A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Outer gates? I did seem to think that I could see a second wall from this distance, but I was unsure," Oliver said. He overlooked the loss of his weapon only barely, choosing to distract himself with something else.

"There are three walls in total, and then there is the palace," Verdant said. "One would find the attack on the Capital most difficult. Each wall is thirty times the height of a man."

"Untested, though," Oliver said. "They don't expect battle, and they've not been met with one since those walls went up, have they?"

"No. War came close, but it never made its way right to the Capital's gates," Verdant said.

"Then a determined force could likely take it," Oliver decided. "And quickly, at that."

"We could," Blackthorn said, with the same confidence, as though it was a very real thing that they were planning on doing. "We would need a simple distraction. The presence of three walls can be used against the defenders, if we gain the initiative."

"True enough, but only if we gain it," Oliver said. "It would need to be a carefully prepared assault. One could not be reckless. A skilled strategist could make those defenders look foolish, though. There's much to work from."

"They're not… seriously planning on trying to take the Capital, are they?" Tolsey asked, directing the last of his hopefulness towards Verdant.

The ex-priest looked at him as though the answer was obvious. "I imagine that is exactly what they are doing, Commander."

"…" Tolsey was at a loss for words. As much as he couldn't understand why on earth they'd be even entertaining such an idea, those of the Patrick faction couldn't understand why he wouldn't be.

"It's a good training exercise," Oliver said. "We don't often get to see different castles like this. This is certainly my first time seeing one with multiple walls. Why wouldn't I practise my plan for taking them whilst I'm here?"

The Commander was struck down into silence. When put like that, there was little he could say in response to Oliver's questions. He was overwhelmed by the feeling that, perhaps his own view of war and Oliver's view of war were very different. Tolsey trained as hard as any man, but he didn't spend every waking moment with thoughts of war in his head.

Nor did he think that the village boy that he'd met all those years ago did.

It seemed to him that, in their years apart, Oliver Patrick had become someone else entirely. Something even more dangerous than the wild dog that had once been before.

As Blackthorn and Oliver commented on the defences, they drew ever closer to the city. With the Pendragon carriages escorting them, more than a few townspeople and traders on the road stopped to look in their direction with awe-filled expressions.

Of course, it was more the silver carriage that pulled Asabel towards the Capital that they were so interested in, rather than Oliver's more nondescript ride, so black and typical of what the nobility usually used. Its baseness was only furthered by the fact that it belonged to Lombard. That man would only do the bare minimum necessary to meet noble standards.

He wasn't prone to high-level ostentatiousness.

As the gazes of the many passersby were directed towards Asabel, so too were many gazes directed to the roads ahead of them, along with long pointed fingers and excited explanations.

"That's them, isn't it?" Oliver heard one person say, as their carriage was forced to slow down when it met a crowd of people gathered in the middle of the road. "It's got to be! That noise has got to be horses' hooves."

"They're all armoured…" Another replied. "Oh! A banner! That sigil – that's got to be Lord Blackwell's."

Directed by the remarks of the people around them, Oliver too stole a glance outside of the window. He had to stand up in order to do so, given that he was sitting in the middle, but Verdant was gracious enough to point him in the direction that he ought to be looking.

"Just up ahead, my Lord," Verdant told him. "I imagine our paths shall cross when we make it to the next town."

The Idris heir proved to be quite right in that prediction. Even with the increased numbers of foot traffic slowing the progression of their train of carriages, they still managed to arrive in the next town just in time to see Blackwell and his retainers – including the one-handed Lombard – galloping in by another road.

"They certainly look dignified," Tolsey noted. They weren't dressed just in their typical uniforms. There was a ceremonial quality to what they wore now. Everything was polished and shining, from their boots, all the way to the hilts of their swords, and to the oiled beard that bordered Blackwell's chin.

It was their very best uniform, mixed with a modest amount of noble finery. It was armours and surcoats, with rings and weighty necklaces hung about their necks.

Blackwell wore a long riding coat over his armour. Oliver could guarantee he hadn't worn that on campaign. It must have been the skin of a bear, or some other such animal, but with how black and shiny its fur was Oliver suspected the fur must have been dyed in some sort of way.

It was almost the same colour as the hair of the Blackthorn's, but in truth, the Blackwell's hair was a shade lighter than the Blackthorn's. Though their families shared a lineage that had only fractured a century or two ago, it was a note of pride for the Blackthorns that they kept the 'black' in their blood more thickly than their distant relatives.

"Are you not going to join them?" Oliver asked Tolsey.

Tolsey shook his head. "I'm not nearly positioned high enough to be afforded a position in Lord Blackwell's honour guard," he said. "Nor have I achieved anything worthy of award. Those you see are only those that have distinguished themselves, or who are otherwise of high enough standing to be there in the first place."