A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 907: The Castle Town of Valance - Part 5

Queen Asabel glanced towards Lord Blackthorn, her Pillar of War. The man seemed to know that he was being asked, without even looking her way to confirm the glance. He stepped forward, his voice every bit as loud and as booming as his appearance would suggest. Oliver felt Lasha flinch beside him.

"The campaign to the East has reached its end," the man said. "Who is your Lord to make plans for a campaign that is over – or has not yet even begun? Does he dare to think that he will lead eastwards again, after his past failures?"

There were times when Lombard was diplomatic, serious, and cold, and there were times when he seemed to feel emotion more strongly than any man – though his way of expressing it was rather different. He raised his head, and looked General Blackthorn in the eye, his pale blue pupils as chilling as an icy storm.

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"Failure, my Lord? With barely a third of the numbers he needed, he has secured castles," Lombard said.

"He ought to have secured more. That he dares to slink back—" Blackthorn's tirade was cut short by Idris' arm on his shoulder. The Pillar of Coin coughed in his hand, and spoke over him.

"What my fellow Pillar means to say, is can we count on you for results, Captain of Blackwell? To overlook past data, in favour of merely being honourable, that would be foolish, would it not? You recognize the fragile state of a fledgling Kingdom, but yet you ask us to plunge ourselves into war, before definites have been determined?" Lord Idris said.

"Father, if I may—" Verdant said, speaking up.

"You may not," Lord Idris said, his voice like a whip. "You do not have the position to speak in a royal court, unless you are spoken to." His admonishment was harsh, but Verdant took it. He realized his mistake, nodded, and kept his silence.

"Better men than I have made such predictions," Lombard said, his calm returning again. Against a logical man like Idris, he was able to reason just as sharply. "General Skullic is in agreement, Minister Hod does conclude the same, as does my own Lord Blackwell.

Given such minds, and such words, I thought it to be prudent to give Queen Asabel the advance warning she needed, in lieu of a more concrete declaration."

"Hm," Lord Idris said, considering it. Minister Hod's name especially had a lot of weight, or so Oliver had learned, through his years of dealing with the man. It was rare that Minister Hod raised his voice in anything, but when he did, his genius shined through. "Very well, I shall take Lord Blackwell to mean this warning in good faith, then. But I shall ask again.

He wishes for a commitment from the Asabelian Crown, but what shall we glean in return? If we do not push the border back, as you have said, we will get nothing. What guarantees can be made in that regard? Why ought this campaign to be different from the last?"

"My Lord is confident, and I believe for two reasons," Captain Lombard said. "This campaign, he ought to have five thousand more men than the previous. The second, is that he predicts there will be a drafting order on the youth – a fact that Hod and Skullic are in agreement with.

He believes the talent of the younger generation to be as significant a weight in our favour as he gaining of five thousand men."

Finally, Lord Idris' eyes landed on Oliver, and he seemed to understand at least part of Oliver's reason for being there. He nodded to himself, then nodded to his Queen, declaring that he had asked all the questions that he wished to ask.

The Queen leaned in to whisper something to Lancelot. "The Queen wishes to ask for clarification regarding what you just said, Lombard. Do you mean to say that you predict a drafting order even on students?"

She too was looking Oliver's way as she said that. Her question – one that she had not voiced – was obvious.

"For a select few," Lombard replied grimly.

"For what reason does Oliver Patrick stand in my halls today?" The Queen pressed.

"He means to ask you a favour," Lombard said.

"He would ask a favour of a Queen?" Lancelot said, speaking for himself this time. A few glares from the other retainers alerted him to his mistake. He was not of a high enough position to use his own voice in that chamber. He coughed his embarrassment into his hand, and continued to speak for Asabel. "What favour might that be?"

"He wishes to go to the Capital, for when the campaign is announced," Lombard said.

There was a small stir. Even the most disciplined of the retainers shifted. Most of them didn't seem to understand the reason for such a request, but Asabel, apparently did. A long silence ensued. She looked at Oliver long enough for her eyes to burrow through him. Oliver kept his head pinned to the floor.

He knew that if she saw what really lay inside of him, she wouldn't allow him to go.

"…Why does he come to me with such a request?" Queen Asabel asked. "I wish to hear the response from Oliver Patrick himself."

And so Oliver's last line of defence was cut down. It had been far simpler for him to keep his quiet. Lombard was used to these sorts of occasions far more than he. And Lombard at least seemed to have a certain level of respect from the rest of the Pendragon retainers. Oliver, for all his wins, was still a mere youth.

"I plan to declare myself for the campaign, Your Majesty," Oliver said, keeping his eyes pinned to the floor. "Whatever the outcome might be."

Oliver had decided that he trusted Skullic and Hod enough to take their prediction as being a near certainty. It made sense to Oliver as well. It was a fact that held the same level of expectation as the sword blow to an exposed neck.

"That is a reckless thing to do, Ser Patrick. To throw away your education without the Passing Scroll. No one could advise such a thing," the Queen said.