A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1662 - 1662: The Counter Assault - Part 3

"I do suppose that to be our guest…" Tavar remarked, sipping the tea that Justus had seen made in the battered bronze kettle that had been left hanging over the fire.

A short while later, with an equal degree of loudness, a giant hand thundered through the door, sending it clattering against the wall, and a face already covered in spiralling blue war paint thrust its way inside.

"Tavar?" He said, staring at the man, and then grunting when his memory did indeed align with the man in front of him. "And who are you?"

He pointed at the other two, without even attempting the slightest shred of introduction. His primary concern seemed to be with fitting through the door. Already, he had to duck mightily to try and attempt his way inside, and then he had to turn sideways for the frame of his massive shoulders to fit through.

"I think we might be forced to take this meeting outside," the Chief Strategist remarked. "Though it does somewhat defeat the whole purpose of seeing it held in this derelict little hut in the first place."

"Greetings, King Germanicus," Tavar said, dipping his head. "I congratulate you on your succession."

"Don't," Germanicus said. "Better that you apologise instead. I would have been fine if it wasn't for you lot, stirring up a war."

"…Very well. In that case, allow me to introduce the High King's Chief Strategist—" Tavar began.

"Ah, right, aye, I wondered what it was you were doing here. You don't smell of strength, old man," Germanicus said.

The strategist inclined his head. "Well spotted, good King Germanicus," he remarked dryly.

"And you," he said, pointing at Justus. "A General?"

"Indeed. By the name of Jutsus, King Germanicus," Justus said, inclining himself in a bow.

"And where's the High King?" Germanicus said.

"He isn't present," the Chief Strategist replied.

"The Chief Strategist holds the name of Hector Blake, if it pleases you, King Germanicius," Tavar said, still making an effort with the introductions, though it seemed quite clear from the expression on his face that he didn't expect them to go anywhere.

"You've gotten old, Tavar," Germanicus said. "Your beard is nearly fully white. Are you intending to fight?"

"…I have been called to," Tavar said.

"Why? You're old," Germanicus said again. "Your strength leaves you."

"General Tavar shall be your Commanding General, King Germanicus," the strategist Blake informed him, pointing at Tavar with his staff.

"…Hm," Germanicus said. "Very well."

"…You took that rather quickly," Blake remarked. "I had thought you might covet such a position yourself."

"No," Germanicus replied, quite simply. "I would rather not. I can trust Tavar to tell me what to do, at least."

"That doesn't seem a very strong position for a King," Tavar said, stroking his beard.

"If you tell me who to kill, I shall kill them," Germanicus said. "Then we will make short work of this rebellion, no? I think that is a good enough strategy to me. Then, shall we call this meeting done? I dislike these walls."

"…If only it were that easy, King Germanicus," Tavar said. "I'm afraid we will have to ask for more of your time than that. We have a third guest who ought to be arriving soon, and when he does, we might begin our discussion of strategy."

"How many men have you brought, King Germanicus?" Blake asked, taking control of the conversation again. Though he was old, and he was weak, as Germanicus had pointed out, there was a clear will to him that continually seemed to stir the attentions of the room.

"…Sixty thousand," Germanicus said. "Are you one of the King's crones? There's wisdom in you, for a weak man."

"I do not believe that I have said anything wise," the Chief Strategist said.

"No," Germanicus said. "But you have cleverness, don't you?"

"I am the Chief Strategist, after all. Cleverness is the nature of my post."

"Hm. Yes. You're clever too," Germanicus said. "Will he be telling us what to do as well, Tavar?"

"He will be," Tavar said, patiently. "As he said, that is the nature of his post."

Germanicus relaxed further. "Good, good," he smiled. "Then I don't have to think. This might be better than I thought it would be. I brought with me sixty thousand men. You'll make use of them, won't you?"

"Sixty thousand?" The Chief Strategist said. "My. You have been awfully generous to our King's cause. Such devotion will not be overlooked."

"You're happy with that?" Germanicus said. "The crones told me how many to bring, and the old King. I have no care for that number. We will get this over with quickly then?"

"…I fear it might take longer than you expect," the Chief Strategist said. "This war has not been going particularly well. The Emersons have fallen to a man by the name of Oliver Patrick."

Germanicus straightened up. "Yes, yes," he said. "I have heard this name."

An aggression leaked out of him like a wind. The flames in the fire buffeted, and they gave a shine to Germanicus' eyes that made him seem more demon than he did man. "He's yours, isn't he, Tavar? Is he strong?"

"He's remarkable for his age," Tavar replied.

"Good… Good. A good fight. You'll let me fight him, then?" He said, clenching his fist, flexing the ridiculous musculature of his massive forearms, so well apparent from his loose-fitting shirt – the barest requirement that his advisors had seen forced upon him, now that he bore the position of King.

Tavar studied the man. It had been a decade since he had last seen him, but he was struck by the fact that Germanicus seemed very much the same as he once did. There was that wild intensity to him, as if they were in the presence of a wild bear, that for some reason – just for this minute alone – was not attacking them. That they could reason with him, or at least attempt to, was a fact that they had to thank the Gods for.