A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 957: The Frontline - Part 9

"That would be far too many," Lord Blackwell replied. "Have you seen a Verna man yet?"

Oliver looked up at the sudden change of conversation. "I haven't."

"Their military men have a particular pride to them. Their officers are even easier to pick out than normal foes. You would be able to spy them, if you watched, and saw who commanded, but they make matters easier. They display their ranks proudly, wearing it both in the colour of the plumes on their helmets, and the crests on their chest," Lord Blackwell told him.

"You will not be able to kill too large a number. If you did, then it would mean you are moving too slowly. However, you can still aim like an arrow towards the vital organs of the Verna army. Target those men with plumes in their helmets. The closer their colour is to gold, the greater worth they have."

"I will do as you say, General," Oliver said. "If you give me a number, I shall work to secure it."

"You are insistent," Blackwell noted, leaning back in his chair. "However, it is not I that will be deciding on your course of action for this charge. You will be serving under General Karstly. You will follow his orders as you would mine, and take as many heads as he demands from you."

"General Karstly?" Oliver said.

"Is there a problem?" Lord Blackwell asked.

"No. I've just never met the man," Oliver said.

"That will be a feeling you will have to get used to," Lord Blackwell said mercilessly. "There are twenty thousand men here. You will not know even a fraction of their number. You will obey the commands of your superiors nevertheless. Is that understood?"

Oliver had to glance at Lombard. He had a feeling that this lecture was his doing.

"…I understand," Oliver said.

The General sighed. "I have high hopes for you. Of all the men that are here, you are the only one so young. You've bore my sigil for years now, indicating your part in the Blackwell House. You move as a member of that House, whether in your village, or on the field of battle. I wish for you to take that into account, before you decide on a rash course of action."

Now Oliver was certain. It was most certainly Lombard that had counselled Blackwell against Oliver's rashness. It took a great effort to stop himself from twisting his lips. He kept his head lowered, and murmured a begrudging, "very well," causing Willem to laugh all the more.

"Oh, we've needed youth around here!" He said with a broad smile. "Hang in there, Patrick. We've all got hopes for you. Well, at least half of us do – the other half are terrified that you'll take our positions out from under us. So on that, I'd say, do your best but… Don't push yourself too much, eh?"

…

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"I don't know," Oliver replied, for what must have been the hundredth time, to all the different questions that were coming his way. The truth was just as he said it – he really didn't know, in all capacities.

They were here, in Verna lands, preparing for battle as part of the advance force, but it lacked the sort of certainty that he had expected it to have. He thought that when he was finally given the order, he would start to feel as if he was on a mission again, doing his usual. He had a task, and then he simply needed to fulfil it, and the world would be at rights again.

Here, however, the answer was simply "I do not know," in all things. He didn't know the General he was serving under. He didn't know the precise tactics of their engagement, or any of their strategy beyond simply breaching the enemy line, and he didn't know even who he would be fighting alongside, aside from the fact that Blackthorn's soldiers would be there, as would General Karstly.

The soldier left Oliver, looking chastised. He seemed to have thought he'd irritated his Captain, when Oliver had simply been irritated already.

Another man stepped into Oliver's tent, no doubt with more questions. "The decision has been made. I will be joining you."

"I do not kno—" Oliver began to say, as if by instinct. He thought it was a question. He'd been asked a similar thing a few times already, by men that were not even his own, asking where the destination of their battlefield would be. After all, the Patrick encampment was one of the few showing signs of activity, as they prepared for their departure the following day. "Wait, Lombard?" Oliver said.