiency that the drunken city guards couldn't match.
In ten minutes, the yard was a sprawl of moaning Gold Cloaks. Kaden and his veterans vanished into the night, dragging the two bewildered Lords with them.
"A greeting gift for the Lightbringer," Rand muttered as they reached the safe house. "I think he'll find this very sincere."
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