A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1782 - 1782: A Coiling Serpent - Part 2

Blackwell would shortly descend down from the east, and aim to join the conflict that Tavar was continuing to prolong. The pressure that Tavar put on the rebels, Tiberius had to say, was a praiseworthy thing. It allowed him a great opportunity to simply sit back and look for his own sort of chances. So too did it provide him with a good opportunity to study Tavar's back, and wonder how easily placed a sword would be between his ribs, should he decide to change his course entirely.

Tiberius hardly let his intentions – to their fullest extent – known to any close to him. Certainly not to the men that had sworn themselves to be his retainers. Indeed he had captured the fullest of their loyalties, but he was not a man of overwhelming trust. He hardly let those same intentions known to himself. He kept them all hidden beneath a well-practised smile, and allowed to swirl what ought to be allowed to swirl. Pretending to have no knowledge at all of the grand scheme that he himself was enacting and following to the very letter.

Like a nest of snakes, that castle in the Skreen continued to function. With secret messages coming in on horseback past midnight, and crows flying out at all corners of the day, it was a whirlwind of activity, even if the army itself had yet to move.

Those soldiers kept themselves sharp, however. Tiberius had them practicing on the fields in front of their castle, never content to let them stay still for long. He enjoyed watching their exertions from atop his walls, as he thought upon the matters at hand, and added to the well of patience that he was building up. For indeed, this war – just like all things in Tiberius' non-too-long-life – was a test of patience. But patience was something he had practised far more than any other. Even if he would never admit it outloud, he knew very well what he had been all those years – a prisoner.

It was not a fact that he would forget. And so while he had his freedom, he enjoyed it delicately, like the sipping of the wine glasses that he seemed to have permanently grasped between his fingers. It was delicate, casual, and seemingly without a care. But beneath it all, there was a tightness in the hand, and the will of a truly terrifying man to never go back to what once had been. For all the displays of grandness, the marching armies in their jewels and in the banners of silver and gold, there was that desperate want that made a peasant man so terrifying. A will that was almost primal, almost fearful. The sort that could turn a natural genius of war into what was very well a terrifying monster.

In those central lands, on the borders of Pendragon and Emerson territory, Skullic and Karstly kept up their patrols. At this point, it almost seemed for show. Karstly had been eternally quiet since his defeat at the hands of Tiberius, and Skullic was not the sort to engage him in conversation, when it was quite obvious that conversation was the last thing he wanted.

Broadstone took his duties a good deal more seriously. As the two younger Generals settled into a posture that was more that of waiting, and made sure that the actions they took were not ones of stupendous energy, Broadstone felt the responsibility of a senior man to see it done that what they were asked to do was completed to the highest level. Hod had given them the command, and Blackwell had echoed it – seal up those border fortresses, and prevent Tiberius' movements.

For the fact that Broadstone himself had not yet crossed blades with the Emperor, or seen him on the field of battle, it might be said that he was even more wary than the other two. He had respect for their abilities, and he knew Karstly well in particular, and now he saw what a shell of a man Tiberius had reduced Karstly to.

If Broadstone had a mind to amuse himself, whilst they waited behind the solid walls of their defence, with their armies scattered between several fortresses, like a grand net ranging across the full length of the border, he might merely have waited Karstly every moment that he could.

Indeed, he saw the General most mornings, leaving by the gate of the fortress that he inhabited. Alone, without a bodyguard, Broadstone saw him disappear with some regularity, and it was a fact that he had at first met with a good deal of disapproval. Karstly had his duties to serve. What would they do if Tiberius attacked during his short forrays away from his men? No doubt it was something that Karstly himself had considered. He seemed to place an unusual amount of trust in his scouts for a man that had already been bested despite his scouts before.

Regardless, Broadstone knew there would be no stopping the man, so he did not even attempt to try. He didn't think to bring it up to Karstly, knowing full well what the obstinate young General's response was likely to be. When it came to the art of conversation, Karstly's wit was something that the more straightforward Broadstone found great difficulty in matching.

And again, on another morning, as Broadstone read a report on the battle proceeding to the west, along with the reassurances that Ernest still stood strong against the likes of Tavar and King Germanicus' massive armies, he saw Karstly trotting away through the open gates of his castle on his horse. Once more, he was alone, and once more, was his expression grim.

Broadstone's attention drifted from his letters, and he narrowed his eyes to watch the young General leave. Irritation was present initially, and it remained for a good while, until he thought he could just barely make out the expression on Karstly's face. From the distance that he looked on from, that was likely impossible, but even the illusion of it was enough to bring Broadstone's judgement to a sudden stop.