A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Karstly tilted his head. "Another weakness of yours is that. You dislike being another man's piece. How are you to rise up the ranks if you can not tolerate even that? Others are not as forgiving as Blackwell and I."

"How did you rise up the ranks, with your personality?" Oliver countered.

"Oho," Karstly said, pointing a finger. "There's venom in our little feline today. Clever. I didn't go through the ranks doggedly like a normal man. I spent most of my time away from it, making a name for myself through Battle. I made my strategic acumen known long before I began to waste my time on piddling battles."

"So there are other roads," Oliver said.

"There are indeed. A man with a want can create whatever direction he wishes. However, I would advise you against it. You are ill-suited to be a General, Patrick. Not merely on a lack of talent. It's a temperamental problem that you have.

Your strategy, and your outlook are still that of a child. I can see in the way you operate that you still believe in heroism. There is no heroism. There is only overwhelming competence. Competence is the pillow that we smother our enemies with," Karstly said. "Competence is that which allows you to stir the hornet's nest without fear of reprisal.

You seem to fear what the Verna will do, when this treaty runs out – but a man with eyes would see that we have no need to fear. We have already won. The rest is simply the divvying of rewards."

"Thank you for the advice, General," Oliver said. "Is that all you had with me?"

"Disappointing," Karstly said, and for the first time in their conversation, Oliver had the feeling that he truly meant it. His smile faded. "I'd had hopes for you. In time, you might answer those hopes. But as you are now, you're far too young to do more than the slaying of the enemy directly in front of you."

He studied Oliver for a few moments longer, as if trying to see the future in him. And then he inclined his head. "Good day, Patrick."

With him, Samuel gave an inclination of his head. Just the barest amount of respect from the two of them. Oliver returned the gesture.

Before the Stormfront army continued on to the securing of their first city, Blackwell gave the announcement that a rewards ceremony would be held. It came suddenly enough. Just a day before they were expected to march. And its timing seemed odd too – a rewards ceremony ought to have been held at the end of the campaign, when all was done.

If that was the interpretation that General Blackwell was trying to give, then he had succeeded, for the soldiers received the announcement with excitement, seeming to believe that Blackwell was announcing that the campaign, in essence, was done.

Whether that meant that they would be sent home, the soldiers didn't dare hope that far, but at the very least, they clung to the hope that they had completed their fair share of fighting.

That hope came at a good time. Despite the victory that they had secured in seeing the Verna away, the mood about all the encampments had sat like a thick dark cloud. Even if the average soldier couldn't put a finger on just what they found so distasteful, the fact that they did indeed have a degree of distaste was a matter worth noting.

The awards ceremony was a ray of light in all that. It gave the men a distraction and a spectacle, and what a spectacle it was that General Blackwell intended to make.

He had it held far out of sight of the pits that had been dug. The earth had once more been filled in again, so as not to make their own defences weaker, but the scars that had been left by the digging would not disappear for a good while. They were barren rectangles of dirt, devoid of even the smallest weed.

The Generals had their armour shined to a polish, and they sat on their mounts stoically behind General Blackwell, as the Commanding General gave his speech to his army.

"Long fought this victory has been," Blackwell told them. "To some of you, it might have seemed barely a matter of months, but I tell you there you are mistaken. The groundwork for what has been achieved here took years to lay – and it was all those years of campaign before this one that enabled us to snatch the victory that we did. A perfect, complete victory. By your hands we have achieved it.

I do declare you heroes of the Stormfront – history makers. You shall be remembered for your triumphs."

The men cheered then, for the first time in a while. The old embers of morale were reignited for a moment, as Lord Blackwell carefully breathed fresh life into them.

"Heroes have been made, and heroes shall be announced. We will leave it in the hands of no other. Only those that stood on this battlefield can truly judge," General Blackwell said. "By all our eyes, and all our ears, I make a promise that all shall be judged fairly."

He let those words hang in the air, and he slowly dragged his gaze across all the thousand strong battalions of his men, as if making a point to attempt to look at each man individually.

"We shall see you foot soldiers awarded first. Those that have fought in the fiercest battles, and sat in the most significant positions in regards to our achieved victory can expect their rewards to be proportional. In the moment, you might have thought it to be poor luck, to find yourself in a position of such bloodshed. But we are the Stormfront.

We call such positions opportunity, and with these rewards, I shall make certain you know them to be such."

"For the soldiers under General Karstly, who fought their way toward the Lonely Mountain, through the armies of Khan, and then through the armies of General Phalem, the significance of your contribution can hardly be weighed. Each man is to be rewarded the additional sum of six months' pay," General Blackwell said.