A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 838: A Cutting Blow - Part 5

He saw the gold swirling around her. A blinding light. He saw the sparks racing up her forearms, and the light that blossomed in her chest. Oliver had seen the sight before in himself, and he’d even seen it in Jok, but seeing it in Nila, in that moment, when his heart was ready to shatter, he thought it might have been the most beautiful thing in the world.

She gave him a look that was half a smile, and half an embarrassed shrug, and then she collapsed headfirst into the snow.

Oliver didn’t need to think. There was little he could do for the dead, and much he could do for the living. His mind had already been screaming at him for well over five minutes that his efforts were futile, and that his mistake was irreversible.

"Nila…" He said, reaching her, more than a touch of concern in his voice.

"Just… tired," she told him truthfully. "You make me push myself… so hard."

"You hit him," Oliver said, a little stupidly. In truth, he was still stupefied. The distance that she’d made that shot at should have been impossible. Especially with that little bow of hers, and with her little arms. The Second Boundary man was well out of her range.

"I didn’t," Nila said. "He walked back inside the fort."

"You hit him all the same," Oliver said.

"You haven’t hit something unless you put it out of its misery," Nila said. "It was a failure."

"No," Oliver said, his voice hard. "No. It was not that. You have given me something in return for my mistake. I will not have you call it a failure."

He grasped her hand to see. The sparkling was fading now. Nila looked surprised at the forwardness of the gesture, but she yielded to it all the same. The look in her eyes told Oliver that she could not see what he was seeing. As beautiful as those golden sparks were, their mistress did not notice their existence.

"She is almost there," Claudia said, answering his unasked question for him. "She put her fingers to the edge of the Boundary. Something dramatic, and Nila Felder will break her way through."

"Pah," Ingolsol said – but that was all he said. Somehow, a dismissive snort from Ingolsol seemed as good as a compliment from someone else. Usually, he’d be preparing to tear into someone, despite their success.

"Ow…" Nila said, wincing.

"Sorry," Oliver said, realizing that he’d been gripping her arm too tightly.

"Oliver," she said again, making sure his eyes were firmly on hers this time. "Are you okay?"

He didn’t respond. It wasn’t his job to be okay. He needed results. Today, he’d lost thirty lives, for no good reason other than his own mistakes.

"Don’t try to carry it all alone, Oliver," Nila said. "You did not even allow us to run with you. You didn’t need to say a word for us to know who you blamed. You were ready to face those arrows and storm those walls yourself, weren’t you?"

He had no defence for that either. His mind was not clear. Two emotional extremes of fighting only made his discontent worse. To see in Nila that progress which he himself so cherished. To see her, humble girl that she was, so near to achieving something that even the Ministers of the Academy judged impossible at their age, how could he not be moved?

But in the same token, thirty lives had been snuffed out and thirty families had lost their sons and husbands by a single mistake of his. That was not something he could process in an instant.

"For now, let’s meet with Lord Idris," Nila said, recovering her breath enough to stand. "We shall talk, and we’ll see this problem through."

…

…

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Verdant had never seen his Lord so distressed. He’d seen him overwhelmed by rage when injustice after injustice had been pile atop him, and he’d seen him so physically drained that he looked to be on the gates of death, but never had he seen him like this.

When he’d arrived to find Lady Felder tending to him, and he’d seen the state of his Lord’s expression, Verdant had felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. Those eyes of his had made him keep a certain distance from people for the longest time, and for good reason. To be able to see a man so clearly that you could feel his pain second-hand was not at all times a blessing.

He felt sick from the strength of his Lord’s feelings.

’How can he even stand?’ Verdant wondered, knowing that what he felt was merely a fraction of what Oliver Patrick had.

When the men arrived, however, Oliver had straightened up, and given Verdant an almost cold assessment of the situation.

"We have lost thirty men," Oliver said. "The enemy holds men of a strength matching your own, Verdant. Perhaps even exceeding it. Nila managed to strike him with an arrow as he left – that is our only recourse."

In response to Oliver’s strength, Verdant had forged forward to point to hope. "Ah, indeed. We did not arrive expecting to get through unscathed, I’m sure the men who were caught knew that as well as we. But, if we have succeeded in diminishing the strength of one of the enemy’s major tools, that is a victory, I say. The man’s combat capacity will be greatly diminished with one arm."

"As will our own be, by the loss of thirty men," Oliver said, somehow managing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Have the horses brought, and have their bodies carried back. We will hold their funeral tonight.

…

…

The sombre mood was all but overwhelming. None were more sombre than Oliver Patrick himself.

In place of graves, they burned the bodies of the soldiers on a pyre in the centre of the clearing. The men gathered round, grimly acknowledging their departure. Not a tear was shed – trained soldiers could not allow themselves to do such things, and these were Skullic’s men that had died. Yet, even without tears, the strained expressions on their faces said more than tears ever could.