A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"The Lords, I imagine," Justus said. "That would be our only option if we wished to raise more."

"The Lords will revolt if we push them further! Would you have me face a revolt, Lord Blackwell?" The High King said hotly. "The people are not in the best circumstances. To raise so many men… It can't be done. Not without… Not without doing what ought not to be done."

General Blackwell stayed kneeling. He knew, just as well as Oliver did, that the High King's exasperation was a mere act. The Stormfront's issue was not a lack of soldiers. It never had been. It was a lack of unification and a lack of willingness. If one looked in the Capital itself, they'd see plentiful soldiers, currently not serving a true purpose.

"I wonder if I ought to stage a draft…" The High King said, sighing to himself. "I've heard speeches lately, Lord Blackwell. They do not speak of me directly, but I can tell that the people are dissatisfied. They speak of times when, from the hands of savages, the sword won us riches and it won us territory. During my reign, we have not got any of that.

But I have tried, have I not?" He slammed his fist and bit his lip. "Gods be damned, I have tried. If we still had Arthur, it might be different, but as we are…"

He went quiet and hid his face. In a hall full of so many noble onlookers, the High King's distress was cause for much sympathy. He made himself seem like an excessively honest and straightforward man… It was strategy enough to catch anyone off guard.

"I have decided, Lord Blackwell," the High King said, speaking up, after spending nearly a minute in quiet thought. "I shall fulfil your outlandish requests. We, the Stormfront, are in need of victory. We must seize territory from the Verna – this campaign must be a success. With those extra five thousand men, can you guarantee us all that victory that we require, Lord Blackwell?"

"I can guarantee it, Your Highness," Lord Blackwell said.

"What can you offer up, in show of your conviction? The people will not be happy with what I am forced to do. It is their General – you – that they shall have to believe in. When you say you shall win, for what reason do we believe you?" The High King asked.

"The weight of my life," Lord Blackwell replied without a hint of cowardice. "I shall return victorious, or I shall return dead."

"…Your life is not enough," the High King said. He made it sound as if he was lamenting, but in truth, there was a maliciousness in his eyes. "The people will not stand for that. What of your House, Lord Blackwell? You have done mighty well for them. I wonder, would you be prepared to offer them up as well, to show your conviction?"

Lord Blackwell had kept his eyes on the floor as he knelt, but at that jab, his piercing gaze flickered upwards, and he looked at the High King head-on. "You would have me offer my family up for execution if I am to fail?"

"The dissolution of your House," the High King said. "I fear that it will be demanded, if your failure comes. What happens to the lives of your family members after its dissolution, and after the investors are recompensated with your lands… That will not be up to me to decide."

He didn't say it outright, but it was a confirmation as any who were properly listening needed. Oliver felt Blackthorn flinch beside him at the weight of the outlandish demand. Already, even with an extra five thousand men, Blackwell would be going into battle outnumbered at least two to one.

He was prepared to do all he could for victory despite those odds… and the High King danced his dance of obfuscation, making him appear so weak and foolish, that he would have to offer up everything he had merely for a chance to do his duty in service of the Crown.

Oliver had wondered how someone as strong as General Talon could have been forced into the position that he was in – battling in the middle of nowhere, in charge of rebel forces, playing the role of a traitor – but now he was here, seeing the High King's tactics first hand, he thought that he had some idea.

Silence stretched. There ought to have been no way for Blackwell to agree to it. He was too good a man for that. He would not play a gambling match with the lives of his family at stake. It was too weighty.

"Lord Blackwell?" The High King prodded. "I wonder, was that too much to ask?" He sighed. "That is what they will ask for, though. If you are not prepared for that… Then perhaps it is time to step down from your position of General. Perhaps it is time for the Crown to take control of the Blackwell forces. You've amassed a few thousand personal troops, haven't you, quite excessive…"

The General closed his eyes. Lombard looked at his Lord, his worry evident even on his cold and expressionless face. General Blackwell was a warm man, passionate. He loved his family. Even Ferdinand, who had caused such trouble at times. To put them into a position where they would have to fear for their future, could he dare?

But what was the alternative? To be slowly backed into a corner?

"My King," Blackwell said, speaking up eventually. "I have thought too long on a problem that does not exist. We shall not lose."

He looked up again, and held the High King's gaze. It was a show of impudence that he ought not to have done. The High King's eyes widened, and his mask slipped for just a second. There was a man of intensity, of the utmost belief in his abilities. There was a man, despite the disadvantage that he'd already been at, who had managed to secure three castles regardless.