Chapter 1921: Poison Fangs - Part 3
"I will crush the last of their resistance," Tiberius said. "Oliver Patrick marches east. He will be there on the morrow. He will see the heads of his fallen comrades, and he will be defeated. Need you a more compelling vision of the future than that, strategist? Or will I have to snatch these men away from you regardless?"
Blake paused, not giving his response too hurriedly, despite the clear irritation written on Tiberius’ face. The man was impatience personified. For a commander that had won such a grand victory, he hardly seemed to be too happy about it.
"Your current remaining number?" Blake paused. "Could you not finish the job with those?"
"Six thousand?" Tiberius snorted. "I could. But I won’t. I wish for your reinforcements, and you will give them to me."
"If all you say is true, then this war might be over tomorrow. What can I say to the High King to reassure him against you?" Blake said.
"Whatever lies you choose," Tiberius said. "It makes no difference. His crown shall be mine regardless, just as your men shall be mine."
...
...
A weakness that he had dared not mention for such a time, for fear of the reaction. Only for it to be delivered so easily, and accepted, not only easily, but with praise along with it. Oliver slowed his mount despite himself, even for the rush that they were in. So cruelly Verdant had spoken just minutes before – and he was the same man that so warmly proclaimed his worth.
"...Gods be damned, Verdant, I’m glad it’s you," Oliver said, quite honestly. Even after all these years, he found he could not properly understand the man. All he said seemed to be of the realm of the cryptic, and yet, when it came down to it, there was none more loyal than he.
"Tempest," came a voice next to him, closer than he would have liked. "Makes sense."