A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 2078: Hurried Footsteps - Part 4

Even the way the corpses of the fallen guards were laid seemed vaguely aesthetic. Their blood pooled around them atop the rug, and on the white and black tiles that the rug failed to cover. Edward had to wonder what the inside of the rooms were like. On the ground floor of King’s keep, eight doors, each likely with enough space inside them to be considered a modestly sized family accommodation.

Edward’s feet kept him walking along behind Kaya. They hit the winding stone staircase, and dragged the ground floor out of view. It was like trying to hold on to a memory of the past, looking back at it. Edward wanted to study it more. There was so much richness in it, both in the sense of wealth, and in the significance of it. The golden inscriptions written atop the silvery plate of those fallen men, evidence of their rank and standing in being part of the King’s guard. Then, even they were reduced to insignificance.

The winding staircase brought them to another floor. The light of the outside world poured in through stained glass windows. Rows of armoured figures lined the walls, and a rich tapestry depicting a King on the back of a white horse hung at one end of the corridor. No rug here, no tiles, just varnished timber flooring, with the grains lined to perfection. An artistry in the wood that Edward would never have known existed. The sort of thing that would make a carpenter give up, declare his inadequacies, and dedicate the entire rest of his life to apprenticeship.

And even here, blood was spilled. Doors to the inner apartments were thrust open. More well-armoured men, with red horsehair running down the full length of their helmets, lay dead on the floor. Just them. No other corpses joined them. Slain without resistance.

Edward saw the remnants of a sword that had been cleaved in two, and he shuddered.

Around the corner of an open door, Edward saw the head of a peaking child. His eyes widened. "Commander," Edward said, calling out to Kaya.

Finally, Kaya’s face did soften. Regret there. He paused in place for just a moment, before eventually shaking his head. "This tower is full of civilians. In conquering it, we exposed them to the harsh realities of bloodshed. King Patrick has ordered all noncombatants to their room."

"And if they don’t obey, like that child over there?" Edward asked.

"He is not the sort of man to strike at those that would not strike at him," Kaya said. "He wields enough strength that he need not fear them. He is strong enough that true justice can run its course."

"True justice..." Edward murmured to himself, as the took the stairs to the next floor.

Up and up they went. More evidence of life. Noblemen now, with golden chains hanging around their necks, and ruby rings on their fingers, looking around doorways, and flinching back inside when they saw Kaya. Such fear in their eyes. Faces as white as ghosts. Compared to the number of corpses that lay outside, the number of guards in here was precious few. The amount of killing done was almost shockingly little. Guards dead on each floor, it was true, but for the population of the tower – there must have been hundreds of high ranking nobles and their families housed in there – the number of deaths was not a great deal.

An impossible number of floors. By that point, Edward had lost count. He dismissed the nobles in the way that Kaya had. He saw not a single corpse wearing civilian clothing. He had to trust that it was true what the Commander had announced – that there was such a lack of fear for what the nobility could accomplish, that King Patrick did not even bother to restrain them.

"YOU THERE!" Came a shout. From their position above ground, when Edward looked out of the stained glass windows, he would have supposed them to be nearing the top. The army beneath was growing smaller. He neglected to look too much at the scenery now. He followed the will of his body, and climbed ever higher.

Only when that shout had come had he and a dispassionate looking Kaya dared to turn around.

A nobleman that had found his anger, it seemed. Long flowing purple robes, with silver and gold jewelled chains bobbing around his neck, and a bald head throbbing with fury. It was his sword that they looked at, however, held in a single hand, as he came striding towards them.

"YOU WAIT THERE!" He shouted. He stepped in a pool of blood as he came nearer. He flinched from that, his distaste evident, but nearer he still came.

Kaya waited, his face an unreadable mask. He did not draw for any sort of weapon – but then, his weapons were attached already directly to his gauntlets. Instead, he simply folded his arms.

"What you have done here!" The man shouted. "What you have done here, it shall not be forgiven, not be forgotten! I am a Wynuum! I shall not allow this to come to pass without doing something about it!"

He came within swordsreach, and tried a swing. Kaya stood his ground, allowing it. The slash came down messily, looking for the top of Kaya’s head. With the back of his gauntlet, Kaya lazily brushed it aside, before driving his boot into the man’s stomach.

The nobleman collapsed, wheezing, the acid of his stomach dripping from his lips as he spasmed on the floor, unable to find his breath. "You ought to have done something half an hour ago," Kaya said dispassionately. "Let’s go," he said to Edward.

Edward could not feel pity for the man. That he had been foolish enough to draw his sword against someone like Kaya, and he was only winded for it – that was a great mercy. Through the actions of Oliver Patrick’s men, Edward thought he was beginning to get a feel of what Oliver Patrick himself was like. Enough strength that he could casually dismiss most threats – or was it disdain? Disdain enough for such men that he would not even honour them with a proper death?