Capítulo 2065: Salt Towers – Part 4
“…” General Blackthorn grunted his agreent. He said no more than he needed to, lest he admit his own lack of understanding. In his mind, it was a waste of ti. They were throwing away the extra ti they had without Fitzer away, all to improve a few dents in the road. General Blackthorn’s driver was quality enough that they didn’t need to worry about such things – but then, he supposed, King Patrick and Verdant Idris could be excused for not knowing that such a man existed.
He left the Patrick n to their ponderings. There was a general air of excitent leaking from them. An enthusiasm from their King that was proving infectious. If Blackthorn did not know any better, he would have supposed that the Patrick King delighted in these pre-battle preparations.
“Diocles,” he said, finding his man. Not even a man of rank – an ordinary soldier, owing to the man’s strange temperant. An oddity he was, for the likes of the Blackthorn army. If not for his grit, he would never have been able to make it through their training.
“General,” the man saluted with a crispness. He was not a big man. Smaller than most Blackthorn soldiers, light of build. The armour that he wore seed to dwarf him, like a child wearing his father’s clothing. Yet he moved with the lightness of a man that knew himself to be unencumbered.
“I’ve a chariot for you,” General Blackthorn said. “If you believe yourself to have the skill to drive it.”
“The battering ram?” Diocles asked, still holding his salute, with his fingers pressed up against his temple. His mouth widened in a grin.
General Blackthorn nodded. “Do you suppose you can see it guided towards the gates of our enemy – without killing yourself in the process? It will be a difficult task. Not only to navigate those roads, but to see yourself and your horses freed from their harnesses at the right mont, lest you go running headfirst into the walls yourself.”
“With ease, General,” Diocles said confidently. The sort of cockiness that in any other man Blackthorn would have seen stomped out. He had to admit, even in this man, he’d tried to see it stamped out. He was unique. An oddity. If only he would allow himself to be molded into sothing more than he was, to submit properly to his General’s will, and beco as all other Blackthorn soldiers were – he could have been great indeed. It was his own hand that kept him to the rank of re soldier, despite being of the Second Boundary. Yet the man did not seem to mind. “It would be my honour to build you the bridge that allows you access to this city.”
The man had the personality of a hound. One would not have known the extent of the struggles he endured, rely in keeping up with the other Blackthorn n, despite carrying himself as an outsider, not from the happiness that exuded him.
“Dog,” ca a voice, almost echoing what Blackthorn himself was thinking, though the General’s fondness for Diocles would never have allowed himself to say it so harshly.
A youth was at his side, of the age of King Patrick, but without the crown, nor the personality. He locked eyes with Diocles, and gave that pronunciation accusingly, his body rigid with the notion of challenge. He oozed hostility.
“That I might be,” Diocles said, nodding humbly, not caring in the least about Gar’s threat.
“You, Sword,” Blackthorn said, grabbing the youth with a firm hand on his soldier. “Your place is not here. Return to your master.”
“Gar not listen to you,” Gar said, turning on him. “Gar does what Gar wants, till Oliver tells Gar no.”
“He would tell you no, if he could see what you’re up to,” General Blackthorn said. “Shall I tell him for you?”
He felt less a General, and more a teacher, threatening to tell a parent’s child about their naughtiness. That did seem to be the right way of dealing with Gar, however, for even though he glared back, he was soon stalking away, his sword clapping against his leg as he went.
“Patrick soldiers,” General Blackthorn said, shaking his head. They were all sothing strange, in one way or another. To him, the Patrick army was as much like a barn of different strange farm animals as anything else. Trying to keep a handle on that zoo was sothing that would have driven him insane, even if he could enjoy their magnificent strength as a result.
If the Minister of Blades were still with them, then at least he would have one sensible ally that he could talk to. A normal human being, without the strangeness that the Patrick n inflicted. King Patrick himself was what he was. He was so many years Blackthorn’s younger, and talking to him, and trying to understand him, was like trying to talk to a storm. He was always changing. Each day with him was different, it was impossible to keep up.
The Minister and his wife had returned back to his lands temporarily, in the wake of the battle with Tavar, supposing their work to be done for the ti being, and hoping that they could raise up new numbers to replace what they had left. If all went to plan, and King Patrick’s ssages had reached him, then General Blackthorn supposed that man would be back on his way towards Ernest by now, to reinforce Hod. Far too far away to deal with the current chaos.
If the Patrick n were bad, then the Treeants were worse. General Blackthorn still did not know their place properly in the army. They numbered more than the Patrick n, but hardly seed entirely integrated with them. They camped alone, and often found themselves in disputes with the other soldiers.
They were a friction point that worried General Blackthorn. He’d ntioned as much to King Patrick, sohow finding himself in the position of the worried advisor, but the King’s reaction had been beyond mild. “Hm? I think they’re integrating themselves quite well, don’t you?”
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