A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1629 - 1629: The Ripples of Victory - Part 8

"Or, perhaps, there was nothing at all," Karstly suggested. "Perhaps, Oliver Patrick, all the way through, has shown you what sort of man he is. Perhaps, General Blackwell, you ought not be surprised as you are, that he ignored your orders. For he was fond of ignoring mine. I, for one, can not declare that I did not think it unexpected that he were to meet the Emerson army on the field of battle."

"…Arrogantly put," Blackwell said. "And do you dare to claim that you saw as far as his victory as well?"

Karstly's smile grew at that, showing off all his teeth. The handsome man shook his head. "No. I supposed that he would die a rather pathetic death, and that we would all be giggling at the table for it. Alas, I was wrong, and alas, it does seem that I have a competition, as to the grandest achievement that has been won in this war. That is a battle and a victory that will be difficult to top."

"I would rather that you aimed to secure overall victory, rather than personal victory," Blackwell said.

"We all have things that we desire," Karstly said with a shrug. "So – the board has changed. Speak, Commanding General. You have had more time to ponder these matters than we, who have learned of them just now. How do you suppose we take fullest advantage of what we have been given?"

Blackwell nodded. "For his insubordinance, General Patrick ought to be punished. But you might understand why such a thing would be undesirable at this moment in time. For better, or for worse, Patrick's victory has seen our troops inspired. The masses will hear of it too – the townspeople, from here, all the way to the Capital. The High King will hear of it, and he will not be happy. The Generals at the head of the approaching armies, they will set their eyes towards it. General Patrick has lit a great fire, and all the torch bugs will be eyeing him, overlooking strategic importance, and looking for glory instead. Ernest might well become the centre of this war, where once we thought that it would be these Pendragon lands."

"You would reinforce Ernest then," Broadstone said. "With who? I? That would be logical. I know best how to make use of its defences. Naturally, you will wish to be pushing further into Pendragon lands until you see the entire domain secured. I recognize my weaknesses in the art of attack. I win my battles far slower than the rest of you. I would be better served elsewhere, if you would send me."

"That sounds logical," Rainheart said, nodding. "For your supposed weaknesses in attack, I do not think there to be a General alive that would not struggle to overcome your defences, Broadstone. I would feel far better if I knew that you were part of the wall that was guarding our western flank."

"No," Blackthorn said. "I don't like the sound of that."

Broadstone blinked in mild surprise. "…Is there a reason why, General?"

The Blackthorn General only glared at him in response, refusing to elaborate any further.

"One must take into account just how much the board has shifted, before even this Patrick victory," Karstly said. "For you old gentlemen who still cling to your position as Generals, despite the door of retirement being open to you for the longest time, I do feel it necessary to point out the problems that we faced before, and the problems that we have solved."

"We did not plan to declare this war when we did – and so we had the problem of troops," Karstly said. "That is why we all rushed to the Pendragon lands. Our men were waiting here. Mine, Blackthorn's, yours Rainheart, and yours Broadstone. This rushing was merely to gather troops, yes? It should not come as a great surprise that there is now an incentive to move once more back to the west, from where we have already fled. You speak of it with heavy shoulders, as if retracing your steps wounds you greatly. I point that out, because it's a sin that you old men continue to make. Even without Patrick having won, it is past time that our army moved itself. I, for one, have an interest in the rear of the army that is set to besieging Skullic in the Skreen."

"…That's another battlefield, distant from the one we are considering," Blackwell said. "Skullic could last a while longer. He does not need to be freed up quite yet."

"I rather like Skullic," Karstly said. "Hod has disappeared, to the Gods only know where, but he was of the same opinion as I – that the sooner we see Skullic freed, the better it will be for our campaign."

"Any particular reason, beyond your like for the man?" General Blackwell asked.

"None that I'd care to share," Karstly said, smiling. "Or perhaps, just maybe, I enjoy the prospect of frightening our High King, just a little, by worming my way closer to the Capital. We do not need to hold the Skreen, necessarily, but if we can create a degree of mobility there, we would be better off for it."

"You move counter to my plans," Blackwell said. "You are right, that we no longer need quite as many men in Pendragon territory, after having achieved our purpose in seeing our army gathered. However, there were advantages to that strategy. All the armies of the High King are gathering, bit by bit. If we consider it even mildly, there's an army totalling over a hundred thousand men marching our way, from all the different corners of the Stormfront. Perhaps you could free Skullic from the Skreen – but you are not immune to traps. Suppose you took five thousand men, and went off on your own, and achieved your purpose. What happens when forty thousand surround you, and catch you isolated and alone, and see you crushed? Complacency is a disease we must fight strongly. The enemy has far from revealed their best hand. Caution ought to be our foremost motivation."