A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Chapter 433 Retribution - Part 8

The whip had hit hard, and it opened the skin immediately. A line ran across the shoulder from it, already draining blood. Oliver stiffened from the surprise of it, and from his position in the stocks, he could see some of the women amongst the crowd turn away.

The whip flashed again, and this time Oliver was ready for it. He did not react. He took it like a stone. He'd faced far worse pain than this. The pain would fade, as all things did, though the scar on his back where the whip had slid across the other shoulder would likely remain. Again the skin split and more blood came with it.

The next strike came to his oblique on his side, as the sergeant worked to avoid the more glaring wounds of his back. The change brought more pain with it, worse than the other two strikes, and more blood as well. Again, Oliver did not flinch.

The other oblique was where the whip went next, and then it ended, right in the middle of his back, just below his neck, with both flicks of the whip splitting the skin, drawing blood. The sergeant seemed to be an expert at that.

"The First Trial is complete," General Tevar announced, though there was a hesitancy to his voice, as though even he expected more.

Oliver removed himself from the stocks somewhat cautiously, expecting to be told to wait, and remain, but the order did not come, and the First Trial had passed far quicker than he had expected.

"Professor," Tevar said, nodding to the professor of medicine, to come and inspect Oliver's back before they proceeded any further.

"Hypothermia, boy," the medical professor put in. "They're breaking the top layer of ice on the lake for you – don't need to tell you how cold that is, do I? If you're to survive the night, then you must move, else you'll be a stiff frozen corpse come morning."

The medical professor was a gruff intense looking man, but Oliver decided that he rather liked the honest way that he had. He nodded seriously at the advice. He knew the dangers of the cold, to a degree. He knew what it was to spend the night outside in winter, without the benefit of a fire. The unknown variable was the wetness that would come along with it, and the lack of clothes."

"If you are quite ready then, we will begin the Second Trial," General Tevar said. He said it loudly, so that those that had gathered to watch the Trial could hear. The General did not seem to find the crowd distasteful. Quite the opposite, he seemed to approve of it, as though acknowledging it as a necessary part of the proceedings, invoking the intended effects of deterrence.

The crowd parted as General Tevar led the way towards the lake. Oliver walked directly behind him, his back still exposed, covered with slow-moving rivers of blood. The lashes from a whip weren't as deep as a weapons wound though, he, like the professor, was not worried about blood loss.

He looked for Heathclaw amongst the crowd – he'd supposed the ex-professor would be there, if only to gloat at his misfortune, but in his absence, Oliver supposed that he was likely forbidden to attend. Instead, he saw Blackthorn once more, her eyes narrowed as she watched him. Oliver pointedly returned the glare. He walked with his shoulders back, proudly, as though he had nothing to hide.

He found no shame in his scars, only pride. He found no particular shame in his punishment either, only regretting that it would reach more people than he. Once again, he acknowledged his need to fix the hole in his soul, before they caused further problems for him.

Verdant watched Oliver closely as he walked. Every movement was carefully tracked by Verdant's pale blue eyes. His gaze was soft, he'd been told, so that even an experienced warrior at times could not feel it. It was not by intention, it was simply how things had turned out to be. Ever since the ocean had claimed him, Verdant was a watcher, and a visionary.

He could see by the way Oliver carried himself that he did not see the full significance of his actions. He acknowledged again that such was the way of the Greats. They moved in what ways they thought to be sensible, without truly realizing the full ripplings of meaning that their actions carried.