A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"The past is of no concern," Greeves said, waving a hand. "Digging it up will only make you doubt yourself. You don't want any doubts here, do ya? You want a strong Solgrim. See, there's a path to that. Quite a simple one, just in the gathering of talent.

It's a righteous way of doing things, honourable, and all that, just what you wanted—"

"Greeves," Oliver cut him off. "If I do not know what you have done, how am I to know how far they will go? You will tell me."

"…Yer know I'm not the best of men," Greeves said.

"Do you need to point out the obvious?"

"There were times that I didn't even know what it meant to stoop too low."

"I know that well enough. You had no qualms burning down my house, after all," Oliver said. "For your own convenience. You would have been quite happy to have me killed, and buried in the middle of the woods."

"Well, you had more uses than a corpse does," Greeves said. "But sometimes a corpse has more uses, you know."

"Whatever you did, it didn't seem to get you as far as what you wanted in Ernest, though," Oliver said.

"They thought they were cunning, leaving a mark on one of the whores, you see," Greeves said. "Just a little warning mark, carved into her back, with the tiniest little knife. A single little Yarmdon rune of 'greed'. Had to get it translated, I did. They thought they could flaunt their pretty little educations and their power all in one go. Ruined that woman.

Terrified her. Even Loriel couldn't fish her back from that fear. Having a gag shoved in your mouth, and having your flesh carved out for a battle that isn't yours. Not exactly the sort of thing to inspire courage, eh?"

"…" Oliver had an inclination where this was going. If there was one thing that Greeves could be called, it was possessive. He'd protected the women that had worked for him, in his own twisted sort of way. Oliver knew it came more from the perspective of having his own property tarnished, but nevertheless, the results had looked similar.

"An eye for an eye," Greeves said, smiling sinisterly in the dark. "I don't regret it even now, I don't. They deserved it. They should have known what was coming. They thought because they were established, and they had all that power, that I should be afraid? Hah!

I can slither through smaller gaps than they couldn't imagine. They play the game, but they were raised Serving Class. They don't know how muddy this world can get. Or they didn't then."

There was a grim excitement in the man's voice. Oliver had a feeling then, even if he had asked Greeves to stop, the man wouldn't have. He was excited in its recollection.

"Those three ambassadors that you see, those old merchants that are always travelling, whenever there needs to be some sort of Guild presence somewhere," Greeves said. "They ain't the height of the Guild. There's at least two men above them. But I didn't know who they were. Hard to strike at a man that you don't know the face of. Don't even know now.

I reckons they change the position every year to keep it hidden. It keeps the Guild protected against blackmail. Has kept it going for as long as Ernest has been around. The three ambassadors you see now – there's a different one amongst them to what there was back then. The loud one, with the earrings, he's new. Seems to need to talk to make up for his newness."

"The other one, the one before this one, he had this daughter, he did. His pride and joy. He said her eyes were like jewels, and you see, I'd been marked a greedy man by them," Greeves said. "I thought I'd show them I was exactly what they called me? There's strength in that, I think, in accepting what you are. But I wouldn't do it in silence like they did.

They gagged my girl. I would let them listen to her cries. They ought to know what pain sounds like. They can't cover their ears to it. She cried for them, she did, they could hear her, but they couldn't get to her," Greeves said.

"That's enough," Oliver said, shaking his head, feeling a vague sickness in him.

Greeves shrugged, as if it didn't bother him, but his face glowed a red in the candlelight. He was flushed from his recollection. "Well, the man killed himself in his shame. And we didn't end up getting much out of the situation, apart from an uneasy truce. Couldn't get close to Ernest after that. And here we stand."

"If I find out that you've done something like that again…" Oliver began.

"Aye, I know, I know. Your sword will be lopping my head off. At least you'll be merciful. A single quick blow. A quick death is more than I deserve, I reckon," Greeves said. "Hard to go on the counterattack when all your favourite tools are barred away from you, but I'll see what I can do for the young Ser Patrick.

He's got all these expectations that need to be met, after all, and who would I be if I didn't meet them?" Greeves said.

By the time Lady Blackthorn had made her return to Solgrim, there had been brought news that Lord Blackwell too would soon enough be making his return to the Capital. A royal invitation had been set to Oliver, bidding that he attend the award ceremony, given his achievements on campaign.

He looked at the letter in amusement, wondering just how difficult it was for the High King to give that order, permitting the invitation be sent where it ought to be.

"But I won't be attending," Oliver said, his grin widening. "I wonder if that will irritate him more or less than if I had come? He can't very well prosecute me for it."

"You ought to go…" Lady Blackthorn said. She'd only returned herself, a few hours before. She'd naturally received an invitation herself, some weeks past, inviting her attendance as a Blackthorn. "Though it seems that they should have sent that invitation our far earlier than they did."