A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1630 - 1630: The Ripples of Victory - Part 9

"I am not in disagreement," Karstly said. "There are old tigers slumbering away in the lands of Gaia with the House of the Treeants that have not been aroused in decades. And the House of Wyndon too holds threats that I can not be so casual around. But for that very reason, it is worth taking a risk, is it not? Has Oliver Patrick not proved that? How freely do you old gentlemen now breath, after one unlikely victory? We need several unlikely victories, if we are to consider matching the might of our enemy."

"You take too many risks," Broadstone said. "We will only invite calamity if we continue to push our luck. Can we not take the victory that Oliver Patrick has offered us, acknowledge it to be the degree of luck that we needed, and not force more out of the hands of the Gods?"

"If you sit on what you have, you will lose this war," Karstly said bluntly. "I was not asking for permission. You gave me leave to command Generals on this campaign, Blackwell. I would see you fulfil that promise."

"So you're forcing my hand?" Blackwell said, his calm voice not seeming to quite match the degree of annoyance that was written on his face.

"Forcing it?" Karstly smiled. "No, Commanding General. You will offer it to me of your own free will, for that is what you have promised. I will be taking Rainheart with me, and five thousand men."

"…Excellent," Blackwell said mildly. "So you would see our numbers reduced further, and our forces so thoroughly divided up. Very well. And if you slow down our advance here to the point that our enemy reaches our rears before we can claim the Pendragon Capital?"

"Then I would say that I have misjudged you," Karstly said. "I do not think this last portion of our advance should pose you such a significant challenge."

"What are your thoughts on this, Rainheart?" Blackwell asked. "You have been called for by name, but you have the right to refuse. Though I have given Karstly a command that he is likely unworthy of, you are still the more experienced man. If you would rather do otherwise, then I shall listen."

Rainheart considered it for only half a second, before he shook his head, sending his long gray hair swaying. "No. This arrangement suits me. I would see what this young man has such confidence for, and I will do what I can to ensure that this division is for naught. At the very least, I see the validity in his proposing of his strategy."

"Then we're sorted, are we not?" Karstly said, leaning back in his chair with a degree of smugness. "Now ought you not sort the rest of your defence, Blackwell? You have claimed you shall see the west defended, and you have denied Broadstone the opportunity to bear that flag. Do you point your finger only one way, then?"

For those that had been following Karstly and Blackwell's conversation properly, their eyes naturally drifted in a single direction, towards the still steaming General Blackthorn, who didn't seem to have been listening quite as intently as the others.

"What are these gazes for?" Blackthorn said. "They lack respect. If you want to add to the blood on my armour, come forth, and challenge me."

"No one is challenging you, fool," Blackwell said.

Blackthorn shifted harshly in his chair, rounding his entire weight in Blackwell's direction, making the wood groan. "No? It sounds like you are."

"The defence of the west – of Ernest. Can I leave it to you?" Blackwell asked.

"…What?" Blackthorn said, narrowing his eyes. "Why are you asking this of me now? Your blood has done what it could to keep my blood away from Ernest for centuries. And now you want to put me in charge of its defence? What are you scheming?"

"Officially, you would not be in charge of the defence," General Blackwell said mildly. "Oliver Patrick would be, given that I have named him Defender of the West. It wouldn't be good for the morale of the troops if, after such a grand victory, he were to be demoted."

"You would put me beneath that pup!?" General Blackthorn said, standing now, as he slammed his palms down on the table. "I see it then, that's your scheme. An insult!"

"Only in the official capacity," Blackwell assured him. "For the purposes of our command chain, you will be treated as the leading man. Only for the sake of appearances shall Oliver Patrick be thrust just a half step further forward."

"…And still you insult me," Blackthorn said. "Send the boy back. He disobeyed orders. Drag him back here, and have him work on your assault."

"I had considered it," Blackwell said. "But if we set aside the matter of your pride, it seems evident then, what our course of action ought to be. Can any here, other than yourself, see disagreement in it? Lord Idris, perhaps a word from you?"

"…I can see the reasoning, certainly," Lord Idris responded, unflinching, despite the intensity of General Blackthorn's glare from right next to him. "If we are to assume as we assumed earlier, that Oliver Patrick has painted the brightest target on his back with his most recent victory, then it would make sense to have a General of Blackthorn's calibre ready and waiting for when a retaliatory strike does come."

"It won't come," General Blackthorn snorted. "Not yet. They'll reorganize. They've lost out on speed, so that's all they'll do. They'll reorganize, and I'll be wasting away down there, doing nothing."

"I am of the same opinion that they will reorganize," General Blackwell agreed. "The Silver Kings will be sending their Generals to meet in the Capital, and what we will see from this point onwards will be a collaborative endeavour. There will be no cracks for them to exploit. But that does not mean that Ernest will not be a target in time. It does not mean that you have no work there, aside from the fighting. Do recall that there are more than ten thousand soldiers held prisoner there, and there is Prince Hendrick and General Fitzer. We need a name as weighty as yours to keep them in line."

"I don't like it," Blackthorn said again.