1102: Movents of the Battle Board – Part 5 1102: Movents of the Battle Board – Part 5 “Naw, I couldn’t give a fuck,” Firyr said, shrugging his shoulders, and all of a sudden the hostility in his eyes was gone.
“The Captain gave position anyway, and that’s why I was able to progress.
He recognized what I was good for, and he saw that I probably shouldn’t be trusted, but he trusted anyway.
He didn’t try to change , or chain down, he just said get stronger – and he pissing believed I could when he said it.
What am I ant to do in the face of that?
I was a slave before this, after tossing my life away.
And then soone gives the position of Commander.
What am I ant to do with that?” Yorick narrowed his eyes, thinking.
Was it because Firyr had been given the position of Commander that he had improved?
Or was it that Oliver had seen what he was capable of, and nudged him towards that higher role?
Whatever the cause was, it seed to Yorick that the result was more than evident.
“You must be disappointed,” Yorick said.
“For us new recruits to be so much weaker than the rest of you.” Firyr shrugged.
“None of my business.
I do what I do.
But the Boss – he seems to think that you’ll be of use.
So I’ll trust him in that.
I don’t suppose you’ll let him down, will ya, nobleman?” There Yorick stiffened.
It was the most casual choice of words from Firyr.
The spearman wasn’t even looking in Yorick’s direction anymore.
It was as if he was completely forgotten by him.
And yet he still managed to widen Yorick’s eyes.
“Trust?” He repeated to himself.
Why did that simple word weigh so heavily on his heart?
Why did it strike him as freshly as a cold glass of water after hours of battle?
He was surprised by his own desperateness as he heard it.
He could hardly believe it.
Surely there was no truth in that.
For all the n that Oliver Patrick held, all those veteran soldiers, there was no way that Oliver Patrick would see use in him.
He turned to look at the man, where Firyr had pointed him out before, but his eyes could not find him to confirm the truth of Firyr’s statent.
Instead, a voice arose from behind him.
“Practising the spear, Commander Yorick?” The man said, with his hands threaded behind his back.
Beside him, there stood Verdant Idris, as intimidating as ever, with that gaze of pale blue that seed likely to freeze even the warst of hearts.
“Y-yes, Captain!” Yorick said, hurriedly saluting.
Oliver studied him for a mont, looking him up and down.
There was a smile on his lips.
“You’ve a new look to you,” he said, nodding his approval.
“I wonder, do you yet have the greed enough, Yorick?
You have the strength, at least.
I’m looking forward to the next battle.
You’ve still more to show , do you not?
I would warn you against taking all your advice from Firyr here, though.
Your spirit lies in a different direction.” So Oliver said, as if his eyes could see through him.
Yorick had never realized it before, but there was the faintest tinge of the most disconcerting purple present in those strange stormy eyes that Oliver had.
“Yes… Captain!” Was all Yorick could manage to say.
He found himself strangely dumbfounded in the face of Oliver’s sudden appearance.
But for all that dumbfoundedness, he still found welling up in him the sudden desire to train, and the desire to improve.
Since capturing the Lonely Mountain, their supplies had ceased to be a problem.
That too included the problem of horses that they’d been facing.
During the battle with Khan, they’d lost more than a few of their mountains, and the Yorick cavalry division had ceased to be a true mounted unit at all.
Now, they had been restored to their forr glory, and Yorick knew that there was much that he could do to improve their effectiveness, if only he would apply himself.
“You have permission to use the horses, if you so wish,” Oliver said, as if seeing through him.
“Though I would warn against training too near the n if you wish to do mounted drills,” Verdant put in after him.
“They have a tendency to beco rowdy in the face of their training.” “Very well.
Thank you, Captain,” Yorick said, bowing his head, choosing not to ask how it was that they had guessed his intentions.
He supposed that it must have been written most obviously on his face, and there was naught he could do about that.
Seeing Yorick so excited, even a preoccupied Oliver could not help but smile as he walked away from him.
“He seems as if he’s beginning to see a degree of his own potential,” Verdant remarked.
“You’ve sparked alight another fla, it would seem, my Lord.” “We shall see about that, Verdant,” Oliver said.
“Though I do not think it is I that did it, rather the battle.
One can’t encounter the likes of Khan and Amion and those damn Scribe Soldiers without realizing how much room for improvent there is, if they wish to retain their lives in the battles to co.” Verdant said nothing on the matter further.
He had his own beliefs, of course, but he knew not to push them too aggressively.
“Do you still plan to speak with Lady Blackthorn, my Lord?
Or have matters changed now that you’ve seen the n training by themselves already?” “If I can find her,” Oliver said, looking amongst the rows of tents.
Lady Blackthorn had been placed on the other end of the encampnt to himself, along with her Blackthorn soldiers, and the attendants that she’d brought.
Often, though, throughout the day, she was more likely to be found nearer to Oliver’s side than her own.
“I don’t suppose she’s still asleep?” He murmured to himself.
The sun was already up.
Dawn had broken, but even he had to recognize that it was a little too early for most of his n.
The only reason they’d gotten up at all was because of the leaving of the first patrol.
If not for that, many of them would still be safe under their covers, fighting to throw off the last of the battle fatigue that they’d accumulated.
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