A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Quite right, Lady Blackthorn. The Sergeant is just ordering his troops now as we speak," Verdant said, purposefully calling her by title, so that the Sergeant would know there were two members of the high nobility present.

"All troops! Form a ring around the carriages!" The Sergeant said.

There weren't an awful lot of them, as far as Oliver was concerned. But twenty or so soldiers were better than none of them, at least when it came to them parting the crowd.

As to how safe he felt, with the soldiers walking so close to the doors of Harmon's carriage, it was hard to say, but he managed to at least keep his sword from lashing out, even if he was focusing his attention with razor precision.

Under the protection of the guardsmen, they were able to make a degree of progress. The arrows ceased their firing, and their carriage was able to cover a degree of ground, enough to get them out of the confines of all the oldest buildings of the city, putting them towards where the roads widened once more.

But the danger still seemed to be far from over, as far as Oliver's instincts went. He found the quietness to be disconcerting. It would have been far easier if an arrow had been sent their way, whilst the guards were present, so that they would know the heart of the danger that was being posed. Instead, there was quiet, and the guardsmen were far less tense than they ought to have been for it.

Relaxed enough that they allowed certain non-suspicious members of the crowd to get far closer than they ought to have been.

"Ohh! How terrible, Sergeant Tom," came a woman's high, singsong voice, calling the Sergeant by his first name, as if they were lifelong acquaintances. "What has happened? How could there be such an amount of blood? Was someone struck by a carriage?"

"Lady Snowbloom," the Sergeant said, his face lighting up at the sight of her. He was clearly flattered to have her good attentions. "Err… We're not too sure yet. But there's danger afoot, of some sort. You had best be careful yourself, my Lady. With us busy here, there'll no doubt be some mischief starting elsewhere."

The Lady put a hand to her pretty face in shock. Despite the deadness of her eyes, it was an expression that few men would fail to call endearing. Sergeant Tom was certainly one of them. He did his best to keep his eyes off her bare shoulder, and off her shining sapphire necklace, that so well accentuated her chest. "One wouldn't think it, would they? They wouldn't think it at all.

Ah, but I have faith. The commotion occurred when you were not present, didn't it? No doubt the villains know to restrain themselves with the honoured city watch on the scene. Oh! Heavens, is that Daniel Harmon? Good day, sir!

I had never thought to see you in a carriage this fine – you are moving up in the world, aren't you?"

She was at the window of the carriage, so suddenly, as so naturally, that the guardsmen couldn't help but step aside. She was a noble, after all. And such a beautiful woman at that. They knew her well enough. She was the furthest thing from a threat.

"Blackthorn," Oliver growled under his breath, the words spoken more with Command, than with volume. He eked his own way from his driver's seat as he said it.

When that carriage door flew open, it was hard to tell the order of events that saw the blood spilled first.

There was a knife, and it ended up in Lasha's shoulder. Not so deeply that it could be called a wound – almost as if Lasha had manoeuvred herself, so that her plate armour would take the brunt of it, whilst still allowing it to scratch her flesh – but still deep enough that it could be called an attack with malicious intent.

Then there was a rapier, drawn with the cramped confines of the carriage. It pierced a beautiful woman, straight through the chest that she was so proud of, finding the heart in a single strike. The blood blossomed as a scarlet flower, as she fell backwards, almost as beautiful in death as she had been in life. That was, until, her head struck against the cobblestones with a sickening crunch.

"By all the Gods…" the Sergeant whispered, his voice barely audible.

Blackthorn spared him no sympathy, she stepped out from the carriage, making her shoulder wound obvious, and she glared that knife in the dead woman's hand. "Is this how the Ernest soldiers carry out their duty?" She said.

"You allowed an unknown element so close in the midst of an attack?" Oliver admonished. "What would you have done if she claimed the life of Lady Blackthorn?"

"B-but, she would never… Not Lady Snowbloom," the Sergeant said.

"She tried," Oliver said. "That was her first mistake. And now she is dead for it. Show more consideration in future, Sergeant. In times of high alert, friendliness ought to be met with distrust."

"I can't understand," the Sergeant said. "Why would she… She was a noble?"

'Indeed,' Oliver thought, fighting to keep his own look stern. In truth, he found himself feeling a degree of surprise, at a minor noble being willing to throw their life away so swiftly, with such little regard. Even if her knife had managed to meet the Harmons, death would have awaited her eventually. There was no escaping when the act of murder was carried out so blatantly.

Just what did the Guild have over her, that would have compelled her to act as such.

Seeing the distraught look on the Sergeant's face, and the stricken looks of the other soldiers around him, Oliver was satisfied that they had finally gotten the message. It was then that he took a step closer to Blackthorn, and lowered his voice. "How bad is it?" He asked her.

"Shallow," she told him.