A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1553 - 1553: Protector of the West - Part 2

"You could have said this at the meeting," Oliver said. "You need not have waited until here."

"…And have Hod pick apart my motivates with that scalpel of a mind that he has? He would have pointed out that I am being overly cautious with you, and he would not be wrong. I recognize it in myself. I have already lost one son to this High King. To lose you would be to lose another. I gave you the pin, didn't I, Oliver? You are kin. If I am harsh on you, then it the harshness of a father to his son. Understand it, and forgive me. Do not be so quick to rebel against me. I do not act to make your life miserable."

"I understand, General," Oliver said.

General Blackwell shook his head. "You do not. You have only recently found yourself a woman that you can trust. You are still learning to understand their necessity. You cannot yet understand what it means to be a father. But I do not expect that of you. I have told you what I expected. I do not doubt that you can raise these peasants up into a fighting force – however, a thousand of them are not equal to your life. With your speech yesterday, you ensured that was such. If you must remain behind, then damn well sharpen them. Not a month, two weeks. Transform them, as you have transformed the slaves amongst your command. Inspire them. You have the ability to. Turn them into creatures beyond themselves. Hammer them into swords that you will be content to use. With that, I conclude my orders to you, General Patrick, and I wish you luck."

Blackwell saluted him then, and Oliver saluted back.

"Remember, General, flee when you see fit!" Blackwell said, turning his horse. "In my absence, my estates and my houses are yours as you see fit! Ernest, and all the lands around it are under your command! Claudia be with you, boy!"

"Claudia be with you, General!" Oliver shouted after him, wishing that he could have said more.

He was forced to watch, as the army began to move, with their sizable baggage train of five thousand civilians and hundreds of wagons in the centre.

In the wind, all the different standards of all the different gathered noblemen fluttered. Amongst them, there was the owl of House Blackwell, the golden dragon of House Pendragon, and the towers of House Skullic.

Already, those flags bearing the sigil of House Skullic were beginning to split. There were only a few hundred of them, but they quickly began to separate from the rest of the marching army, making their way back to the south, down towards where the Skreen lay, hoping to invite the enemy into a siege, where Skullic held every confidence that he would be able to hold them for as long as a month.

Cavalrymen, spearmen, archers, all of their equipment shining, all of them marching in the tightest of formations, with the greatest Generals that Oliver knew marching amongst them. It sent chills down his spine just the sight of them. He did not think that more men would have added to the picture for him, for it was the Generals themselves that made it. When Hod spoke of Tigers, Oliver saw now, in front of him, what they meant. Amongst crowds of thousands, in their magnificently individualistic armours, those Generals and their kingly auras stood out amongst the thousands. And somehow, the Queen Asabel Pendragon managed to match them all, or even exceed them, in her golden wagon, leaning out of the window, with her silver crown – soon to be replaced with gold – delicately placed upon her head.

She no doubt could not have felt more forlorn, but the woman made every effort to appear regal and mighty, and from the briskness of the soldier's march, one could have said that it very much had that intended effect. Four thousand men they might have been, but they were four thousand soldiers buoyed by the mightiest of Command, from all the different Generals and the Queen that they followed behind.

Oliver watched them, until the very last of them had disappeared over the horizon beyond Ernest, and until Skullic had disappeared down towards the south.

He was struck by a sudden feeling of loneliness then, standing so near to Ernest walls. There was an overwhelming freedom to it all, when he recalled that Ernest was under the entirety of his command. It made his heart swell with possibility, and with fear. It was both excitement, and it was tragedy. He wasn't sure which emotion he could cling to yet – but whichever one he chose, he was confident that, with his wilful hand, and with a short spurt of anger, he could turn any of them to his advantage.

"Gather all the men," Oliver told Verdant with a flash of fierceness. "We begin training now."

…

…

There was a strong sense of loneliness to Ernest, as Oliver walked down its cobblestone streets. The civilians had been evacuated to the east, all that could go, along with Blackwell and his men. The same was true of Solgrim. All that weren't fit to fight were evacuated. There was no sense in them being left behind to slow down the fighting men, and give them something to protect.

Not there were truly that many fighting men, with the greatest portion of their number being made up of the untrained peasantry.

That thought didn't do much to alleviate Oliver's sense of dread, as he heard his footsteps pounding down the cobblestones, echoing through the ancient city. It was as if, somehow, there were cobwebs in every corner. One would not have thought that it was only abandoned that very morning. It seemed as if it had been devoid of people for thousands of years.

It was desolate, in the truest sense. The evidence of a populace that had left in a hurry were everywhere – in the many torn baskets, left behind on the paths, now that they were no longer fit for their purpose, and the sacks, and the many open doors, with the residents now having nothing to close it against. There was a level of litter in the place that would never have been tolerated when the city was in its fullest of operation. But who was to care, now that it was being left behind?