Your comments, reviews, and votes really help me out so much and they make me super motivated to keep working on this story!Pat*eon : CaveLeather
"Vito!" Tiberius called the senior veterans from Jules's inner circle together and started handing out assignments.
"What's up, kid?" Vito asked, curious.
"Take Galvin and those knights who know horseflesh. Hit the market and buy every decent mount and mule you can find." Tiberius's voice was crisp. "Money's at the paymaster's tent. Uncle says no fancy warhorses—get the ones that can climb mountains and carry heavy loads."
"Tch, Lightning Kid." Galvin curled his lip. "Right now every horse on the market is hotter than fresh bread. You might not even find any for sale. Ask the chief—if push comes to shove, can we make do with the short-legged trader ponies and donkeys? Those are easy to get."
"Fine, I'll check." Tiberius waved him off, then turned to Old Tom and "Silver Hammer" Harwin.
"Chief wants weapons and medicine. You two handle it."
"No problem, Tiberius." Old Tom grinned, showing teeth stained yellow from cheap wine. "We'll get it done right. Harwin used to be a blacksmith—he knows weapons better than his own dick."
Silver Hammer Harwin rubbed his potato-shaped head and gave a goofy laugh.
---
"Lysapo!" Tiberius looked at the Lightning Company quartermaster sitting stiffly in the corner.
"Grain and supplies are on you. You've got the connections—can you find cheap but reliable vendors?"
Lysapo knew this was his first real test in the company. He had to nail it.
He stood up at once. "Leave it to me! I know several plantation owners who missed out on the city military contracts and are desperate to sell the grain rotting in their silos!"
---
The road north was anything but easy. The sullen sky finally burst into a torrential downpour.
The column trudged on through the mud in silence, the wet slap of boots and the sucking churn of wagon wheels mixing with the roar of rain until the sound pressed down like a weight on every chest.
Tiberius Mord reined in his horse and stared at the weary serpent of men snaking through the storm. A crushing weight he had never felt before settled on his shoulders.
He urged his mount closer to Jules, who sat rigid in the saddle. Rain streamed down Tiberius's face—impossible to tell where the water ended and the cold sweat began. His voice came out dry.
"Uncle… can we… really win?"
He thought of the unknown road ahead, the uncertain supplies, the looming shadow of Volantis.
Tiberius's knuckles whitened on the reins. Rain blurred his vision, but he could still feel Jules's burning gaze like two hot brands.
"You're in command of three thousand fucking lives!" Jules whipped around, rain sheeting off his hard face, eyes flashing like lightning. Without warning he lashed his riding crop across Tiberius's horse's rump.
The startled animal reared with a scream. Tiberius hauled on the reins and barely kept his seat.
Jules's roar rolled through the rain like thunder, loud enough to rattle teeth. "You don't get to ask 'can we win'! You only get to win! You have to win!"
He spurred closer until their faces were inches apart, voice dropping low but hammering into Tiberius's chest like nails.
"Listen, kid! Like you said—the Volantenes think we're finished, cowering inside the Flank Corridor waiting to die! They'll never expect a knife like us to stab them in the flank right now! Your read on the situation is correct! Our judgment is correct! We can win!"
He gave a cold laugh, rain dripping from his lips. "Look around you! Vito the old killer, young Lord Lysandro, Habro, Demetrius, those veteran bastards, even that coward Lysapo who's scared shitless but has no choice but to fight…"
"Even Governor Lysandro and the head of House Haen now think you're some infallible genius who can keep them alive and lead them to victory!"
Jules's voice carried a brutal kind of fire. "Just that belief alone—that 'he can lead us to win'—that spirit is worth half a legion! So tell me—what are we going to do?!"
He sucked in a lungful of wet air and bellowed it out. "We are going to win! We are going to kick the Volantenes so hard they shit themselves! We are going to take the final victory! That is not up for debate!"
"But what if…" Tiberius still tried to voice the worst fear.
"What if the Volantenes have more troops in the north than we think? What if their commander sees through us and doesn't push west but beats us to the upper river—"
"There is no 'what if'!" Jules cut him off, voice like a chopping axe. "No maybes! We follow your plan to the end!"
"Remember this, Tiberius—in an army anyone can doubt, anyone can waver, anyone can be afraid of what comes next… except the commander!"
"No matter what, no matter how bad it looks, the commander must believe in his own judgment! You must be certain—we will win! And we will win big!"
---
At the rear of the column, Habro wiped rain from his face and watched the short, fierce exchange between Jules and Tiberius—especially that sudden whip across the horse's rump. He nudged Vito beside him.
"Hey, Vito… did the Lightning Kid just get his ass chewed out? Looked like Jules was ready to swallow him whole."
Vito grinned, rain dripping off his scraggly beard.
He shook his head, unconcerned, and gave a low chuckle.
"Chewed out? That was the chief pouring steel into the kid's spine! The boy's got everything going for him except sometimes he doesn't fully trust his own calls—even when his analysis is spot-on. But trust me, when he says we can win… we can win!"
He patted the crossbow at his hip with blind certainty. "Think about it—from Bloodwave Cape to Stone Crow Town to this march north—when has the kid's plan ever been wrong? If he says we win, we win! I've bet these old bones on him."
Habro stared at Vito's rock-solid expression, then at the young figure up ahead who had already straightened his back and was riding forward again through the rain. The tiny knot of unease in his chest loosened.
"Fuck…" he muttered. "Kid really is a weird one." Then he quickened his step, falling back into the marching column.
Tiberius never knew that day was actually his thirteenth birthday.
Thirteen years old, and now responsible for the lives of thousands.
---