"Go there," Blackwell said, his voice hardening into a tone of command, "and I give you the task of breaking through the Third Boundary."
"My Lord…" Lombard began to interrupt.
"I know what you an to say, Lombard. It is not a thing that is done easily, nor even entirely by intention. But sothing tells that boy will manage it, if he has a mind to."
"The Third Boundary? To what end?" Oliver asked. He desired strength, and he would have pursued the Third Boundary regardless, but still, he raised the question.
"To the end of serving better. So that in these two and a half years of waiting, I have reason to raise you up. On your eighteenth birthday, you will co and fight under . If you've achieved the Third Boundary by that ti, a hundred n will be waiting for you – and I'll teach you how to command."
A sudden realization ran through Oliver, as he saw the sparkle in Lord Blackwell's eyes, and he began to realize just who he was talking to. He gulped.
"Lord Blackwell…" He dared to ask. "How many n do you command?"
The Lord seed surprised by the question, but he must have seen Oliver's intent through it, for his mouth once more broadened into a smile – but this was a toothy smile, that showed his fangs, unlike the amiable smiles he had shown earlier. This was the smile of a predator. This man was one of the Tigers of the Stormfront.
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"Ten thousand n are loyal to ," Blackwell inford him, wearing that sa smile. "When I travel East, to relieve the frontline, they will call Grand General, and I'll be in command of thirty thousand." He must have seen the look of startlent on Oliver's face, for he laughed. "Indeed boy – it is as you think. Varsharn's blessing – you felt it on two hundred n, did you not?
Likely the barest little tingle. Now, imagine the strength of thirty thousand, in the hands of an experienced commander, one that knows how to use it? These swordsn speak of Claudia's Boundaries – we Generals know of sothing greater. A general in command of thirty thousand? There's a man that exceeds the Tenth Boundary, without need of Claudia's blessing to prove it."
The blessings of the Gods ought to have been complicated. At one point, re months before, Beam had first been introduced to them. He'd fallen on them by accident, and was blessed by Claudia, as a world that was once closed to him finally began to open up once more.
It was only Claudia's blessing that he knew – but he'd felt the edges of Angrith's as he seized command of the villagers. It was just the barest thing, as Blackwell had said, but it was there, and it was electrifying. To have that be increased anymore… he shuddered to think.
A complicated marital world, but Oliver thought he understood it.
'So these are the n,' he thought. 'The n that cause the Earth to shake and tremble, when they march their armies, and conquer all in their path. These are the n that history rembers.'
"The other Generals would scold you for sharing such things," Lombard reminded him, though he himself didn't seem particularly bothered by the fact. He too was looking at Oliver, his eyes were expectant. He could see the want on the boy's face, as he dread of a future that might have been his.
"Let them complain," Lord Blackwell said. "You have brought a gift of the finest sought. You, and Dominus that raised him. Here's a boy that's worth breaking a few rules for. Tell , then, Oliver. Will you go to The Academy?"
"I will," Oliver said, much more quickly than before.
For the second ti in a short few days, Oliver was once again in an unfamiliar room, amongst an unfamiliar bed, with unfamiliar grey walls, unfamiliar drapes, wearing the unfamiliar Owlish sigil in a tal pin on his chest – a gift from Lord Blackwell.
The room had been silent for a short few monts. Oliver stood, not wishing to break the silence of his own making.
It was a smaller room than the one Lombard had allowed him to rest in, during his short stay in the Captain's company, but this room, the lady had assured him was his.
He didn't know whether she was ant to be one of the professors, or whether she was a re serving lady, but not wishing to offend soone before he had even gotten started, Oliver had been as polite as he could have been, in a mute sort of way, hiding any obvious feelings of discontentnt that he might have had.
But now that he was left alone, he could not hold the quickening of his chest, as he regarded the simple, single bed, and the small, rather bare room.
A smile lit his lips then. For this room, this was his. The earlier woman had said so. She had even insisted that he decorate it.
"Most noble children have their servants decorate their rooms to make them more comfortable before the term starts, but seeing as you are joining us halfway through the year… well, I'm sure you'll be able to make it comfortable soon enough," she had told him.
Oliver wasn't so sure that he really needed it to be made more comfortable. This was his. A room of his own. A room of stone, with even stone on the floor. It was a remarkable upgrade to what he was used to – that was, living on the forest floor.
Even the house that he had rented from Greeves could not match it. That house had been more of a lean-to than a true property. There was an endless draft, no flooring to rescue him from the ground, and even the roof itself had been unreliable.
But this was a room of the finest sort. A room with a ceiling that he would never be able to reach, no matter how high he jumped. Even if he had stood on Judas' shoulders, he wouldn't have been able to touch it.
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