A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1707 - 1707: The Emperor - Part 1

"The peasantry would," Tavar said. "My honour would. Guilty, perhaps they might be. But they are not guilty beyond a shadow of doubt. As of yet, they have committed no crimes. There is naught we can honourably do to prevent them from making their way forward."

"We could obstruct them," Germanicus said.

"I said honourably prevent them, Germanicus," Tavar said. "A nobleman does indeed have half a dozen ways in which he can bother the peasantry, but will we determine that we ought to actively use them?"

"So you will let these reinforcements march?" Germanicus asked. "It sounds to me like you too, Tavar, seek a mightier foe in which to war with."

Tavar shook his head wearily. "I fear that is very much not the case. I do not seek to increase the burdens that we already find ourselves faced with. Yet, I believe my hands are tied on this. The villagers have their own wants, and we will have to leave them to their ways."

"Hm…" Germanicus said. "How large do you suppose these reinforcements to number?"

"Only the days and the Gods will tell," Tavar said. "I believe Oliver Patrick is still in the process of visiting villages. Perhaps we will see more. Perhaps as many as two or three thousand. But these will be untrained men. By the time we arrive, they will still be the same peasants that they march as now. They will not reach Ernest more than a handful of days ahead of us."

When Oliver did make his return to Ernest, nearly a full week later, Tavar's predictions were proved to be right on the nose. Some of the peasants had made it in advance of him, and some trailed after, visible on the horizon, from the walls of the ancient city. Scattered across the expanse around the city they were, their numbers still could be easily totalled as nearing three thousand.

"Was that all part of the plan?" The Minister of Blades asked, when he saw the fruits of the labour that they had put in.

"There was no real plan, Minister," Oliver said. Even he found himself surprised, seeing those peasants move, of their own volition. He had expected the work to be done, the second that they had declined him, he had supposed that to be that. He certainly hadn't expected the villagers of Heath's Edge to move as they had – and he certainly hadn't expected the following villages to follow suit, though he did suppose in those villages that followed, it was more the work of the messengers that the Heath's Edge men sent than it was his own speeches that propelled them into action.

It came with a weight of responsibility, that unexpected boon. A group of two hundred peasants arrived at the gates of Ernest at the same time that Oliver did. They were ragged, and they were dirty from the road, and shivering from the cold, but their eyes were shining. They were like a hundred little candles, all of them looking to Oliver with a great expectancy.

He had to remind himself that it was him that had stirred them into action, and him that had brought them into the perils of their current plight, lest he try and shy away from their reasons for standing there, and foist the blame on some other man.

He looked at them for longer than he ought to have before he managed to find himself. There was nervousness in his heart, the doubts of a normal man. The strangeness that came from confronting a group of strangers – though he had spoken to them once already.

Pushing his horse forward, with his heels to its side, he allowed a change to come over him. Driven by the likes of Ingolsol and Claudia, and by the weight of past experience, he allowed himself to adopt a role that he was still madly uncomfortable with.

He pulled up before them. If he had tried to sit as tall in his saddle as he did then, he would have been unable to. If he had tried to appear the grand figure of an inspiring General, his efforts would have seemed forced, and they would have looked down on him for it. Yet, without intention, with a mere feeling of resolve in his heart, he was exactly that when he took to their head, on the back of his borrowed white horse. He was the hero that they had travelled all that way to serve.

"Men of the peasantry," he said. "Welcome to Ernest. The Patrick army and soldiers welcome you, and look forward to standing beside you in battle. I look forward to seeing the marks that you leave in this great war of ours."

Karstly's contingent left Pendragon territory under a secrecy that seemed almost impossible for the five thousand troops that he commanded. He secreted those men across the Pendragon countryside, through the snowy forests and woods, marching them mainly by night, and mainly through territory that was both wild and difficult to cross, obscuring them from enemy sight.

He rushed with a certain smile on his face, the sort of thing that made Samuel sigh to look at, knowing very much how his Lord was beginning to enjoy this war that he was fighting. All the pieces – as Karstly kept saying – were in place for a beautiful picture.

It was a rather standard maneuver, from Samuel's eyes, to attack the rear of an enemy that had their attention somewhere else. Which, indeed – he hoped – was the foundation of their plan. Attack the great army of ten thousand as it lays siege to Skullic's walls. But Karstly seemed to think the game was more complicated than that. He was in a rush, for some reason or another.

He hardly seemed to sleep. Though they were made to sleep by day, for the most part, so that they could do their marching by night, even then Karstly could rarely be seen in his tent. He was out moving in the daylight, thinking, and then thinking some more, fighting invisible enemies with his fingers, as he gesticulated in the air, painting that grand picture of his.