A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1095 Readying for Battle - Part 8
1095: Readying for Battle – Part 8
1095: Readying for Battle – Part 8
“What governs the battlefield, Lasha?” Oliver asked her suddenly.
It wasn’t rare for him to ask her questions as they sparred, if only in an attempt to break her concentration, but it certainly was rare for him to ask questions of that sort.
“The strong,” Lasha replied.
Oliver frowned.
Clearly, it was not the answer that he was hoping for.
“Then, what makes a man strong?” Oliver said, parrying another lunge, and hitting her with the lightest of faints, making her flinch.
There was always such a craftiness to his style that Lasha still found that she had not gotten fully used to it.
“His speed, his physical strength… his martial techniques,” Lasha said, running out of words to say, as she looked for weaknesses on his body.
Her guilt was quickly being forgotten.
She saw in him a challenge.
It was an Oliver Patrick that she rarely had the chance to fight with – an injured Oliver Patrick.
She should not have been thinking of victory when he was in such a state, but she couldn’t help herself.
Like a cat that saw a bird with a wounded wing, she wondered if she might be able to finally score a hit against her teacher.
In the same instant that she lunged in, an ill-feeling hit her.
It wasn’t just guilt for creeping up on him now, it was guilt for the fact that he had been injured in the first place.
Her thrust ended far more sloppily than she had intended, as her mind wandered.
“To know a technique, is that all it takes?” Oliver said.
“If you had practiced your techniques in the Academy forever, do you think you would be as strong as you are now on the battlefield?
When I first took you to the Grand Forest, and set you loose on the goblins, did you not feel the difference between a practiced technique, and an actual one?”
“I did,” Lasha said.
Oliver was standing still, offering her the opportunity.
Usually, after the first two feints, he would have dove in at her, and pressed her into a corner.
He had said more than once that it was Lasha’s defense that would forever be her weakness.
If she wished to be a successful counter attacker, then, it was her defense that she needed to train more than anything.
“What governs it?
What order of techniques must we employ in order to seize victory?” Oliver said.
“You know how to lunge, you know how to faint, you know how to counterattack, and slash.
How do you decide what to do in the right order?
How do you know when something feels right?”
“Because it does…” Lasha said uncertainly.
“Why are you asking me this, Oliver?
Have you seen a weakness in me that I have missed?”
“I have seen a weakness in myself,” Oliver said, with a trace of bitterness.
“I wondered if I might glean more of its truth through you.
Forgive me.
Let us return to our sparring.”
Lasha paused her assault.
It was rare that anything could distract her from her sword training, but for the briefest second, she’d caught the faintest whiff of the same emotion that she’d seen of Oliver before she had arrived.
Of course, he covered up just as quickly after, and ordinarily, she would not have noticed it.
That day, knowing to look for it, however, she didn’t miss it.
“Oliver…” Lasha said.
“Are you well?”
“Does talk of battle theory bother you so, Lasha?” Oliver said with a faint chuckle.
“I would not bore you with it.
That is simply what my master spoke with me of as we trained together.
I realized just today that I had neglected to do the same with you.”
“That isn’t what I mean,” Lasha said.
“Of course I want to hear your thoughts on battle.
As much as you’re willing to give them.
Maybe you were right to ask me of it before now, for I likely wouldn’t have listened… But after these years fighting with you, I think I am in agreement.
There is something more to battle than just swords and techniques.”
“An underlying current,” Oliver said, nodding faintly.
“We all seem to have our rhythms that we establish, whether we want to or not.
We’re slaves to it.
And then, we seem to lose, all of a sudden, caught in someone else’s spiderweb, a rhythm that was superior to our own, and we do not understand it.
Both strategy, and the sword, that battlefield flow pervades both paths.
“Is that really what you were thinking of?” Lasha asked.
“Earlier.
Before I came?”
“What more could I be thinking about?” Oliver said.
“But you looked so… distraught,” Lasha said, looking away, as she admitted to her spying.
“Did I?” Oliver said, keeping up the pretence.
“It is dark, Lasha.
The shadows play tricks on a man’s face.
What you see might not necessarily have been the—No.
I ought not say such things.
You need no doubt in your heart in the middle of a campaign.
Straightforwardness, and honesty… yes, they’re far more rewarding for your blade.”
“Then will you be straightforward with me?” Lasha asked.
“We all have our rhythms,” Oliver said with a faint smile.
“Both here, and on the battlefield.”
Lasha narrowed her eyes at him.
He always had the worst timing with his humour.
He used it as effectively as any sword guard, deflecting whatever attempts were made to get unduly close to him.
“If Nila were here, would you speak with her?” Lasha said.
“I would not ignore her,” Oliver said.
“That isn’t what I meant,” Lasha said.
“Do you miss her?” Oliver said.
“Of course I miss her,” Lasha said.
“Just as I am sure you miss her.
She’s a valuable friend.
And… And I suppose, she is a lot of fun too.”
“Mmm.
I think I miss her as well.
Still – I am sure she is well, no matter what she is up to.
I would feel worse if she were here, and there was no one to guard Solgrim, and it was left in the hands of Greeves alone,” Oliver.
“Not that I don’t trust him, but Greeves is—”
