A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1659 - 1659: Strength in Arms - Part 4

Another contingent of men awaited them in that open space between those littered houses. These were of a distinctly different sort to the Blackthorn men that had escorted them.

The lead man amongst them leaned heavily against his spear, his posture far from straight. He looked lazily at the approaching men, and shared snickered comments with those closest to him.

There were scars on his cheek, and a thuggish aura to the man entirely. He wore not a helmet on his head, only a loose bit of chainmail over his torso, and a Patrick surcoat over the top of it. The men closest to him seemed just as intimidating. One was a hulking giant, with messy dark brown hair, and a great sword strung on his back. His arms were folded, and he had a thoroughly judgemental look on his face. To the right of him, there was another, with a similar-looking face, as if they might have been related, but he was a far smaller man, lacking all weaponry but a dagger at his hip – and yet he seemed just as intimidating as the giant next to him.

For the other men amongst that hundred, it could be said that they were most strange. That there could be so many large creatures gathered in one place. Marty made a comment on it. "What are they feeding these fuckers?"

"…I heard it said that General Patrick saw slaves recruited before – large ones. He'd set them free, and train them, if they were willing," Jacob said. He'd supposed it to be just a rumour, for it seemed a strange story, even for the likes of Oliver Patrick, but now, looking at such men in front of him, he wondered if there was some glimmer of truth in it.

"Slaves?" Marty echoed. "Do you reckon that's true?"

Jacob did not get a chance to answer, for that lead man with the spear spoke up long before he could.

"What have you Blackthorns got for us, eh? I heard you'd brought us a package, but I didn't think it would be quite this big. The General's forcing a sizable bloody workload on me again," he said.

"…Commander Firyr, I presume?" A Blackthorn Captain greeted him.

"That would be me," the man with the spear agreed.

"We were given the task of bringing these peasants to you, and we have brought them," he said. "We will leave them in your hands, to do what you will with."

"What we will with, eh? What, you'd just stand by if we decided to butcher lot of them?" Firyr said. He'd likely meant the joke in a light sort of manner, but it served to make all five thousand of those peasants stiffen.

"They are yours to do with what you will," the Blackthorn Captain repeated, not showing the slightest shred of humour at the joke. He gave a small salute, for the sake of discipline, and then he nodded to his men, and they quickly strode away.

"Tsch," Firyr said. "Not much for talking those bastards, are they? I know they're reinforcements and all that, but I'm already sick of them. Got to say I preferred having the city to ourselves. Now we're going to have to pretend to give a fuck, and act all fancy."

"Pretend?" Came a question, with a raised eyebrow, from a young man that Jacob had not seen from the off. His speech was almost jarringly correct when compared to that of Firyr. If Jacob was a betting man, he would have supposed him to be a noble. "You shouldn't have to pretend, Firyr. The General has given us a task. He's put trust in you to see it done properly again. He's had praise for your work. Are you going to see him disappointed?"

"I wasn't saying it like that, Jorah," Firyr said, frowning. "Are you trying to twist my words to make me feel bad? I'll see the job done, just I like did before. I just don't fancy putting on a show for these Blackthorn bastards in the process. Bloody waste of energy acting like they do. What's all this performance for, eh? Just get to the battlefield, kill as many of the enemy as you can, and you're doing your job."

"…I think you've really reduced the position of soldier down to its bare minimum," Jorah said with a sigh. "And you're leaving your new recruits standing there, to listen to your rambling."

"Well you talk to them. I'm shy, I am, don't fancy talking to that many people," Firyr said. Though those words came out of his mouth, Jacob doubted that a single man present believed them. Firyr didn't seem like the sort of man to be shy about anything. Jorah especially seemed to be of that opinion, from the way he sighed. Jacob thought it to be a strange dynamic, for a man that was quite clearly a peasant, and for a nobleman to be talking quite as easily as they did.

"Greetings, comrades," Jorah said. "I am Commander Jorah of General Patricks army. I understand that you have come to us in the capacity as recruits, and that you have the intention of joining my Lord's army in the near future. For making your way here, and for the great distance that you have travelled, my Lord gives you his thanks, and regrets that he was not here to receive you in person. He has promised that he will be here to greet you soon enough."

That such a promise could cause such a stirring made Jacob feeling the slightest bit odd. His heart felt lighter, and again that feeling that they were walking in something magical returned. Just to catch sight of the man – it ought not have meant so much, but it did. Their heads were filled with such stories now. General Patrick seemed a hero beyond heroes.

"I will warn you in advance that the training you can expect shall be harsh. You likely will not enjoy it. But you will see strength and progress through it – we have at least confirmed that, with the last group of you that we trained," Jorah said. "We were privileged to call such men comrades. Without their assistance, we would not have been able to match the Emerson army in battle. Some of their number still stand amongst us today. I say that as a point of reassurance, for you shall suffer in this training – know that such suffering is not for naught. Claudia shall see your efforts rewarded."