A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

A path of scattered stone led up to another stone circle, set underneath the protective grasp of a well-rounded tree canopy. Oliver had noticed the space the day before, and wondered what use it had. The stone circle, set within the grass, had seemed oddly singular, compared to the well-tended rest of the garden, with the neatly-cut hedges. It had seemed as though it was missing something.

And now Oliver found out what, as he saw the contraption of thick wood lying in wait at its very centre. He'd seen such things before, during his time as a slave. Wooden stocks, with holes for the head, and holes for the hands. They'd been a particularly popular punishment, to leave an ill-tempered slave in them for a couple of days until he better remembered his manners.

This time, though, it was quite clear they did not mean to simply leave him there. There was a man waiting. Well, a man was the wrong word for it – this man was a soldier more than he was a man. His eyes bespoke of his obedience, and the whip in his hand bespoke of his intent. The helmet on his head marked his occupation, and the golden colours on his shoulders marked his rank – a sergeant.

He was not the only one there, of course. The stone circle was large, and the surrounding space was even larger. There were several benches scattered through the garden, with foundations amongst them, and bird houses set up in trees, and everything needed to add to a pleasant walk.

Only, today's attraction was blood, and the nobility that attended, with warm drinks in hand, made it clear that such a thing was their purpose as well.

The Serving Class were just as eager. As soon as someone left the dining hall, they would be confronted with that crowd gathering in front of them. The number of people was made even more obvious by the torches that had been set up everywhere. When dark came, much of the Academy's grounds were left to the blackness – there was just too much land to try and light up.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

This garden was one of those places. It was only now – as an irregularity – that it had been lit up.

Oliver was not surprised to see them. Thanks to Verdant's counsel, he was warned well in advance of how many students were likely to turn up.

"Tales of today's events have likely already spread throughout the Academy, Young Wolf. Do not be surprised when they come looking, to see just how Dominus Patrick's son bleeds," Verdant said, his pale eyes strictly serious.

Oliver thought – though the priest had done his best to hide it – that Verdant also shared the same interest. It was one thing to be skilled with a sword, it was another to be able to endure suffering. Dominus had instilled in him his value of both attributes, and their necessity, in securing the patronage of Claudia, and breaking through the Boundaries.

And so, knowing this, Oliver was able to remain calm, as he stood upon the stone circle, with Verdant by just behind him. Oliver recognized the scarred bald head of his medical professor as well, wearing a particularly thunderous look, as though he thoroughly disapproved of the proceedings.

As he looked further, Oliver discovered that he was not the only professor present. There were several others, some that he recognized, and some that he didn't. Volguard was amongst them, and Oliver noted the disappointment on the old professor's face. He was unsure why that stung, more than the recently bound wounds on his back had.

"Oliver Patrick – for the crime of striking a professor, you have been sentenced to the Three of the Five Trials," came a deep and resounding voice. Oliver turned around to it. He was surprised to see General Tevar there himself. He'd expected the Minister of Rule to leave it to his subordinates to carry out the grizzly work.

The students bowed their heads as the man passed, striding up towards the side of his soldier. The man saluted with his free hand.

"Given that we are within the season of cold, your Trials have been set accordingly. For your first Trial, you will endure five strikes of the whip. For your Second, you will swim the Central Castle's Moonlight Lake, and for your Third, you will endure the rest of the night outside, with the injuries and wetness your first two trials have cost you," General Tevar said.

The students were murmuring at that, as though it was the most dreadful thing in the world. Oliver looked at Verdant, to see if he could gauge anything from the man's reaction. The priest looked half sick. Seeing the confusion on Oliver's face, he leaned in to whisper. "They'll make you do the swim clothed, and will offer you no dry material of warmth until dawn.

Hypothermia is more than a risk – it seems a near certainty."

The professor of medicine seemed to share Verdant's opinion, for his mouth was drawn in a hard angry line, as he glared at Tevar. Tevar turned slightly, to receive the look, but the General brooked no response. It was clear: these were their ways, these were their traditions. There was only so much that the rules would bend in his favour.

"If the student fails these Trials, by the brittleness of the mind, or by a giving out of the body, the judgement of the Gods will be clear, and he will be expelled immediately," General Tevar said.

To Oliver, that cleared up more than a few misunderstandings. He had expected Ministers that were so set against him to argue more harshly against his rescinded suspension. But it seemed that they were merely betting on the hope that he would fail his Trials, and be expelled anyway.

It was a way of doing it that would save the Academy face, for it was not simply their decision anymore, but the will of the Gods.