A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 619: Skullic’s Mission - Part 5
That didn’t seem applicable here, not yet. Much of what he’d learned at the Academy was like that, at least so far. It was on the very edge of being useful, but he hadn’t spent enough time or any one thing to make it truly a weapon yet. Nothing except from his swordsmanship.
As Oliver thought, Petyr was careful not to interrupt the silence. Oliver wasn’t aware of it himself, but his brooding expression – especially recently – was growing increasingly foreboding. It did not make him the most approachable man, when he rested his chin on his hand and his eyes narrowed, considering an imagined future.
The horses continued their duty, silently clopping in the snow, the white clinging to their hooves like socks, softening each step that they took. They were as relentless as the sea itself, picking out a steady rhythm between them. Petyr hardly needed to give them directions with the reins – they seemed to know the path themselves.
They merely stuck to the cobbles of the old road beneath the snow, somehow having a sense for it, despite not being able to see whether it would lie and they slowly but surely carried them towards their goal.
The soldiers’ encampment was at the very beginning of that valley. Petyr mentioned that Dollem Fort was at the other end of it, making it a few miles away and likely another hour of marching on foot. Oliver asked if their encampment would have been visible from the fort.
Petyr – who’d travelled this road fairly often, before bandits moved to occupy the abandoned fort – didn’t think that it would be, but from the tone of his voice, he didn’t sound particularly confident about that assertion.
As they descended the final bit of road, leading them into the valley, the first bit of light snow for the day began to drift down. By that point, it was getting to late morning. It had taken them a little over an hour and a half to reach their intended destination.
They drew up alongside the encampment amidst a bustle of activity. It was like a stirred beehive. Every man was moving to do something or other, though many of them looked as though they were moving merely for the sake of moving. Oliver caught one man jogging from one tent to another with three spears leaning against his shoulder and he wondered what the point of that was.
Though there were tents, Oliver did not catch a single fire pit, so there was no smoke. They’d at least taken precautions in that regard, though he didn’t think that it would have done much to help. Despite the fact that Petyr assured him the encampment wasn’t visible from the Fort, Oliver was all but sure the bandits knew the soldiers were coming.
They’d been here at least a day – they would have easily been spotted by a scout.
Many of the soldiers glanced at the carriage, but none of them moved to greet the new arrivals. Oliver watched them for a second more, before leaping from the front, down into the snow. It surprised him how deep it was – even deeper here at the bottom of the valley than it had been on the road. It made it up almost to his knee.
Only when he’d leapt down did anyone bother to approach him, though the man didn’t look particularly happy about doing so. He jogged over, his arms full with supplies and gave a half-hearted bow of his head.
"Oliver Patrick?" The man said, guessing.
"I am."
Both men were looking each other up and down at the same time. The soldier saw a young boy dressed less richly than a noble ought to have been, whilst Oliver saw a soldier more well-tended than even Lombard’s men had been. On his dark navy uniform, he had the crest of a single tower with a flag erected – the crest of the Skullic house.
"Good to meet you," the man said politely. "I’m Sergeant Cormrant, Vice-Commander in this encampment."
"Vice-Commander?" Oliver said, surprised. He’d thought, from his interactions with Lombard and Tolsey, that positions of high command were traditionally left to soldiers.
"Surprised not to see a noble?" Cormrant said, echoing his thoughts. "Skullic has his noble retainers employed elsewhere. This sort of grunt work is left to the likes of us."
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"And the Commander?" Oliver enquired.
"Sergeant-Major Northman, also a man of my class," the sergeant told him.
"I see," Oliver said, accepting it with a nod. The fluidity with which he processed that irregularity caught the sergeant off guard. He’d been hoping to enjoy the noble’s discomfort for a little longer – all the nobles were at times made uncomfortable by Skullic’s methods – but he was quickly robbed of that opportunity.
He grunted his irritation. "Well, I suppose you must be the real deal," he decided. "Not many are as odd as us, Ser, but it seems to me that you might be a contender."
"We’ll see," Oliver said. Something about the sergeant’s tone was less than jovial. From a friend, his comment of oddity might have been endearing, but from a stranger, it seemed a social blunder, at least to Oliver. He dismissed it, but he didn’t welcome it.
"I was busy finishing off some work before you came in," Cormrant continued, "mind if I get back to it? We’re looking to break camp within the hour."
"By all means," Oliver said, motioning with his hand. The sergeant dipped his head again, less than politely and went back to his work.
It was hard for Oliver to resist grinding his teeth. What was it with everyone testing him as of late? Had the world suddenly grown so different that it was more snakes that he was interacting with than men? Through every sentence, there seemed to flow some sort of venom.
It was either the venom of distaste that came from knowing who he was, or it was the venom of dismissal through not knowing him well enough, nor tales of his deeds. Or perhaps it was merely the issue of them not believing him.
He didn’t have to be a genius to guess that the soldiers were treating him lightly. The real question was why?
