A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"My Lord, would you not label that as recklessness?" Verdant said. He too had rejoined his master. After sharing a firm handshake in celebration of their victory, the two of them had cast their eyes upwards, and they wore frowns at the hell that they saw enacted up there.

The way Verdant asked the question made it sound as if he hadn't come to any conclusions of his own, and was more interested to hear what Oliver had to say, than for any real affirmative answer.

"I wonder," Oliver replied. Karstly was not the man that Oliver had thought he was. There was a cryptic way to the man though that was so very different to what Oliver was used to. At the very least, Oliver could not imagine him making such an obvious blunder, not after his performances so far. From the way that Verdant had asked the question, Oliver supposed that Verdant thought the same.

"Is your hand not… bothering you?" Lady Blackthorn interrupted. She seemed far more preoccupied with Oliver than with the battle above them. There was an earnestness in her eyes that Oliver was beginning to find awfully endearing.

Many mistook Lasha Blackthorn for an emotionless creature – but there were times when one caught a glimpse of her true caring, especially in the way she interacted with her retainers.

"I assure you, Lasha, I am quite fine," Oliver said. The hand still throbbed with the immensity of pain offered by the broken bones, but with the adrenaline still pumping through his veins from battle, that soreness was not quite as bad as it could have been.

"How did you manage, even with your hand broken?" She asked. Like Verdant, her question seemed to be looking for an answer to a different query than the one that she'd posed. The guilt was written on her face. She very much still blamed herself for Oliver's injury. It was a fact that made the nature of Oliver's blunder all the worse to him.

"It would seem that I have other tools I ought to use more often," Oliver said. "If I wish to stand with the likes of Generals, I will have to polish them. I can not stand on the battlefield as a simple brawler as often."

"You reduce yourself, my Lord, you were never a mere brawler," Verdant said. "Though I do understand the sentiment, and I am in agreement. That is the strength of the Lord that I call Oliver Patrick, and it is the strength that I believe Minister Hod recognized too – your ability to continuously improve yourself."

"And now I have a reason," Oliver said. "Even stronger than what I've had before."

"A reason that is made more real, I would imagine, from finally experiencing it in the flesh," Verdant said. "As your retainers, we ought to be getting stronger with you. Firyr has already paved the way for us, proving that there is more that we have yet to achieve."

"I will get stronger as well," Lasha said firmly. "I will get strong enough, so that you will not have to visit the frontlines yourself if you are ever injured."

"I would prefer not to get injured at all," Oliver said with a grimace.

"I shall get stronger regardless, Ser Patrick! And I shall tell you, I do not approve of the strategy that you used. General Karstly might seem reckless above us, but to me, what you did in putting yourself in danger, despite the state of your hand, was far more reckless," Lasha Blackthorn said with wrath in her voice.

Oliver raised an eyebrow. If he had not known her so well, that tone would have been quite intimidating. He supposed that there was still some of her father General Blackthorn in her, no matter how well that she hid it.

"I would apologize, Lasha, but I fear if I were in the same situation, I would have done the same thing again," Oliver said, admitting to it freely with a smile on his face. "After all, a victory has never felt that quite good in a while."

"Does he know no ability to change his mind? Does he not care to see his men dismantled in their droves?" General Phalem said. Even he was beginning to grow disconcerted seeing so many men die so quickly. It seemed like insanity to him. There was a lack of resistance that made him hesitate to celebrate his victory.

The Blackthorn soldiers had made it as far as the final barrier, but they had paid a price for it, and yet still they continued onwards. Colonel Gordry had begun to sweat a good time ago, as he saw so many of his men perish and yet he gave those same orders all the same.

"FORWARD!" He told the men, and forward they went, as if they were glad to be doing so. They cheered with each barrier that was toppled, as if there was all the glory in the world in such a minor feat.

'Will they not simply lay more barriers down?' Came a thought that crept unbidden into Gordry's mind. It wasn't the first time that it had wormed its way in, nor was he the only man in the Stormfront army to have had that sneaking suspicion.

It was one reason amongst many why General Phalem found the display so disconcerting, for there was no guarantee that even after General Karstly's men broke through, they'd find a way to the top of the mountain.

"We've more barriers, do we not?" General Phalem confirmed with his chief engineer.

"Yes, General Phalem. They have been set up where you have asked for them to be. We've had enough time to hammer them down properly as well. The enemy will not move them so easily," the chief engineer told him.

Phalem nodded. It was exactly as he expected. There was even another parallel path up behind the next barricaded point that would allow them to freely fire archers upon their enemy – and more still. There was a mound of shattered stone that Phalem had bid his men to gather, for use on enemies nearer to the top. He intended to send those Karstly's way as well. He had too many cards to use.

Everything was set up exactly as he intended. He wondered then, why did he feel so distinctly uneasy?