A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Intuition," Skullic says. "Of that, the Yarmdon have much. Are you so confident that you share that trait? And still – he was defeated by you, was he not? So much for his admirableness…" The General's eyes widened as he realized something.

"What is it, General?" Oliver asked, as politely as he could, but Skullic waved him away.

"Nothing," Skullic said, impatiently. "I'm wasting my time here, I suppose. Ah, why do I have to leave this all to you..?"

"Well, because the High King ordered it, sir," Oliver said, a little too cheekily. The General glared at him in return. "But, I am surprised that it irks you so much to see a mere hundred of your men in a difficult position."

The General glowered at him. "Do you know how valuable each one of those men are? Years and years of relentless service. They are as much a part of me as an organ. A mere a hundred? Because I command thousands, I should be less considerate?

Pah – foolish youth. Never, in all my career, have I sent my men towards a battle I was certain they could win. Now, look what I've been forced into…"
Explore stories at My Virtual Library Empire

"Apologies…" Oliver said, meaning it. He'd been playing his usual part, irritating the General when appropriate, but even he felt more than a little guilty that he'd dragged a hundred lives down with him. "I wonder if you regret assigning those hundred men to me now?"

"It wouldn't have changed matters. The High King didn't know I did that – he merely gave the order that I keep the same selection of men for this mission as well, touting some sort of camaraderie that he surely was not privy to," Skullic said, sighing heavily. "I have no idea what to do… Never have I been so involved, yet forbidden the ability to do any meaningful action.

Trying to teach you as I taught myself seems futile. Some aspects you understand strangely well, and others, things that came easily to me, you are completely unable to replicate."

"Does it not seem to you, Daemon, that the boy is his own man?" Mary said, arriving with tea. As ever, the maid seemed to have no qualms about offering her opinion – as a mere maid – to a man who sat so far above her on the social hierarchy. And, as ever, Daemon seemed to take that opinion with a significant amount of weight.

"So I suppose," Skullic said. His earlier realization had been along those lines. "I can only ask that you keep in mind what I have tried to show you, boy. And for everything else, I must hope that the abominable Hod is as well calculated as he was in the past… Damn that man… If only he would involve himself in the world properly, we wouldn't be in this position."

The day arrived. Oliver was up at dawn. He'd sent Jorah, Kaya and Karesh away by carriage the previous evening. All of them had distinctly nervous looks on their faces, but they swore that they were ready. Oliver wasn't so sure. They all knew what they were walking into.

He'd told them, but they still swore that they would come.

"Your face still betrays regret, my Lord," Verdant said. He was already dressed, standing by Oliver's door, no trace of lagging sleep showing on his face, despite all that he'd missed the night before. "You warned them of the situation that you were in, and still they came."

"They ought to have asked their family's permission…" Oliver said, frowning. "For a first battle, this shouldn't be it. I swore they could come, so I could not refuse them – but damn, now I wish I hadn't. You as well, Verdant. You should not throw yourself into this."

Verdant looked offended even by the suggestion. "My Lord," he said, rare anger in his voice. "Never even think to voice such a thing. If ever you tread a bridge that brings you closer to death, I would always wish to follow you along it. My life has far less value than yours could ever have."

"I do not agree with that assessment, and neither do so many others," Oliver said. "Have you spoken to your father on the matter?"

"On this, my father and I stand united," Verdant said, tapping his armoured hand against his chest plate with a metallic clang. "He told me to do my duty, and to do it well. I've made my castle, he said, and now I must defend it. That is the honour of the nobility, my Lord. That is the restriction that must bind us, if we are to at all claim leadership above the masses."

"So be it," Oliver said with a distinctly heavy heart. "I wish I could swear to protect you, and everyone important along with you… But I've made such promises before, and I know how frail they end up sounding."

"It is my duty to protect you, my Lord," Verdant said, "please do not misunderstand."

The priest seemed like he wanted to say much more, but he was stopped by the sound of approaching footsteps. Lady Blackthorn, Oliver figured – she was another one, heading into a hellfire without proper risk assessment.

Oliver's expectation was sullied, though, for it was not merely Lady Blackthorn by her lonesome, but her attendants, as well as Princess Asabel, and an entourage of guards behind her. From how imposingly the group moved together, Oliver was almost inclined to think they wished to stop him.

He looked at the Princess before anyone else, a clear question written on his face. He hadn't seen her since their last meeting – she hadn't requested him, despite the ball being firmly in her court, or so Oliver had assumed it to be.

"Ignore me for now," Asabel said, her voice that of royalty. "You were ready to speak with Lady Blackthorn first, were you not? Please speak to her – I know I am intruding upon your schedule with my presence."

"As you wish, Princess," Oliver said, bowing slightly. Then he lowered his gaze, and fixed it firmly on Lady Blackthorn. There was an edge to his look that made her flinch, a distinct irritation about his eyes, as he looked at the two attendants to either side of her.