A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"You are the most considerate of rulers, Your Majesty," the man responded, in a tone completely devoid of emotion.

"I am, aren't I? Oh, now today is indeed a good day. I've always wanted to kill a Queen," he said, smiling greedily, as he bit down on his finger, strongly enough that it was almost surprising that he did not draw blood, even for the gauntlets that stood in his way.

Twenty thousand men Tiberius had brought with him, the same twenty thousand that he'd been given, and taken over the Skreen with. A man like Tiberius, Blackwell thought, had the resourcefulness to be able to call up more men if he had wished to. He'd come down looking for battle expecting to face an even larger force. Certainly, Blake would have sent more troops his way, if he could have – the Chief Strategist would not be one to miss such an opportunity. If Tiberius did not have more troops, then Blackwell supposed, it was because he did not wish for them. Because, to have more would be to take away from the thrill of the battle.

"Arrogant pup," Blackwell huffed, but he wasn't all too disappointed by that fact. Against an overwhelming foe like Tiberius, a man with such a presence that he was like nothing that Blackwell had ever faced, he needed a weakness like arrogance.

For one to be so young, and not yet at his thirtieth year, and to be so terrifying, it was difficult to understand without assuming him to be the very monster that he proported himself to be. Blackwell was hit by the sudden sensation that he was repeating a bit of history. That he was doing as Arthur and Dominus had done before him, and he was confronting a Pandora Goblin of his own sort. A creature of infinite menace, infinite tricks, the sort that a man could never defeat.

He shook his head, dispelling that bad omen from his mind, knowing very well the fates that had been delivered to Arthur and Dominus. 'But Dominus lived, and Dominus managed to wound the beast,' Blackwell told himself. 'And,' he looked over shoulder, seeing Queen Asabel set so regally on her horse, 'Dominus was not afforded the opportunity to fight alongside Arthur – he arrived after Arthur had already been defeated.'

Once more, not for the first time in that war, Blackwell felt as if they were retreading the paths of fate that had been trod two decades ago. That he was in a position to right old wounds that had been inflicted. It brought a significance to the moment that he did not feel on most battlefields. He sucked in a deep breath, allowing the cold air to spread about him, and he prepared himself, properly, for the battle ahead.

After all, was he not still a man? Despite all appearances, and the grand show he put on, and the crushing level of skill that he did possess, was he not a man like the rest of them, capable of bleeding, and capable of being felled? Was he not a beast, like any other, who would lay still once they did cut his head off? And Blackwell had men that were hungry to see his head toppled. Karstly was willful in his want. He kept his silence, but he was a horse pulling on his master's reins, ever eager to go forward. None could have been more pleased than he that their opponent had arrived earlier than anticipated.

On the conditions that Blackwell had proposed, with his army placed so firmly on the top of that steep sloping hill, Tiberius accepted the battle, a grand smile on his face. He had his men form up, just out of arrow range, their intentions of a full frontal storm seemingly quite clear. He made no manoeuvres that pointed to any attempts at going round their defences, and attacking them from the side. His was the arrogance of a man far mightier than his foes. His was the want to crush them directly, head on, even if it came at a significant deficit to himself.

Blackwell had the orders given to his Colonels to see that the archers were there, ready and waiting, for the instant that Tiberius' men did step into range. They were slower than ordinary troops, for the most part, Blackwell did wager, for they were unusually well equipped. The large bulk of Tiberius' army wore plate armour, rather than the simple chainmail and helmet combination given to most infantry. It ought to have made them slower in the advance, and in the retreat, and it ought to have made them quicker to tire. Blackwell frowned, not thinking it to be a composition riddled with advantage – but then, against the likes of Tiberius, he could not so quickly make assumptions.

"Nervous, aren't they?" Tiberius said, turning to his pale-faced subordinated. The man gave a serious nod, completely devoid of any sort of human emotion, and most certainly devoid of the clear delight that Tiberius was feeling.

"Well, I suppose you know who he is, don't you?" Tiberius said, pointing Blackwell out to the man. "That there is the greatest living General in the Stormfront, aside from Tavar. Supposedly. I have my doubts. But that is the vote of the masses. Isn't it amusing? That which garners attention is oft that which garners too the more mismatched of evaluations. For there are many men that I would put before Blackwell, in terms of strength."

"Yourself, Your Majesty?"

"I am no General," Tiberius said icily. "I am the Emperor of the Stormfront, and all lands in contact with its borders. I need no place in any hierarchy, for I stand at the most obvious of pinnacles…"

He looked very well like he might strike the man over his misplaced comment. The soldier lowered his head, as if to offer it. That placated Tiberius ever so slightly, and he patted the helmeted head fondly. "Now, you really must be more careful," he warned. "But I suppose, you're not so misguided as you might seen. There's wisdom even in the slop of a fool. Yes, sometimes the realm does need reminding. Sometimes, the Emperor too must take to the field of battle, and remind the rest of them, by overwhelming might, why it was that he was chosen, and not their likes."