A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1477 - 1477: A Passing Breeze - Part 8

"Mm, well, I just started workin'. I woke up late, you see… It's sort of embarrassing that you ask. I don't reallllly want to tell you, to be honest," the woman said. "That's no thing to ask a Lady, Lord Patrick."

"Speak," Oliver demanded.

"Three," the woman said, yawning. "Told you, you wouldn't be impressed. We done now? You gonna threaten to torture me and all that? I wouldn't bother, ya know. I'll tell you all that you want to hear."

"Who employed you?" Oliver said.

"Ohhhh, now, never mind, that's something I can't answer," she said. "They made me swear, y'know. And I gots to keep my promises. Otherwise I'm a bad person, keke. Anythin' else? Or are ya gonna torture it out me? I don't think that'll work, but who am I to say? I'm just you're lovely little prisoner."

"Take that hood off her face, Blackthorn," Oliver said. "I'd like to see the face of this killer."

"W-well, I would rather you did—" the woman attempted to protest, but Blackthorn was merciless. In place of her sword, she used her hand, and tugged hard on the back of the woman's head, pulling a bit of hair with her.

"Ah," the sound escaped from Oliver's throat without his permission. It was hard not to gasp. From the athleticism that she moved with, and the sharpness of her eyes, and the youthful way that she spoke, he'd assumed her to be a young woman. But with the grey hair, and wrinkled skin, with the crow's feet beneath the eyes – the woman that he'd thought to be a shadow was undoubtedly old. Very well old.

"It's rude to stare, ya know," the woman said, irritated. "Yer going to ruin my skin, exposing it to the sun like that."

"How old are you?" Oliver said.

"Now there's a question yer don't need to know, do ya? Or do I have to tell you how to do your job?" The woman said. "I doesn't know how old I am either. Didn't have no one to mark my birth, did I? So I'm as old or as young as I want to be, that's what I say. Now you can stop gawking, and you can put an end to me, if you want. I doesn't care. I've had my fun. Let's be rid of it now. One final act."

"We've your confession to at least three killings," Oliver said. "I've permission to dispense justice on you now, should I wish to, by orders of Lord Blackwell."

"You rule this Solgrim, doesn't ya? You didn't need his permission anyway. You'd do what you want, that's what Oliver Patrick does, ain't it? That's why you's got our client looking to spoil things for you. 'Cos you did what you want just a bit too much. Nows I doesn't blame you. Doesn't mind it. A fiery young man causing a fuss? You're creating good work for us killers – lots of opportunity."

"I have your confession regardless," Oliver said. "Taking your life now would be a justice."

He pointed his sword at her. She smiled fearlessly at it. The woman well and truly felt nothing. For as sharp as those eyes of hers were, and as youthful as they seemed to be, they'd lost all attachment to the world that they lived in. She was purely an apparatus that kept operating for the sake of killing.

Though it was his sword that he pointed at her, it was his boot that Oliver used. With a stomach-churning crunch, he shattered the ankle of one leg, and then the other. The woman took the pain with nothing more than a grunt. When it was done, and she could put together his intentions in her head, she even had the gall to smile.

"Keke, how cruel, Ser Patrick, how very cruel," the woman said. "Now yer going to leave an old woman to suffer, are you?"

"I'm ridding you of your chances to run," Oliver said dryly. "You're a twisted creature, and troublesome. If you were to get a distance away from any of my men, we'd never find you again."

"But you did, didn't ya?" The woman said. "I've been meaning to ask about that, ya know? You didn't see me, did you? How did you know? Ahhh.. bother it. You warrior types always know. Yer damn instincts, ain't it? I've met troublesome men like you before – I know to stay away from them. Should have stayed away from this too, ah, bother it all."

With their suspect captured, Oliver and Blackthorn saw her legs and arms bound – for all the good that it would do – and her mouth gagged, and then she was carried back to the entrance of the tent that they'd left Torin and Verdant in.

Verdant acknowledged their captive with a mere glance, whilst Torin's eyes were round with wonderment and questions that he dared not ask.

"The woman?" Oliver said, gesturing towards the body that Verdant stood over.

"She's breathing," Verdant said. "But I am not sure if that is a mercy, considering all that wretch has done to her. Even if she does make it through this, I do not think she will live a normal life again."

"As long as there is life, there is hope," Oliver said. "It is for her to decide what she might do with it. Do the best you can, waste no effort, Verdant. We will hand her over to the field medics once they come, but I doubt there is much that they know that you do not."

"You overestimate me, my Lord," Verdant said. "You yourself know that your field training is as good as mine, if not better, given that it is fresher in your mind from your time at the Academy. I suppose that, of all people, Queen Asabel might be able to do something… But I think that her name comes into my head is only evidence of my lagging information network. I ought to fix that fact in myself. A Queen's name should not be the first to come to mind in a situation like this."