A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1660 - 1660: The Counter Assault - Part 1

"Aye, you're going to be running 'till there's blood in your vomit," Firyr offered. "You're going to be sparring till your bodies are covered in bruises. And you're going to be doing drills out in the snow till your hands and feet threaten to fall off. That's what it takes, ya know. Just to stand on the battlefield with us. We're sick of having men die on us, so you're going to be trained even more harshly than the last. You'll work for the honour of wearing this surcoat. We're not going to be handing them out for free."

"…Yes, well, if they needed any more terror putting in them, you have certainly provided it, Firyr," Jorah said. "He has not spoken a mistruth, however. To progress as rapidly as we require you to, suffering is unavoidable, but though I say you will not enjoy it – I do not think, in the end, you shall hate it quite as much as you think. You will find in yourselves a strength that you did not think you had, and we will see it sharpened. That is our job as your instructors. I make the promise to draw that out of you, as if the job that I have been given by my Lord – and in return, I ask for your pledge that you shall not hold back on me. If you do not give me more than everything you have, this arrangement shall not work," Jorah said.

"We're at war, in other words, you fuckers," Firyr said. "No telling when the next battle could be, but everyone reckons it's probably going to be here. The poor saps that we trained last had the worst of all battles as their first, and they fought like fuckin' lions for it. Aye, I was proud of them. Could be that I'd have been put in the ground dead amongst them, and I'd still have been proud to be buried there. 'Cos those were tough men, they were, and you need to be the same if you want to see this war through."

If one might have expected the High King to give the Generals that he charged with the defence of his realm the highest of accommodations, they would have been wrong.

It was a dusty abode of wood that Tavar found himself residing in. To the man's credit, he didn't let his disdain for it show on his face. From the way he swept the thick dust off the table with a cloth, one might have thought he almost approved of where it was that he stood.

There was a candle, with wax half burned, sitting ready on the table. He saw that lit with an ember from the fire, grasping in a pair of thick leather clothes, seemingly without the worry of seeing it burned through.

He nodded to himself, once, then twice, looking around the room. It was barely big enough for one man, and when that man was as big as Tavar – though he was not the biggest of all men, he was certainly well built – and as heavily dressed in armour as he, it certainly made for a difficult bit of manoeuvring.

A meeting had been called, and this was the place that they claimed it would happen. Again, Tavar looked around the room, trying to force that nod and a smile again, though that smile was quickly fading, as he saw quite readily that there were not enough chairs. Though the sheer lack of space in general was the most concerning issue.

A knock did not come at the door to warn him of the arrival of a wizened old man. Tavar didn't turn. He'd half-expected the old man to get there ahead of him, as, apparently, had the man himself.

"Ever early, aren't you, Tavar?" The man said. "You make us look worse by the second. I apologize for the state of these rooms. But the King did not wish for our affairs to be left out in the public. He doubts who he can trust these days. Perhaps for good reason. Though there were still better locations than this."

"The King sends his apologies," Justus said from the side of the Chief Strategist. "He will not be making an attendance tonight. Apparently he has other business that requires his presence. I am to make notes on his behalf."

"Very well," Tavar said. "And of our other comrades? Who do I have to expect?"

For the position that he had been given, Tavar had been told precious little. He had been given a simple missive – and that was to pack his things from the Academy, and join with the strategists of the Royal Capital, with the future perspective of seeing him heading the anti-rebel forces, as their Commanding General.

"I suppose it would be wise to inform you of that, before they arrive, so that you might prepare yourself," the Chief strategist said, leaning heavily on his staff.

Seeing that, Tavar gave up his own seat in an instant. "Please, sit. The spot by the fire ought be yours."

"…I would decline the offer, but given that we are likely to be here for a while, I would not see my pride get in the way of the proceedings," the man said, shuffling over to the offered seat, and giving out a relieved sigh when the weight was finally taken from his legs, and from his back in particular. He smacked his lips together. "Now… Where was I? Ah… Yes, yes. The comrades that you will be fighting alongside."

"Indeed. The Treeants – have they come to acknowledge their pledge yet?" Tavar asked. "I have heard no whispers from them."

"They are as quiet as they always have been," the Chief Strategist said. "Alas, we have received one missive, informing us that they have changed their King, and we ought expect a young man by the name of Germanicus to be paying us a visit, with the intention of fulfilling his oath, and fighting for the cause of the High King."

"Germanicus," Tavar said, his eyebrow twitching. "It has been a while since I heard that name."

"You were present there, for that instant at the Academy, were you not?" The Chief Strategist asked. "You'll have seen more of him in person than any of us present. Any warnings before we meet the man himself?"