A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Broadstone, I suppose," Verdant eventually concluded. "Though it does look rather empty."

Even from a distance, one could see the lack of defenders, though the fog did what it could to obscure their efforts in that regard, it was slowly being beaten back by the small smidgen of sunlight that came from up above.

It was the quietness too that came with a strong hint of oddness. The wind filled their ears, naturally, but if an army was camped nearby, there ought to be signs of it. Smoke in the air, or noises carried along towards them. The clanging of steel, as the camp smiths repaired armour and weapons. Yet there was nothing.

The army steamed ahead, pushing Oliver now, as the General found himself growing wary. Their morale was still as high as it could be. They were itching to turn their weapons on someone. At the moment, it was only the snow that they had to contend with as a foe.

Oliver began to slow, as they passed by the side of Broadstone's fort. His suspicion grew. He eyed it, and the snow around it, and saw not even footprints. It had been abandoned, at least for a day. He did not need Nila to tell him that much.

Towards its front gate they went. Wide open, that was how they found it. Oliver put his heels to his horse, and went beyond the rest. He thread his way inside, and the stench immediately hit his nostrils, even before the sight of it did.

Everything that was wood had been reduced to ash, or charcoal. The inner walls were blackened to a great degree. A fast burning fire, done to inflict damage, and then taken care of, so as not to give information to the enemy.

Cunning was written everywhere, for those empty buckets that lay strewn around, used to deal with the fire. A thing created only to inflict fear. A scene of complete destruction, of overwhelming victory – and yet, there was not a single corpse in sight. No blood, no evidence of fighting. Just the ruins of a tower.

It could be that Broadstone had seen it burned to reduce its usefulness to Tiberius, had he supposed that Tiberius would come to capture it. Oliver wanted to believe that, but something about that didn't ring entirely true.

Verdant was at the gate after him, calling out.

"Go back, Verdant. We carry on. The men do not need to see this," Oliver said.

Verdant looked beyond him, his gaze hard, and he gave a stern nod.

The two of them carried the weight of their sombreness with them, back to the head of the army. There was written a warning in those ashes, but a warning of what sort? How bad was it that Broadstone had needed to give up his fortress? Were they the orders of Blackwell? Had they beaten a retreat? And if so to where?

Oliver didn't want to bring the army to a halt. Their morale currently was based on their forward momentum. They felt themselves unstoppable, and full of purpose, but now their General was afflicted with a problem that they had not anticipated. The problem of finding where their allies were. One would not have thought that an army of twenty thousand would have been able to hide itself so effectively, but with the fog, and the tracks in the snow already covered, they might as well have vanished into thin air.

"We need a destination, and fast," Oliver said, as he felt himself marching further away from Broadstone's fortress and the border. "Do you suppose they retreated to another fortress?"

"It's hard to say, my Lord," Verdant said. "These fortresses can't hold very many men. A few thousand, at best. I would think Blackwell would prefer to take his army to the field, than have them split from each other, with some outside the fortress and some inside."

"True enough," Oliver nodded, looking around him. "But they ought not to have crossed swords yet. That the fortress was already burned… It bothers me. That we can see no tents, that bothers me too."

"...The timing ought to have been perfect," Verdant murmured. "It seemed like the blessing of the Gods, that we were able to secure our victory when we did, so that we might reinforce Blackwell when he needed us most. But perhaps, my Lord, we are naive in thinking so? Perhaps, as cruel as it might be, we can assume that the two have already fought an engagement? And likely, Blackwell was forced to bid a retreat?"

"...Then we go to the next fortress along, for that would be where they retreated to," Oliver said.

"Perhaps. Or he might have withdrawn further into Pendragon territory, fearing that Tiberius could plunge deeper," Verdant said. "It will reduce morale, but I think we are forced to come to a halt here, my Lord. If there has been battling, there will be corpses, and there will be evidence of it."

"Thoughts, Captain Blackthorn?" Oliver asked the woman next to him.

"I think they thought here…" Blackthorn said. "We should make sure."

"Mm. Very well. Have some of our veterans do the searching. Gar as well. We do not need newcomers that are likely to be shaken by what they are to find," Oliver said.

"As you say, my Lord," Verdant said. First seen on MVLEMPYR.

The two of them dashed off to see the orders carried out, with Verdant doing so on horseback, and Blackthorn doing so on foot. The army was brought to a halt, with a few confused looks on their faces.

"The sooner we find out what's gone on, the better," Oliver murmured to himself.

He spied Hod towards the rear. The man gave him a nod. Oliver wasn't sure what exactly that nod meant, but he supposed it to be approval of some sort, or else understanding. The Minister would likely conduct his own means of evaluation.

Oliver looked around again, deciding to join the search himself. "If there was to be a battle, where would Blackwell form up?"