A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

He'd declared that, but there had been none of the violent cheering. They might not have been Yarmdon by blood, but they were certainly close enough by action. All that they accused them of doing, they'd come close to themselves, and worse.

Throughout all their waiting, General Blackwell made no efforts to hide himself. It was the exact opposite of what had occurred in the peace discussions. Now he made an effort to march through the encampments of his soldiers, and he encouraged the other soldiers to do the same.

It was in such a visit that Lord Blackwell managed to steal a few words from Oliver.

Oliver had hoped to dodge the man, when he heard Verdant announce that he suspected that the Commanding General would be making a visit that day, if it stuck to the same order that he'd be visiting the other camps in.

He'd fled with his sword to the encampments perimeter, and was trying a few practice swings against the empty air, trying to imagine some sort of foe that he would be happy to defeat – someone that there would be honour in defeating.

"Have you run from me, Ser Patrick?" General Blackwell asked when he found him.

"Not far enough, it would seem," Oliver said, without turning around.

"You disapprove, then?" General Blackwell said.

"Need it be said?"

Oliver couldn't tell what expression the General was making when he had his back turned to him, but something about the air then made him think that the man was frowning.

"A conqueror might call this a great victory. In three years' time, we might see the entirety of the Verna in our grasp," General Blackwell said. "My Generals are certainly of that opinion. General Karstly, in particular, is confident."

"And it's General Karstly that painted this picture. I have heard," Oliver said.

"Those words are his," Blackwell noted. "Only he talks about the battlefield as if it were a painting."

"It's your painting now, General," Oliver said.

"Condemnation," Blackwell said. "You sound very sure of yourself, boy. Do you know the lives that we managed to save with that little ploy of Karstly's? I do not deny the cruelty of it, but the genius ought to be known. To have taken five cities without letting a single drop of Stormfront blood fall. Even of the Verna, there would have been far more civilians killed if we'd assaulted them head on."

"But… Not like that."

"Oh, the mode of death is what bothers you?" Lord Blackwell said. "If I were to speak of numbers, instead you would speak of suffering?"

"You buried women and children alive," Oliver said, his sword swinging came to a halt.

"On my orders, it was done," Lord Blackwell agreed. "On my orders, villages have starved, and towns have been burned. Even if those orders were not mine directly, as a General, I am the causality that leads to that. Or did you think that the deaths of war end when the battlefield ceases their fighting? We bring famine with every piece of ground that we snatch up. That is the way of war."

"Those are…" Oliver tried to find the right words.

"Better deaths? More tolerable? Because my hand was not directly involved in them?" Blackwell said. "Here I was given the opportunity to remove those deaths in advance. There need be no burning now. We have peace for three years."

"And then those Verna will come, knowing what we did to them, and they will fight to the death. They will not surrender any more," Oliver said.

"Indeed. That is so. But their courage means little, when strategically we have already slipped their heads into the noose. It will not require much of a push to conquer the entirety of that nation – and do you know what deeds will be done in that conquest? How the civilians would suffer? I took you for a talented Captain.

I thought you had a maturity to you beyond your years. But it seems that even if you know battle, you still have yet to know war," General Blackwell said.

"Perhaps…" Oliver said, allowing the tip of his blade to rest on the ground.

"You told me when we first met that you wished to follow the path of the General," Lord Blackwell said. "This is that path. I have shown you to it. And now you cannot even look at it. You cannot tolerate the burden. I have seen enough of you, Ser Patrick.

Lombard would not have made the same mistake."

He left Oliver with those words, and with his disappointment hanging thickly after him.

Oliver didn't think he could have been left unsure after what he had seen. It was an atrocity. There was no doubt about it. There should have been no words that Lord Blackwell could say to make him doubt that. And yet… And yet, he wondered, was that really the path of the General? Was the sanctity of the battlefield that he'd believed in mistaken?

Were civilians destined to be caught up in the victories that he snatched for his people, no matter how much he might have tried toward the contrary?

Karstly had come as well, a day after Blackwell did. He came with a ringing smile, and a jester's eyes. He seemed to want to poke fun at Oliver more than he did speak to him.

"There he is," Karstly said, grinning, with Samuel at his side. "Our valiant little fighter. A General slayer before twenty. They'll be making songs after you, boy, they shall."

"You've slain more than your fair share of Generals on their campaign," Oliver said dryly, noting the less than comfortable expressions on the faces of his men. General Karstly had caught them around the campfire mid-meal. In an act of pity, Oliver stood, and began to walk away. Naturally, the General came trotting after him.

"You made Lord Blackwell rather angry, you know," Karstly said. "He won't hear talk of you now. I wondered what rewards might have been in store for your contribution, but it seems as if they've all been carried away by the wind. I wouldn't take it too personally – such are the whims of a General, after all."

"The whims of a General…" Oliver said slowly, less than pleased by the remark. Something about Karstly's smile told him that he'd already hoped for Oliver's less than favourable interpretation of that line.

"Now there's the look of a dissatisfied Captain," Karstly said. "A terrible thing to witness, isn't it, Samuel?"