A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 2096: King of the Land - Part 1
Together, King Patrick and Captain Blackthorn went to entreat with the civilians. A small group of well-dressed men came forth on behalf of the rest. Edward watched with a curiosity, again wondering what conversation they would share, and how King Patrick might deal with his new hostages.
After a time, the civilian men bowed, and went back towards their people. They whispered orders of their own to their own men, and there was a brief bit of activity, as men went racing off towards different corners of the city.
King Patrick said nothing as he rejoined his own men. They waited without question. Only Edward seemed to bear the burning coursity to know what had been said. The others talked in quiet voices, still full up on the thrill of battle.
After a short time, a cart came bumbling through the centre of the village, pulled by two large and sweat-covered men in the place of horses. They set it down in front of King Patrick, who dismissed them and thanked them with the same nod.
Lady Blackthorn gave the orders. "You men," she said. "Assist me. We will burn down these gates."
Edward’s eyebrow twitched. Now, when he strained his eyes, he could see smoke rising in three other parts of the city, along the walls, where he assumed the other gates to be.
From the start, after all, that had been Oliver Patrick’s intention – to weaken the border fortresses with the Wyndon men, and to begin to pave the way for an all out invasion, should the opportunity present itself in the future.
As quietly as they, King Patrick saw the deed done. It seemed almost transactional. By principal, he made it evident that he had nothing to do with the civilians, that he meant no harm to them. All he had gained and harmed that day was purely military and strategic.
He had begun to set the first stages of something grand. Edward could feel the winds of it blowing. So many different pieces, so many different gravities, all moving all at once, and with a profoundness that he could hardly see the true extent of.
A forecasting of his military might, in seeing the respectable Durem Fort taken without a single casualty. A demonstration of his honour, in seeing the civilians untouched. Then, there were those things that he had begun to build, in the faith of his men, and their own individual might. The very beginning of his Winged Unit.
In a single step, he seemed to open the world in several directions. By sheer gravity, he seemed to affect a good multitude of things all at once. From this attack, the Wyndons at the very least would know to be wary. They would be less free to stage attacks of their own. The rest of the Kingdom too, who might call themselves Oliver Patrick’s enemy, might do so with just the smallest amount more of fear. For there was not just the capturing of Durem, there was the way he had done it, in appearing without the smallest shred of warning.
It was brilliance folded up into brilliance, and King Patrick seemed to do it all as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The decision he had made, reckless as it was, in dismissing the advice of all the people closest to him, and diving straight into the trap that Lord Blake had set for him, was suddenly given the firmest amount of evidence in its support. If the flavour of all the moves that Oliver Patrick were to make were the same as this, could they indeed go all the way? Could they overturn the impossible? Edward shuddered to think of it.
They watched, as the mighty gates were burned to the ground, and the openings that they had once protected were left bare and undefended. Satisfaction in that. The men nodded to themselves. A good start, they had done well. It was barely past midday, and already, they had achieved so much.
After checking that all the gates were indeed burned, King Patrick paid his respects to the civilians, before returning to give direction to his patiently waiting army.
He squinted up at the sky, as Edward had, and, as if it was an afterthought, he gave them an announcement. "Twenty miles east of here there lies the castle of Nosberg. We will move swiftly, and take that too, before the day is out."
Earlier in the day, the men would have balked at that, those that understood it. It was a castle with a moat to protect it, a hill to fight against, and at least a garrison of two thousand men. If that had been their goal for the day before Durem Fort, as exhausted as they would, they might even have called it foolish.
Now, though the announcement did bring them to hesitate, and almost fall towards the line of calling it foolish, King Patrick has instilled in them a sense of power that was difficult to forget. He said it as if was nothing at all, as if he were deciding on a stroll after a meal, and still they were sure that they could trust in him. That the Winged Unit might be able to extend their victory, and with the same suddenness, seize the impossible once more.
Chapter 21 – King of the Land
With a sword plunged into its depths, the fast flowing waters of the stream ran themselves up along its edge, carrying away the blood that had begun to dry, and dragging clouds of dark purple and red along into its current.
With a cloth, Oliver saw the rest of the job done. Then his eyes traced their way along the blade’s length, his finger playing with its edge, checking for any chips. He’d pushed it harder than he’d intended to. The more fatigued he grew, the more he relied on his blade to see the job finished for him.
