A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Closer still, and he could finally make out human figures. There were men standing atop the wall… But Oliver's heart sank as he found them to be far too many. Besides, he didn't recognize colours. It wasn't the red of Patrick men.

It seemed more a military encampment, the closer he came. His mind rushed with wild possibilities. If the High King and his Yarmdon had indeed captured Solgrim, that was exactly what he would do. He would put his men inside, and see it held, claiming that they got there too late.

Perhaps that was why he didn't see any Pendragon flags? They had come there too late as well, and they had been met with the High King's soldiers, rather than the expected Yarmdon troops, and they had been forced to turn away? They wouldn't have known better.

"…That uniform," Blackthorn said, daring to speak, even at the risk of biting her tongue. Oliver looked at her – she had keener eyes for seeing distance than he. Even casting Ingolsol's awareness that far, Oliver couldn't tell what men he beheld. "They're my father's men."

Oliver's eyes widened. He had supposed it to be a darker uniform than it was used to, as was fitting for the Blackthorns… But it was a different style than what he had grown so accustomed to. Not Blackthorn men – that wasn't what Lasha said. It was 'my father's men' – was there a significance to that? Or was it just a figure of Blackthorn's speech?

He continued to speed his horse, putting the pieces together in his head. As he came closer, he saw the truth of Lasha's words. Those must have been Blackthorn men, even if their uniform was different to what he was used to.

But why were Blackthorn men standing guard on the Solgrim walls? Why were the gates closed so tightly if those same Blackthorn men had arrived as liberators? It didn't seem to make sense to Oliver. He wanted to believe that their presence was a good omen, but he could not slow down despite seeing it.

He noted too that Blackthorn did not urge him to draw his horse up either. There was something off about it all, and Oliver meant to get to the bottom of it.

Soon enough, the details of the walls began to take shape before him. He saw the scorch marks where the fires had been, and he saw the bloody stains that had yet to be washed out by the rain. Still, in the grass, there was evidence of many arrow remains, though no matter how he looked, he could see no sign of the bodies.

It had only been three months since he had last seen those walls, and what a tremendous degree older they looked, after all they endured. If that was what the wood appeared like, what would the look of the residents be, those who had survived that degree of ferocious fighting?

The gates bore the clear marks of a battering ram as Oliver drew up before it. They were far from being secure in their hinges. The light of day tore through a central crack.

"Who are you?" The words were shouted down at him from the stern voice of a Sergeant. There were no courtesy there.

Oliver moved his hand and he pointed to his sigil. "The ruler of this land that you have taken residence in. Open these gates, Sergeant."

"You're Ser Patrick?" The man said, frowning. "You aren't expected for a number of months, at least. You should be fighting away in the Verna. What are you doing here now?"

"Has the news not travelled this far?"

"What news?"

"The war is won, comrade," Oliver said. "General Khan has surrendered, and we are to annex his cities to cement our claim."

"He speaks truly," Verdant said. "As a man of the Idris House, you have my word."

He showed the two sigils sewn into his own surcoat.

"Oliver Patrick slew General Zilan to give us the road to victory," Lady Blackthorn continued. "Please tell me that bad news awaits us beyond these gates."

The man recognized Lasha the second that she stepped forward. "Lady Blackthorn," he said, giving her a crisp salute. "Their words must be true then, it seems… I wish I could offer you news, my Lady. But it is not my place to give it. All I can do is open these gates for you. I shall inform your father that you have arrived."

"My father? He's here?" Lasha said, but no answer came for her words. The man had already left to see his orders carried out.

As the gates slowly ground open, squealing against their hinges, Oliver picked his way inside, noting how churned up the moist dirt was from all the foot traffic that had passed through recently.

Unlike his advance here, now he went slowly. The sweat clung to his forehead, and his eyes were wide and nervous. They flickered to the houses. He could see that they had not escaped the damage. Many a burned room he saw, and many a collapsed building.

His stomach began to plummet. They did not seem to be the signs of a won battle. For the destruction to have spread so far, that must have meant that the walls were breached.

He could see no signs of life yet either. Solgrim, now, with noon at its peak, ought to have been bustling with activity, but it was quiet to the point of ominousness. Oliver did not know what to think. He shared a look with his retainers.

"The damage is noteworthy, but it isn't total destruction," Verdant said. "If they wished to replicate a Yarmdon attack, they would have burned it all the way to the ground. I think we can take solace in that. I do not believe this to be the damage of defeat."

"That is optimism that I will choose to believe in, Verdant…" Oliver said.

Nila Felder didn't dare to sit, nor did she hardly dare to stand. Days they had been here already, and she could make eye contact with neither of them.

Sitting or standing regardless would have been uncomfortable. She had sustained a wound to her side that the stitches had yet to be taken out of. And though she might have taken something for the pain, she needed her mind clear and ready in dealing with the aftermath.