A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 616: Skullic’s Mission - Part 2

At the very least, he wore his Blackwell pin on his chest, his knee-high boots were polished to a gleam, thanks to the efforts of his retainers, and his sword too was sharp and well-tended to. The blade that Blackwell had given him was still in a state of disrepair.

Verdant had told him that it would be possible to get the blade replaced, but at the moment, Oliver didn’t have the coin for those kinds of vanity purchases.

"You ought to dress more finely than that, regardless," Skullic said disapprovingly. "You can tell that those are second-hand clothes."

"They’re going to be getting covered in blood. It would be a waste to wear something fine," Oliver sniffed.

"You’ll be getting paid for this work. I expect that you dedicate at least a portion of it to improving your attire.

Damn, I suppose I had better ask Mary to fashion a uniform for you… Something to show that you’re at least associated with my house – then I suppose something from the High King himself, to show that you serve him and have been given a royal decree to fight and serve despite your age," Skullic said.

"Paid?" That was all that Oliver picked up on from Skullic mutterings.

"Of course. You’re doing the work, and so you’ll be paid the coin. A noble’s wage, mind you, not a soldier’s wage. For every head that you take, I’ll give you a gold coin. That sounds fair to you, squire?" Skullic said.

Oliver ran the numbers in his head. He reasoned that he could likely put down forty men out of a hundred if he pushed himself. That was certainly the sort of money that would make his time worth it.

"Oh, and you’ll be wanting to put your own sigil on your clothes as well. You’ll want people to be attaching your achievements to the Patrick name. Of course, if you can’t be bothered, that is your prerogative – but you will wear the Skullic crest regardless," Skullic said, stopping them at the gate.

The guards had only just lifted the portcullis up for that morning’s traffic and they bid a hasty salute to General Skullic, who promptly ignored them both.

"I’ll see to it," Oliver assured him.

"Good," Skullic said. "Try not to die. That would be most inconvenient after the efforts that I’ve put in."

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"There’s your carriage over there, then. I’d expect your journey to be about an hour. My men will meet you there. I had to find you something nearby, given your lack of a mount, but I expect you to be ready to travel five times that distance, if necessary, come the end of the month."

Where Skullic pointed, a carriage lay in the corner of the wide and high-walled courtyard, its rooftop covered in snow and its driver shivering under a large woollen trench coat as he waited on them. Few men could have looked more miserable than that man did then. Even the horses looked cold as they tossed their heads in impatient irritation.

The carriage itself looked high-class enough. Perhaps of a similar sort to the one that Lombard had sent him to the Academy in. It certainly didn’t have any sort of military air to it. It was freshly painted in a glossy black without even a sigil.

"That belongs to the Academy," Skullic informed him, "so you take care that it doesn’t get damaged. I don’t care what happens, I’ll be hearing no excuses if you come back and a wheel is missing."

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"How would I even get back if a wheel was missing?" Oliver said with a twist of his lips.

"Talking back to me again, are we?" Skullic muttered. "Fine. Do as you will. I’ve said my piece. The rest is in your hands. Do not come back a failure."

At those words, the General skulked back inside, his earlier sunny expression replaced with something that seemed considerably more irritated, enough so that the guardsmen were quick to get out of his way.

"Well," Oliver said to himself, more out of consideration than to make a real remark on anything. His hand was on his sword, warm within the gloves that Blackthorn had bought for him and he found himself looking around the courtyard with searching eyes, as though he expected something to be off.

It was an odd thing to catch himself doing. It wasn’t the sort of thing that he would have done in the past. A week or two ago, he would most certainly have marched straight towards the carriage, gripping his sword with a grim excitement, pleased to be on the way towards something new and considerably more interesting, but here he was watching like a nervous cat.

It was the guardsmen that he eyed more than anything else. The courtyard too had its interests – like the portcullis set into the outer wall and the seemingly endless rows of stables that disappeared off towards the east before one could really count them all. Dates were carved into their stones, like a map of past identities.

Smaller pictures could be found carved into the same bits of red and white rock – horses, for the most part, but there seemed to be human figures amongst them as well.

None of them were particularly good, but they were enough to draw the eye. The large statue of a man rearing up on his horse in the middle of the courtyard, waving a sabre – that too should have drawn the eye. Yet, it was the guardsmen that Oliver eyed.

Each and every one of them could be an enemy. He felt their own hostility radiating towards him now that Skullic was gone. Regardless of the circumstances, Oliver was a man that had killed a good few of their own. It was a wonder that they could restrain themselves at all.

He glanced over his shoulder, to find the two guardsmen in charge of the main entrance staring his way. They quickly averted their eyes the second that he caught them looking, but it didn’t do anything to disguise their attitudes.

Eventually, Oliver stirred, taking the high stone steps two at a time and purposefully not hurrying his gait. He knew all manner of people were looking, from stable hands, to guardsmen, to the Academy’s chambermaids as they descended from one of the man carriages pulling into the courtyards carrying their goods. Oliver took in the sight of them all.