A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Merchant – you go with them. Both as a prisoner, and as an overseer. I trust that you will ensure there and no problems, mm? What with the weight that you already have hanging over your neck," Lombard said.

Greeves looked regretfully toward Charlotte after the order he was given, and then he rose to his feet, and nodded towards the Captain. But even as he moved, Loriel still did not budge. She tightly grasped Charlotte's hand, crying a seemingly endless stream of tears.

"C'mon, Loriel, let's go," Greeves said quietly. "We'll bury her later. First, we need to make it out alive ourselves, right? Charlotte wouldn't want to see you die alongside her – I can't say she'd think the same about me, but that's the way it goes."

He attempted a grim joke even as he consoled her, but Loriel did crack even the slightest hint of a smile. She clung to Charlotte even tighter, as she cried out her pain.

A party of soldiers had stepped forth, sympathetic looks on their faces. They looked to Greeves for confirmation, apparently not sure whether they should pry the grieving girl away. With a pained look, Greeves nodded his permission, as the soldiers slowly and carefully pulled her away.

But Loriel resisted all the while. Like an abused puppy, she cried out, even as they attempted to treat her tenderly. Beam's heart felt a pang at the sight, and his fist clenched once more.

The man who had killed Charlotte was dead, yet he didn't feel the slightest ounce of satisfaction. The girl was still dead, after all – they had merely added to the pool of blood that had been spilt.

With Loriel screaming out curses, and the soldiers dragging her away, and Greeves walking with his head hung behind them, the party disappeared in the distance, towards the other side of camp.

"Now then – this needs cleaning up," Lombard said. "Tolsey, see to it. Have the girl's corpse kept for the villagers to bury. We'll burn out dead on the pyre tonight."

"Sir!" Tolsey said with a salute, before moving to carry out what he was instructed with.

"And you boy," the Captain said. "You come with me a moment. They have need for you on the battlefront – but I have a feeling if I do not walk you there myself, then you will not arrive."

Beam's fist was clenched tightly, but he assented to the order, following along behind Lombard.

As soon as they were the shortest distance away from the crowd, Lombard spoke suddenly and emphatically. "You will see that it has already begun, mm? The calamity that your master spoke of."

Beam froze at that, momentarily stunned. He'd been so caught up in the moment, in seeing the body in front of him, the dead, and his failures, that he'd nearly forgotten about the bigger picture. Granted, it had only been a few moments since he had woken up, but he couldn't help but think that he had blundered.

"You feel responsible for the death of the girl?" Lombard noted as he glanced over at him as they walked. "Interesting. Though I would warn you to harden your heart – there will be many more dead before this conflict is over. It has not yet even truly begun, after all."

"Why did you allow the prostitutes back into camp?" Beam asked suddenly. "There had been trouble with them already. Why did you allow for more?"

Lombard glanced at him. "A blunder on my part, I suppose. I did not expect that my men could have their lives taken from them when they were already on guard. And yet It happened. Somehow, trained soldiers were overpowered by mere women of the night, despite knowing that they should be on guard – it pushes me towards a different, stranger interpretation of these events.

I doubt the involvement of the prostitutes at all, to be frank."

Even after receiving an answer like that, Beam couldn't be satisfied. He'd known from the start that Lombad had hardly believed the prostitutes had committed the murders themselves. He had merely been using the obvious position to leverage a bit more authority over Greeves, and have him obey him.

"I still do not know why you would take the risk," Beam said.

"You seek to blame me, boy?" Lombard asked, noting how intense Beam's line of questioning had gotten. "There is an emotionalness to you today, one that I did not expect. Do you not recall the magnitude of enemy that we are facing? I do not deny that I blundered – that I likely should not have let the prostitutes back inside the camp, even as my men asked for it.

But do you truly think the night would have been an uneventful one if I had not, mm?"

Being accused of being emotional, Beam was once more forced to reevaluate himself. He twisted his lips in annoyance. He could not deny the anger that coursed through him. It was more than it normally might be. More than he really knew what to deal with. He couldn't bear to set it aside.

"No… I don't blame you. If I had been more alert, I could have stopped it from happening. I should have been awake," Beam said bitterly.

"That too is unhelpful," Lombard told him. "I'm afraid, in battle, just because you make a single mistake, the war does not suddenly pause. It does not offer you due time to reflect. That comes when the battle is over – or when you're dead. You're forced to fight against what is in front of you.

If you continue to wallow in this mistake of yours, and curse your weakness – then you will indeed become weaker, and more people will die."

"…I guess so," Beam could do nothing but agree.

"You will not forget the people that died on your watch – and nor should you. Do what you can to ensure no one else dies," Lombard said, unashamedly putting that kind of pressure on a boy that was less than half his age. And he did so with confidence – knowing that this here was the pupil of Dominus Patrick. Great things were to be expected of him.

They arrived at the battlefront, and already the soldiers were engaged in fierce fighting. The changing of shifts had not occurred yet. In other words, they were late.

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