A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

There was a swiftness, and fluidity to that that he could recognize. It was awkward with the bow in his face, trying to line it up where it should be. He notched the arrow in the string, and made sure that it aligned with the target, as best he could, though it was hard to tell. He wondered if he just lacked the eyes for the thing – perception had ever been his greatest weakness.

He did not allow those doubts to distract him for long. Satisfied that he had lined it up as well as he could, he drew the string back, not quickly, but steadily. He did it with as much grace as he could muster, so that he did not change the aim of his prepositioned arrow. This time he took care to pull his cheek away from the string, and then he shot.

The same rush of air, as the arrow exploded from the bowstring, the same terrible thud, like a giant demanding to be let inside. The professor was not the only one watching. Gargon stealthily looked over, after placing his own shot, securing the centre of the bullseye.

He ignored the excited exclamations of the two girls in his group, and instead narrowed his eyes in irritation, when he saw where Oliver's had landed.

It was not the centre of the bullseye – far from it, it was just barely on the edge. But it was touching red, and that was what mattered.

The professor gave him an appraising look. "You're more thoughtful than I'd heard your father to be," she said. "Your instincts are right for it. I saw you attempt to pick your shot before you pulled your string – that's a technique that will serve you well, should you master it. It's the only proper way to fire as you move. Discover hidden content at empire

Had you not been so afraid of clipping your cheek again, you wouldn't have sent it astray."

She prodded with a merciless finger where the string had left a mark, letting out a loud laugh at his complaint.

"Ow," Oliver said, though he was smiling too.

…

…

"Ow…" Oliver said, as someone prodded the mark on his cheek for a second time.

"A bowstring, then?" Verdant asked, as he joined Oliver in the lunch queue.

"Good guess… What are you doing here? I thought the staff had their own meal times," Oliver said.

Verdant merely smiled at that. "My duties here are few, and my time is flexible. You're one of the few interesting things here, Young Wolf. It's a given that I would make time for that."

The two of them collected their trays from the cooks. Oliver gave them a nod. The cooks served him with enthusiasm every time he went for a meal. They seemed excited to see someone take an interest in the food that they were serving.

The other nobles seemed to take the food quality for granted, but to Oliver – for whom unspiced meat in the mountains had been the norm for so long – they were immensely rewarding. Better even that the food he'd had at Lombard's mansion.

Today was some sort of pastry dish, that the cook had informed he had salted beef inside. The cook was beginning to learn that beef was a favourite of Oliver's. It had been a rarity in his pallet in Solgrim. Something he'd have to buy, for there was no chance of hunting it.

That beef pastry, and a cake with a strawberry on top of it, it was more than enough to melt his heart from the grievances of the last couple of days, and make him once again appreciate the position he was in. In a rare moment of feeling, he extended his thanks to Verdant.

"Thank you, by the way," he said. "For your assistance yesterday. I imagine the Trials would have been considerably more uncomfortable without you there."

The priest smiled at that. "And I had thought that my presence might have bothered you. You seemed to be quite content in your own company there for a while."

Oliver merely shrugged. "It was pleasant to train freely like that, for the first time in a while. But I've been giving thought to what you said. About gathering a Force. I don't know quite how I need to go about doing that, but I think I should start doing it soon, to help thaw this attitude everyone has to the name Patrick."

"I think that is a wise course, Young Wolf," Verdant agreed. "I would be happy to assist you with it… Ah, it's those boys again…" He said, noting the yellow shirts that he'd seen waiting behind yesterday, after most of the others had already left.

"Who?" Oliver turned to where Verdant had nodded. "Oh, Kaya," he said, recognizing the messy curly hair of the boy on the bench to their left. The youth spun around upon hearing his name, gravy still around his mouth.

"Who—Ser Patrick!" He gasped. "You're up already? We saw the Trial… It looked bad… Are you sure you're meant to be walking about?"

Oliver just shrugged. "I didn't want to miss any lectures. I've only been here a couple of days, after all." He noticed Jorah sitting on the opposite side of the table, and Karesh next to him. "I heard you both came to watch the Trial."

The blonde boy looked uncomfortable at that. "It seemed disrespectful to stay and wait, I told the others, but Karesh and Kaya insisted on it… at least until the others had left."

Karesh nodded deeply from Jorah's right. The boy was so big Oliver wondered how he could have missed him. "Ser Patrick," the clumsy youth said, shaking his head. For some reason he looked close to crying. "That was… That was… Big."

His lack of vocabulary didn't do much to drive his point home, but the tears he wiped away on his sleeve did.

Jorah looked uncomfortable. "As I said, we didn't mean any disrespect."

"I did not recognize anything but respect from your group," Verdant affirmed. "Honourable of you – to encourage a comrade that is suffering."

"Indeed. I didn't realize you were there. My Master always pointed out that my lack of awareness was my weakness, but thank you for your show of support regardless," Oliver said.