A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Chapter 552 The Punishment For Living - Part 3

"That's not how the students will see it," Jolamire sniffed. "That's not how the Lords will see it either, nor the Silver Kings. The High King himself will be suspicious. Too much favour has been granted to Oliver Patrick already. You allowed him off lightly for striking a teacher. Do you want the Academy to be swamped by accusations of favouritism? Explore hidden tales at empire

Because that's what will happen."

"And when they do, you need simply make a list, good General," Hod said with a smile, "for those are the very same fools that are running out once great kingdom straight into the ground."

Jolamire shot the Minister of Logic a most venomous smile. "Another treasonous remark, Minister. Is this evening to be one full of treason?"

"Is that what you are accusing Oliver Patrick of?" General Tavar asked carefully. "State your reasoning."

"To spill blood within the Academy – how can that not be treason? And not just treason, treason of the highest sort. Treason against the Silver Kings as well as the High King – for this is one of the few institutions in which they share equal parts," Jolamire said.

"Is the fault not with the assassins?" Galvin pointed out, just as Tavar had said before.

"The fact remains, it was Oliver Patrick who spilt blood. It was he that broke the peace we have built up here. Whether or not he was in the right is irrelevant. He's a centre for unrest. It's barely been a handful of weeks since his last incident, and look where we are now," Jolamire said. "No, General, I'm afraid you cannot let this one slide.

They will demand justice."

"Justice?" Hod repeated with a laugh. "What a world, my lovely Jolamire. See, the trouble is, you should have continued jewelling – because you're a jeweller. If we'd left the thinking to thinkers, I can't imagine we would be in such a ridiculous spot."

Jolamire gave him a seething look, but did not have the sense to reply. "Give the order, Tavar, before things get out of hand. A trial must be had, at the very least. He needs chaining."

Tavar looked remorseful as he glanced towards Oliver. He was still wearing his armour, and he had his sword sheathed at his hip. He very much looked the image of his title of General. It was no wonder the guardsmen respected him. As they came in to replace Asabel's men, they all gave him crisp salutes. He nodded to them.

"I suppose… there might not be a choice," Tavar said regretfully. "Lord Blackwell is not going to like this. A terrible time for it to come, at this point in our campaign… but I see no other way. Gavlin, if you would."

The Minister of Blades hesitated. He seemed to be looking towards Hod pleadingly, begging him to come up with a counterpoint, but Hod could only shrug, as he stepped back out of the way.

With a sigh, Gavlin took the wound-up shackles from a nearby guardsman's waist, and he stepped in front of Oliver. He'd caught snippets of their conversation, but he didn't fully understand their intentions – but with the shackles on display in front of him, there wasn't much talking that needed to be done.

His retainers seemed to be more shocked than he was. "Hang on—" Jorah said, forgetting himself, stepping in front of Oliver protectively. Karesh and Kaya swiftly moved to follow, and Karesh in particular was not doing a good job of hiding his anger.

"I think you've got the wrong man, Minister," Karesh said gruffly. "The assassins are over there, dead."

Gavlin did not berate them for their defence. He merely stood, waiting, patiently, his face unreadable now, like a mask of stone, as he carried out his duty. He said nothing, merely holding those shackles extended in front of him until they were ready.

"Minister of Blades…" Asabel inserted herself carefully into the conversation, glancing wearily at the chains dangling from his hands. "I can vouch for Ser Patrick – he was set upon by assassins. There should be no doubt of that, given the state of the scene. Might I ask why..?"

"Politics," Gavlin said, his voice quiet enough that none but their small group could overhear. Asabel bit her lip, as her shoulders fell.

"…If I were to declare him under my protection, as a Princess of the Pendragons, would that change matters?" She asked.

"…I fear not," Gavlin said. "Not yet, Your Highness."

"And so it happens again…" Asabel said mournfully, glancing at Oliver. She dared not look him in the eye. Lancelot hung nearby, carefully watching. Even though he seemed to have the slightest bit of anger on his face, but he did not yet move to intervene.

Whatever 'happening again' meant, Oliver did not know. Nor did it seem as though he would have the time to enquire about such things. He eyed the chains in front of him, the shackles that were to be put about his wrists. For him, those had a different meaning. Not prisoner, but slave. Once more they sought to take his freedom from him.

The trickle of rage left over from combat hung near the surface, like a wolf still unsatisfied. The shackles did a good job at provoking it, but sense was beginning to return to the body of Oliver Patrick, and he restrained himself. With a great effort of will, he pushed down the apprehension, and sniffed.

In this, tonight at least, he could be certain that he had not misstepped. Mistakes had been made aplenty by him over the course of the last few weeks, but he did not count this as one of them. Though Ingolsol had been allowed to dance, he did so on the side of reason. None could fault that – or none should have been able to.

"It's fine," he told his retainers. "Stand down. Attend to Verdant. He'll give you your orders now."

"But—" Karesh tried to interrupt, still not moving from his spot.

"Karesh," Oliver said firmly, "don't make it worse."

It took a significant amount of urging to finally get the large youth to step aside. When he did, Oliver caught a glimpse of Asabel's defeated expression, as she hung off to the side, her hands clutching the side of her dress, and her eyes cast down towards the floor.

He held out his hands towards Galvin, and with a swift click, one of the shackles was already about his wrist, tightening in place, digging in, despite the layers of clothing that stood in their way. The other side soon followed, as he was completely disarmed.