A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Oliver could hardly look as Tavar plunged his hand into the coin pouch again. The sheer laws of probability, to pick so many fors in a row, in a mere bag of ten, he knew it was over, even without looking.

Hod's eyebrow was wrinkled, disbelieving. He knew his efforts had been worth more than one vote for Against. He thought he knew the minds of people, how to influence them. He hadn't expected an easy victory, but he hadn't expected a complete blowout. Could it be, that the corruption ran deeper than he thought?

Perhaps that old fool of a High King had seen this, and he'd meddled with the Lords in advance? It was not impossible. Hod cursed himself for overlooking it. He'd grown rusty this wasn't meant to be—

"Against," Tavar declared, setting the stone down into the opposite tally. Oliver dared to glance, but he didn't feel even the slightest shred of hope. One more little tilting of the scales, and it would all be over. His life would be sealed. That was the sort of imbalance that it should have been impossible to live on… And yet, he had.

"Against," Tavar said again. Oliver squinted. In line with those thoughts, the very imbalance of his existence. From the start, the scales were set against him. He was meant to die the moment he bore Ingolsol's Curse of Despair. Your next chapter is on My Virtual Library Empire

"Against," Tavar said again. Oliver half rose out of his seat. Who was he to be feeling down from the likes of mere probability? The probability of him doing all he had was infinitesimally small. All of it. His very life was impossible.

Why could he not produce another possibility here today? He couldn't win. Indeed, winning was over. He didn't know what a draw meant, but it was all he had to grasp for, the alternate path, just as he always had—

"AGAINST!" Tavar was unable to stop himself from shouting it as he drew the chip from the bag. His hands were trembling as he set it on the tally counter. The same man that had managed to adopt such a detached expression all the way through was now the same man trembling as he bore witness to that which they were seeing.

Oliver stood up. He had to grit his teeth so hard that they might have broken merely to stop crying out. There was a furious look in his eyes. How could it get more exciting than that? The truest gamble with his life? He saw Asabel with a hand over her mouth as she turned her back to the crowd and had Lancelot shield her so that she had time to compose her face.

Hod was up, stalking like a hyena, a devilish smile on his face.

"A draw," Tavar declared. "The proper proceedings for a draw are—"

Jolamire stood up, cutting the General off. "Oh, we believe we have proper leeway in the case of a draw. This here is a letter from the High King—"

"No! We have proper leeway. Guards! Bring in Captain Lombard!" Hod said it with all the firmness of a man delivering checkmate. Jolamire's self-satisfied expression was wiped away in an instant, and even Tavar was too stunned to protest.

The name of Captain Lombard was well known, especially amongst military men. He was not the highest ranking officer, not by a long way, nor was he the most accomplished, but few could match the gritty stories of resilience that came after a career as long as Lombard's. Some men put on the front of the stern-faced Captain, but Lombard was the real deal. His military fame followed him for it.

The guards opened the door for Lombard even more crisply than they had for everyone else. Oliver half-rose to his feet at the mention of the name. his eyes fixed towards the door. It had been a while since he'd seen the man, after all, and for it to be here of all places…

The doors drew back, despite Jolamire's protests and Lazarus' urgent and rather swift steps towards Tavar to mount a protest of his own.

Lombard was revealed, as stern-faced as ever, in full military uniform, with his helmet tucked under his arm, and his sword sheathed at his side. He wore the owl of the Blackwells on his breast proudly. Not as a badge as Oliver did, but sewn in as a crest, signifying him as a soldier, rather than a man of higher relations to the Blackwell house.

The guardsmen saluted at the door on instinct. Indeed, they were guardsmen, but they had all been trained as field soldiers before they'd ever gotten the post. It was a selection process that they went through before they were even offered a chance at defending the Academy's walls. It was one of many things that made the attempt on Oliver's life so egregious.

Lombard nodded crisply at the guardsmen as he stepped inside, his boots polished to a perfect shine. It was more like he was going on an inspection of his campgrounds than he was plunging into the very heart of the Hall of Ministers and the trial that awaited their in.

His stone-faced expression didn't sleep, even as he cast the slightest glance over the crowd. Somehow, in the face of Captain Lombard, they all seemed insignificant. Dressed in military uniform as he was, the only men that mattered to him were those of higher rank – and they did not count as such unless they were wearing their military dress.

He streamed past Princess Asabel. In her case, it seemed as though he genuinely didn't realize she was there. No one would expect that a Princess of all people would be tucked right at the back of the hall. And as with Asabel, he all but ignored the gathered Lords.

Instead, his eyes were firmly focused on the Minister's platform, and with swift and even steps, as though he was marching on a parade ground, he was there.