A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1681 - 1681: The Coming Storm - Part 5

"He didn't exist," General Fitzer said, gesticulating madly with his fingers, pulling at the air still, trying to simulate some imaginary wind. "He was there, but he wasn't. He was impossible to grab directly. It was gratifying in the moment, from when the battle began. Victory seemed so certain. It was his men that we beat, more than him… And Gods, what a quality in subordinates. The Minister of Blades. Damn him and the reinforcements that he brought. Damn the balance that he brought. A Sword of that calibre… I've never had to fight so many of them. There was another young man as well. No name. No seeming affiliation, apart from the fact that he fought under a Patrick banner. Fourth Boundary too, without a doubt."

"A Fourth Boundary Sword?" Blackthorn said. "Of the age of Oliver Patrick?"

He had a face in his mind that he supposed the young man to be. He'd seen him fight in the tournament, against Oliver Patrick himself. He had supposed he might be Fourth Boundary, but it seemed almost too unrealistic. And yet here Fitzer was, confirming it himself.

"Where does one find that madness? For Oliver Patrick to be of the strength he is so young, that was one thing, General Blackthorn, but for there to be another, of an entirely different quality… Damn that runt. Damn him to hell. If not for him too, the battle would have gone entirely differently. And what of the quality of those archers? Yoreholder's wife, and the red-haired girl… They picked off too many of my Captains. They scolded my embers before I could do anything with them. And then the Idris runt—"

"You fool, are you going to list off every man in his army?" Blackthorn said impatiently.

Fitzer shrugged. "You don't understand, then, the significance that they carried," he said. His finger twirled in the air, making a spiral. "They all did something they shouldn't have. They all caught the eye. All his Commanders, all his Captains. There was something off on every level, all the way down to his men. There was just the extra little spark of something that should not have been there… This cavalry Commander – we slew him in a wave. He seemed ordinary enough, but he was troublesome to put down. He cut a spectacle – and man that was nothing more than a Commander, yet he drew our attention. All of them had something, just the slightest breeze, the slightest little cough of a dying animal… and then Oliver Patrick was nothing."

"Now that I think on it, it seemed a trap from the start," Fitzer said, twisting his lips. "Was all of this just Oliver Patrick playing coy, in order to lure us into a false sense of security?"

"It sounds like it," Blackthorn said. "It sounds like you were merely had, and you were caught off guard."

"But that isn't it entirely…" Fitzer said. "It wasn't a trap, so much as that feeling… You know that which I speak of, Blackthorn? When a tactic coughs itself into existence, when something is no longer avoidable. That force of strategy that builds towards it. It was that… As light as a woman's touch, barely present, barely there… And then…"

"And then what?" Blackthorn said, as Fitzer once more went silent.

The man shook his head, and his teeth chattered. "And then… He finally did something. He gave a command, and it was like… It was like… Gods I don't know. It was like the land was welcoming him home. It was as if the very air celebrated for the fact that he could speak. We were strangers in our own world, we were made subordinate to it. As soon as he spoke, it was over. He rallied his men. That young Sword had been occupying Tussel. General Patrick had what, five hundred men left? We'd stomped him into a messy pile of corpses… But then he spoke. And five hundred men were a spear, and there was nothing to be done. Even now, there's no strategy I can think that would have stopped it. Tussle tried, but they claimed his head for it – and with Tussle dead, it was over like that. They put a knife to Prince Hendrick's neck, and we were done."

Blackthorn's expression shifted. The heavy frown of his eyebrows thawed into an expression that was more thoughtful, bordering on understanding.

And in an instant, Fitzer was like a snake, striking out to seize upon it. The General stood up out of his chair, animated, and mad, and altogether full of fire. "Ha!" He declared boldly. "I knew you would get some flicker of understanding from it, Blackthorn. You fool. You've given me the one piece I needed to understand it."

With a motion like he was swatting away a fly, Blackthorn attempted to push away the man that had come far too close. But Fitzer didn't budge. He'd put strength into his legs, and he'd forced his way forward. "Now you have a problem, Blackthorn. And it is I," Fitzer said. "They will be discussing their plans in the Capital, and an army will be marching this way soon enough, and when they do arrive, you'll have me and my ten thousand to deal with, along with them."

Blackthorn tutted angrily, and this time, with a degree of strength in his arm, he succeeded in pushing the man away, back towards his seat. "Are you trying to provoke me into killing you, Fitzer?"

"You would be the one that let yourself get provoked," Fitzer said. "But that is not my aim. I merely came to give you a promise, Blackthorn. Oliver Patrick might have defeated me – but you have given me the clue I needed as to understanding him. His strangeness shall be sent to the grave along with him. When my allies do arrive, I will see my second battle with him settled, and victory claimed on behalf of my fallen comrades."

"Is that right?" Blackthorn muttered. "You certainly inspire me to limit the comforts of your men with such bold words."