A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1656 - 1656: Strength in Arms - Part 1

Colonel Stopdon laughed. "You mistake us, Merchant. You mistake my General especially. His irritation is not because he looks down on the feat that you Patrick men have achieved. Nor even truly because of your insubordinance. What he laments is that he was not allowed the opportunity to try such a thing himself. There is nothing my Lord covets more than glory – and he will hate you for the glory that you have taken for yourselves, against your orders, and he will see you rightly punished for the insubordination. But he will not disrespect your achievement. When it comes to the matter of strength, my Lord makes no mistakes. I shall be excited to fight alongside your like, and see the strangeness that you present on the battlefield."

He extended his arm. "Shake my hand, Merchant," he said. "You and I will be working closely together, I imagine. I would not see this first meeting end with bad blood between us. I think we both have the same aim, do we not? We wish to see this war won."

Greeves studied the extended hand for a few moments, before finally accepting it, though he did so with a confused look on his face. "…Aye, I suppose we do."

"Do you reckon this is fine?" Came a quiet murmur as they passed through the gates.

"What are you on about, Jacob?" Came the irritated response. "What do you mean is it fine? They're not out to kill us, if that's what you're asking. Seems a friendly enough place to me. Never been to Ernest, but seems posh, it does. Imagine these streets filled with people? Be a sight of richness, I'd say."

"I dunno, not that… I mean. Probably. Can we trust em'? Those Blackthorn men don't like us," he continued.

"It's not Blackthorn that we fighting for, is it? It's General Patrick, aye? Didn't you want to join in the first place? You having second thoughts now that we're here, you bastard? I came so I could look after you, and if you don't wanna be here now, then what the fuck are we doing?"

"Wellll… It's just. Just an opportunity, ain't it? To be like those Serving Class folks, with their fancy education. On the same pay, once we're trained. That's a lot of money, that is," Jacob said.

"Aye, you've been saying that from the start. That's how you convinced me. But it doesn't look too convincing now when I see you standing there, shitting yourself."

"It's just… Dunno. Now we're here. It's somethin' else, ya know? Maybe we can't. 'Cos, they've been training since they were kids, haven't they? I'm past thirty, Marty, y'know. Maybe the body can't learn. I'm tired just from the bloomin' marching, and we've only been at it a couple of days."

"You bastard," Marty said, turning on him, his eyes narrowing in annoyance, as he stopped just short of gripping the man by his coat. He might really have, if they were not surrounded by a crowd of so many other peasants in the same position as them – and they were already eyeing them for their loudness. Marty noticed their looks, and quieted down, just the slightest bit. "I had the same complaints, didn't I? You bloomin' had an answer for it all then. Where's it gone now, eh? Where's your fricken courage? You all talk, cousin? Now that we've fuckin' here, aye, I'm going to make the best of it. I'm not going to be a chicken about it. We've come all this way. I see things through. What of you, cousin?"

"…I dunno," Jacob said again, looking at the ground, losing his confidence. Marty tutted in disgust, and shook his head. He didn't say a word to the man for a while, nor did Jacob pipe up to speak more of his complaints.

The Blackthorn soldiery led them through the city. There was a ripple through the crowd of men, as they muttered the name Oliver Patrick. Marty had the vague sense that the man must have been up ahead, from the way General Blackthorn and his Colonels stopped from aback their horses to speak to them.

Marty couldn't see anything, no matter how much he struggled to look. Neither he nor his cousin were tall men. Theirs weren't builds that they could consider blessed. If they had been – Jacob had said a thousand times – he would have sold himself to some merchant as a bodyguard in a heartbeat, and lived a life of richness.

The only thing that Marty could hear, at times, was the rising of General Blackthorn's disgruntled voice, likely in response to something that the General Oliver Patrick had said. That didn't continue long, before their train of men was set to moving again. They were prodded like cattle, surrounded by the Blackthorn spearmen.

"Y'know, I heard the Minister of Blades is here as well," Jacob said, speaking up for the first time in a while.

"Aye, you've said that," Marty said with disinterest, though he couldn't deny that his heart was beating against his ribcage in nervousness now. It had been the same the first time he had laid eyes on General Blackthorn, after his soldiers had come to collect willing peasants from his village. It had been like looking at a creature that was entirely different from himself. Though they both wore the same costume of human skin, it didn't strike Marty as being obvious that what was inside that skin was the same.

He caught a glimpse of a young woman in armour, her hair pitch black, her beauty unfathomable. He gaped despite himself. "Lady Blackthorn… It is, ain't it, Jacob?" He said, nudging his cousin.

Jacob went wide eyed, following his cousin's look. "Aye, it must be… aye. Gods be damned, that's a beautiful woman. She's like a bloomin' raven, ain't she?"

"Fuck she's looking this way, don't draw attention to us, you fool. She'll skewer us straight through," Marty said. He could well believe that she was General Blackthorn's daughter, just from how intimidating a single look from her was. It wasn't even directed at him in particular, it just swept over the crowd, and still it made him want to fall to his knees to avoid it.

"If she's there, then General Patrick must be nearby…" Jacob said, coming out of himself a little bit, forgetting his fear, and starting to grow ever so slightly excited.