A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

He dodged it easily. The trees were so dense that it was harder to get hit by an arrow than it was to dodge it. The shaft thudded into the tree behind him, quivering as it went.

Oliver traced the trajectory back through the short crop of trees, all the way towards the thick trunk of a particularly ancient tree, where those earlier footprints laid to. He followed the trunk upwards, drawn by the sound of a man frantically trying to notch another arrow and he spotted his prey, covered in spruce bows that he'd sawn off.

Had he not been moving and had the footprints not pointed so clearly towards that tree, it would have been near impossible to track him.

He thundered towards the tree and launched himself up onto the thick lower branches, fighting his way through the abundance of thin fresh growth that clawed at his face as he tried to pull himself upwards.

He wasn't particularly worried about an arrow being sent his way. The angle of the man's perch didn't favour shooting downwards. There were far too many branches in the way for him to get a clean shot.

"Come up any further and I'll cut yer fingers off!" The man threatened once Oliver had come a distance. He'd cast off his camouflage, revealing what he was as he stood upright on his branch – a scruffy looking brigand, well on in his years, with more wrinkles on his brow than teeth in his mouth.

"Should have kept your bow drawn," Oliver told him, fearlessly climbing up the last few branches between them, until he was level with the man, facing off against him on a branch of his own.

The axe in his hand made him look like a Yarmdon, but then, everything of late had been looking like a Yarmdon to Oliver. Ever since his battle against them, he'd seen traces of them even in the halls of the noble Academy. They haunted his dreams and his daydreams, even though he feared them not.

Oliver met the man's eyes, his pupils dancing with Ingolsol's gold as the Dark God urged him onwards. He could feel the fear permeating from the man like a bad smell. It swam about his heart like a dark fog, thick like chimney smoke. Oliver had a feeling for its quantities now, just as he was beginning to have a grasp of Ingolsol's power.

"Oh, they've arrived," Oliver said calmly, glancing back towards the ground. The bandit followed his gaze and looked towards the floor. In an instant, Oliver closed the distance between them, his sword flat against the man's neck. The man gulped, hardly realizing that he'd been tricked. His thoughts ran towards death and the fear in his heart tripled.

Everything had grown as a result of Oliver crossing the Third Boundary – that included his grasp on Ingolsol's power. Oliver knew not what it was, but it had excited Dominus to no end. The power to make use of fear, and make use of it Oliver did.

"Tell me, how many of you are there," Oliver commanded. In such a situation, with a sword against his neck, any man might have told the truth, hoping to have his life spared. But with Ingolsol's mysterious power at work, it made a reply a certainty. The tension left the man somewhat, as he submitted to Oliver's hold of him.

"Two," the man said, his talking making the sword tight against his throat draw blood. "Including me, so one more."

"Where are the rest of you?"

"In the bowl, preparing the trap."

"What trap?"

"The forest runs around in front of the fort's gates. We've got half our men in there," the man said. "Planning to hit you from the back once you commit all your soldiers to taking the gate."

"Good. And where's that last archer?"

"Further down. A thick tree, like this one. He hid his footprints, though. Told me to do the same. Used a spruce bow as a broom. I wonder if it's still there."

"You've been very useful," Oliver told him. "Do you fancy fighting for me?"

"Yes," the man said, his voice cold, without a shred of emotion. Oliver slowly, testingly, took the sword away from the man's throat. The fear lessened. Some sort of life returned to his eyes.

"Hang on what are you—"

Oliver's sword plunged through his chest before his axe arm could come up. With a boot, he kicked the man from the tree, into the soft snow below, tutting in disappointment as he did so.

"Different," he murmured to himself, flecking his fingers, as though he was holding something there. They felt oddly tingly. He didn't think it was because of the cold – he was wearing the gloves that Blackthorn had bought him, after all.

The power of the Third Boundary felt endless. Like a bottomless well. He hardly knew where to begin testing it all. Of course, the power wasn't mere power itself, it was the ability to make progress more quickly, to move forward at a more alarming rate.

In that, the importance lay in the questions, and in dedicating his time to the right things, so he could get the results of his new placement more quickly.

There was an immense amount of complexity in that, though. Oliver had no idea where to start. It was much like his politics. He could formulate a plan and hope for the best, but there was no telling whether that was the most efficient way, not until he'd done it. He could reason all that he could, but he'd never truly know until he'd acted upon it.

In the end, it merely seemed as though something was better than nothing.

It was one problem amongst many. Like the fur needles that covered the forest floor, those problems were becoming innumerable. He lowered himself from the trees and stood over the dead man, noting the surprise in his cold dead eyes. Find exclusive stories on My Virtual Library Empire

Oliver looked up towards the sky, the same direction that the dead man had been looking in. It was an odd gesture, and likely a pointless one, for he could hardly see anything – nothing but a fraction of the grey snowy clouds and an immense amount of pine.