A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

The Blackthorns that Lasha had brought weren't at all far away from where they were standing, as they set up tents of their own, and Oliver had to try a quick look over to them to make sure that they hadn't heard the provocative claim that Firyr had made.

He saw one man looking up, as if listening out for something, but he soon went back to work again, and none of the others had reacted. He breathed a small sigh of relief, before giving his own quiet agreement.

"We shall see about that," he said, but from the look in his eyes, his men could see his competitive streak in full force. He didn't want to lose to a single man.

"Lord Patrick!" Kaya shouted from three tents down. "Captain Lombard is here to see you!"

"I'd better be off then. I imagine that's Lord Blackwell," Oliver said to the men. "Keep yourselves as steady as you can. I don't want to hear any more fighting. Our time will come – I want you to be ready."

"""Yes, Captain!""" Came a dozen quick salutes as Oliver strode away.

Lombard met Oliver with a critical gaze on the edge of the Patrick encampment. "You've made no effort to change from your travel dress whilst you meet with a superior?"

"I thought that being dressed for battle would be the most appropriate dress when meeting with a General," Oliver said.

In response, Lombard pulled a folded handkerchief from his sleeve, and slapped it into Oliver's hand. "At the very least, clean your face. I don't know how you've managed to get it so dusty when there's still spring moisture in the soil."

That was news to Oliver as well. It wasn't like he had any mirrors to check on his appearance either, and Verdant had disappeared off to speak to someone amongst the supply train. Something about mission provisions, or so Oliver had heard. He quickly cleaned his face to the degree that he could, and attempted to hand the handkerchief back to Lombard.

"Keep it," Lombard said, distastefully pushing back what was now no better than a dirty rag. "I assume you are not looking around for your retainers? You are to meet with your General. I assume you are content to go alone."

"By all means," Oliver said, very much hiding the fact that he was indeed looking for Verdant, having trusted that the man would steer him away from trouble.

Lombard led Oliver away at a swift march. Everywhere Lombard went, he seemed to walk with that same soldier's march. Even the loss of his arm hadn't lost him any of his crispness in his gait.

Soldiers nodded to them as they went – to Lombard, Oliver assumed – and Lombard returned those nods where he could. When he strode up to the gates of the castle – locked tightly now, given the presence of the man within – the guards recognized him by sight, and did not even pause before they had the gate opened for him again.

All of this, Lombard took in his stride, as if it were only natural. Oliver had been fully expecting Lombard to scold the men on gate duty for not reverifying his identity before letting him in, but if anything, in this instance, Lombard seemed to be approving. It mystified Oliver, but he supposed that this was yet another bit of military etiquette that he was unfamiliar with.

The inside of the castle grounds was just as dense with soldiers as the outside, with as many tents gathering on what little grassy grounds that they could. Fires were already roaring, and Oliver could smell the scent of cooking meat in the air, reminding him that he had yet to eat. His stomach growled in agreement.

Even amongst the clamour of a few thousand soldiers, Lombard managed to hear that growl, much to Oliver's embarrassment. "You ought to have eaten," the man told him.

"Eating makes my mind feel sluggish," Oliver said. "I did not want to eat before I met with the General."

Lombard grunted in acknowledgement. Anything that could vaguely be construed as respect for Lord Blackwell was generally something that Lombard seemed to approve of, or so Oliver had noticed.

There were more guards stationed at the large doors of the inner keep. This too was as round as the other Verna towers, but it was so impossibly high that Oliver wondered why they had even bothered. It was at least double the size in height of the Stormfront border castle keeps, whilst still being the same width. It was as though they'd done it just to compete with their enemies.

These guards stopped Oliver and Lombard for verification before allowing them to proceed. This Lombard too seemed to approve of. He fulfilled their checks without a second of complaint, and then praised them for carrying out their duty so thoroughly after they were done.

It was yet another contradictory smudge on Lombard's already baffling actions, but Oliver had no doubt that he was likely still following military procedure to the letter.

The bottom floor of the keep was a whirlwind of activity, filled with the scent of food just like the outside air was. Oliver could see into several rooms as they made for the stairs, and each of them seemed to have a fire of some sort going, with retainers scurrying around, hurriedly preparing their Lords' meals.

Lombard took the spiral staircase two stairs at a time, the armless sleeve of his shirt flapping as he went.

Lit torches were set in the walls at regular intervals, so too were there archer slits, giving one a view of the courtyard outside. "The spiral staircases the Verna are so fond of are worth their effort," Lombard said. "One man could hold these stairs against ten times his number. It is unfortunate that more Stormfront castles do not take the time to build them properly."

"I can see that," Oliver said. The spiralling of the stairs prevented any invaders from easily getting past a man above them. They had to deal with the swords of their enemy head-on if they wanted to make any sort of progress.