Chapter 1919: Poison Fangs - Part 1
"Tempest, Verdant, that is my name," Oliver said. "I share no blood with Dominus Patrick. He was my teacher."
Verdant withdrew his eyes. Oliver drove his heels into his horse, intending to breach the edge of Hod’s engagement with the enemy. To secure an attack on the rear of Tiberius’ men as he reunited with his own forces. Verdant kept pace, surprising him. Oliver looked over. The man’s expression was as serious as Oliver had ever seen it. Oliver waited, expecting that harsh judgement from the man who had already said such harsh things.
"Your grandness, my Lord, it overwhelms me."
"What?" Oliver said, caught off guard. Not only for what he said, but for the title that Verdant gave him.
"You are a peasant by birth, are you not?" Verdant said, grinning wildly now.
"I am," Oliver said strangely lucid, but almost as frightened of Verdant as he had begun to grow frightened of Tiberius.
"Then, you are a creature beyond even my reckoning," Verdant said. "You have eternally accused me of having too high an opinion of you – but now it is evident. My opinion of you has never been high enough. Those scars on your back, those are the marks of a slave, are they not?"
"They are," Oliver said.
"Then you are my Lord," Verdant said. "You shall remain that forever, with a certainty. There is none that I would rather serve than you. Your story shall not end here – I do not know how we shall overcome that which is in front of us, but now I am certain that we shall. I thank you my Lord, for allowing me into your confidence."
Chapter 29 – Poison Fangs
Queen Asabel did not die quickly. Tiberius made sure of that. She was both the strength that bound Blackwell’s grand force together, and in the end, she was the very reason that it had weakened.
There were many pleasures that Tiberius made sure to snatch out of the world whilst he was still existent in it. Pleasures guaranteed to him by his title of Emperor. But exacting the suffering that he did on the rebellious army of Queen Asabel and General Blackwell, few pleasures had come close to that.
For the mark that Karstly had left on his cheek, Tiberius had made sure to see him pay. The man had broken even more quickly than the rest. Tiberius would not have thought that either. But the collapse of Asabel had been his own collapse. Tiberius’ blade had found his gut, and left him dying by the side of his saddle, until Tiberius had dealt with the rest of the army, and could pay him the parting gift of a short amount of torture.