He added his own voice to the cheers of his men, and he lifted his fist, and gave a grand bellow, full of the pent up emotion of all the weeks of tribulations. Still, it felt not real. Only the feeling of overwhelm could convince him it was so. He bellowed, because if he were to go forward, and seize the victory in its entirety, he feared that his hands would shake. Checkmate had been achieved, but to really secure the victory, to have it done, and sealed in a box, away from the moment, as now a memory – was Oliver Patrick still equal to that?
He fancied not. Not the Oliver Patrick of times past. He had to allow in a degree of insanity to suppose that he could make it that far. With Ingolsol always whispering in his ear, such an insanity was never so far away.
