A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 807: Victory’s Skeletons - Part 1

The man nodded dimly, as the first little panel of the bridge between Oliver and his new men was laid.

"These horses, beautiful creatures," Firyr said, stroking one. There seemed a positive hint of madness in the man, seeing him change emotions so quickly. From erratic howling, to sudden tenderness, as he ran bloody fingers down the horse's muzzle.

"They are," Nila agreed, sliding down her tree. "It seems almost a shame to leave them. There must be as many as thirty still running around. Think of how much gold we could get."

"Indeed," Oliver was in agreement. The horses were too valuable to let run loose. Even if they couldn't capture them personally, they couldn't allow their enemy to take hold of them either. "We have time now. Whomever the enemy chooses to send will perish here. It would take a hundred men to get us to move – and now they don't have the horses to properly chase us should we decide to flee."

"Does that mean…?" Nila asked for her confirmation.

"You can ride, can't you, Nila?" Oliver asked. She wasn't like him. She'd learned to ride far younger, on one of the Solgrim mules – a fact that she was proud of. A horse would likely prove to be something of an adjustment, but it should not have been too much of a change for her.

"I can," Nila said, with a small smile. "Does that mean you're giving me a horse?"

"For now. If you manage to track the rest down, you can keep it. Take three of Skullic's men to assist you, and bring those beasts back," Oliver said.

"Mm. I suppose I'll choose those three then," Nila decided, pointing at three of the less ragged men – not that any of them were anywhere near exhaustion yet. "You do know how to ride, don't you?"

"We were taught at the Academy, my Lady," one of the soldiers said. "Even Serving Class men like us are given a few classes in that."

"I'm no Lady," Nila said, "but whatever. Stay close, and listen to me. If you spook any of those horses, I'll send you right back, got it?"

"Yes, my Lady!"

They saluted. Nila's natural authority overrode any claims that she might make about her true station. The soldiers clearly weren't convinced. It was most comfortable for them to treat her as they would other nobility. It was too complicated for them to decide otherwise. They were quickly mounted, and with a lit torch in her hand, and a nod to Oliver, Nila led them into the gloomy trees.

"Will they be all right?" Blackthorn asked. "Isn't it a little dark to be getting lost in the woods?"

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"We're in much the same position," Oliver said. "Fear not. Nila tracks as well at night as normal men do during the day. She'll find those horses for us."

"And we can count on that number for a certainty, my Lord?" Verdant asked. There seemed to be another note to his question, as if he was attempting to find out two things at once.

"If not thirty, I would expect as many as twenty-five," Oliver said.

Verdant nodded. "You place a great deal of trust in that girl, if I might say so, my Lord."

"Are you not convinced by her yet?" Oliver asked. "I would have thought that with your eyes, you could see her worth by now, Verdant."

"Oh, I see it my Lord," Verdant assured him. "But as ever, it is you that I am most interested in."

Oliver let it lie there, unable to say anything else. After all, they were still in the midst of fifty dead men, and the sun had left them completely now. It was only their torches lighting the way around them. Once the adrenaline wore off, the sweat would cool them dramatically. With all that snow around them, it could get frighteningly cold.

The bodies, in themselves, were good raw materials. The armour that they wore was of better quality than that of Oliver's own men. Firyr seemed to realize that too, for he was sticking his hands on one of the corpses, and looking at their chainmail.

"Too small," he muttered. That indeed was the main problem. A normal soldier's armour would be too small for those behemoths that Greeves had gathered for him. A double-edged sword they were in that sense.

"What of the swords, Firyr?" Oliver asked, since the man was already set to loot the enemies.

"Better quality than the ones the merchant gave us, that's for sure," Firyr said.

"Then take them."

That command earned him more than a few looks. Not from the slaves – they were willing to do whatever was asked of them – but from the more civilized men. It was an act of barbarity to loot the dead as he was asking them to.

"I have an interest in victory," Oliver said, a hint of exasperation in his tone. "Whatever it takes to achieve that, be it barbarity, or the like, as long as I do not forsake my most deeply held principles, I shall do it. That said, it is not merely their swords where the worth of these dead men lie…"

He allowed a pause. The words that followed were a darkness worthy of even Ingolsol.

"Bring me their heads."

Two hours later, Oliver Patrick arrived back at camp. His men were subdued and quiet by now, on account of what they'd been made to do. In all but the hardest of them, the taste of victory was sombered.

What had left as a simple raiding party of twenty had returned almost fully mounted, with only a handful of slaves unused to horses remaining on foot. They instead led the rest of the beasts by their reins. Nila had been even better than predicted in her task. Not twenty-five horses, but thirty-two.

There was hardly an inch of any of their uniforms that was spared of blood. Even those that had managed to avoid being completely drenched during the battle had gained a fair bit of red during the butchery that followed.