A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1503 - 1503: The Cries for War - Part 2

"We have no choice but to take him at his word," Oliver said, raising a hand before Verdant could go any further. He tapped his finger against the sprawled message that Lord Blackwell had written him on a scroll, echoing his retainer's words. "For a man that has already set me a moderately difficult set of missions, he's certainly keen on adding to my pile."

"I am afraid that is the nature of our Lord Blackwell, General," Ser Willem said. "You will have to get used to him cracking the whip, if you are to work with him as closely as I do."

"I notice that he has seen it fit to use my men just as liberally as he has set about using me," Oliver said.

"He is well aware of their talents," Willem replied. "I am sure they will perform quite admirably. If that is all, gentlemen, I must hurry. You are not the only one having the whip brought down on his back. It would seem, a faction at war is a busy faction indeed."

"Very well," Oliver said. "Thank you for your message, Ser Willem. I wish you luck in your tasks."

Willem gave a light bow, and dipped hurriedly from his tent.

Oliver heaved a sigh. "I should have known that the night would not pass with Blackwell failing to enact one of his schemes. We've our work cut out for us, gentlemen. It does seem to me that our tournament is being made a mockery of. I would have preferred to see the strongest of men prosper, rather than it be twisted to make victors of those that Blackwell favours."

"…He has at least been mild in that, given that he has to keep the crowd pleased. But I wonder how they will react, to see you suddenly changed in competition?" Verdant noted.

"I think the fact that he has withdrawn me from my strategy competition shows how little faith he has in me putting up a good performance there," Oliver said. "But I suppose that he wishes me to perform in the final duels of the melee means he expects me to put on a worthy enough show there instead."

"He wishes to make heroes of all the men close to him, so the masses, and the noblemen in attendance here, see our strength, even beyond what it is, and do not look down on our lack of numbers so much," Verdant said. "It is cunning, naturally, and it does make best use of all that we have before us…"

"But obviously it still leaves a sour taste in our mouths," Oliver concluded, wearing a grim look.

He knew he was far from the only officer likely to be receiving such orders. Willem practically confirmed that, with the tension that the man had worn on his face as he had paid his visit, but somehow knowing that didn't do much to ease the little blow.

Those were the symptoms of war, however. Everyone had noticed a change in the atmosphere. It was not only the nobility, but the peasants could sense something was off as well. They'd heard the rumour just as well as the others had, and they'd seen the smoke. But it was the tension that they felt most acutely, to a degree that likely even the nobility themselves did not feel.

The peered out from under their lean-to shelters, and their hastily made teepees, with material that was far from waterproof being their only covering. The shelter that it offered from the rain was minuscule, but it gave the illusion of safety. Their eyes were wide and rabbit-like, as they watched and waited. Whenever such tension was afoot, it always seemed to be the peasantry that received the worst of it.

They vastly outnumbered the nobility, but hardly a single one could be seen walking the wood-chipped roads in between tents, or gathering at the tournament grounds, waiting expectantly for the new matches to be announced. They looked for some reassurance from somewhere, and until then, they trusted in the instincts of prey animals to keep themselves safe. Even seeing Queen Asabel wandering so blatantly did not do much for them, for she was surrounded by the most capable of men, in General Blackthorn, and Lancelot, and her other knights, all trained in the arts of war, and armoured and equipped as best as a man reasonably could be. The peasantry had none of that. They did not even have the right clothing to see off the cold, never mind the right clothing to see off a sword.

Naturally, in all groups, there were exceptions, little outliers that were unlikely to follow the whims of the crowd. Those men would be pointed at, ordinarily, and labelled mad, or otherwise too stupid to follow the general instincts of the masses. Some, indeed, were quite mad. In such a migration of people, it was only natural that a few of sick mind would slip in. They wandered alone, their mad ravings carrying all the louder, now that there were not the noises of the crowd to disperse them.

Guardsmen passed such people, eyeing them warily, clutching their spears all the tighter, but otherwise doing very little. With killers about, everyone was to be treated with suspicion. But a madman was also a problem that went beyond apprehension. It was a trap that a guard could fall into, in seizing such a man. He'd lose hours of his time making a prisoner of a man that was far too much of a problem to be fixed by his punishment.

Gar wandered alone as well, a bemused look on his face, his hair sodden from the rain, and his clothes so drenched that they stuck to his skin. He munched on the smallest bit of food, bought with the coin that Oliver had given him. That unspent coin - for it still was unspent for the most part – and his sword were his two greatest possessions, and he glared at anyone who dared to come close, for fear they would try and steal them from him.

One might have thought that with the sizable sum sat in his pocket, he would have done as Oliver had asked of him, and went and found himself some new clothes. There was no shortage of clothiers around to choose from. It wouldn't have been all too difficult to find some second-hand worn down bits that would have helped to shield him from the weather.