A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1719 - 1719: A Kingdom At War - Part 2

He caught note of the way Germanicus glanced over his shoulder, just before he'd begun that charge. He'd tallied his men, and given them his intention in a way that he hadn't been doing before.

It gave Tavar chills to see it, just how naturally Germanicus fell into position, given the slightest, most meagre bits of stimulation. The man was feral, all the way through. Like a wolf of strength knew how it might lead its pack, when the role fell to him, so too did Germanicus quickly learn to lead, and in a fashion that was most unique to the Treeant King. With each passing day, the man wielded a greater and greater field of Command, pulling more and more soldiers into his cry. Even those tens of thousands of men that were standing watching the practice found themselves stirred into a fury by Germanicus' efforts.

With all being as it was, Tavar could almost be certain that in just a single charge under the likes of Germanicus, they could almost steal the walls of Ernest in one fell swoop – just a single day. Naturally, he didn't give into that optimism in his own strategizing, but so profound was the potential that he saw in the likes of Germanicus, that he was made to consider it, against his own maturity.

That was what Tavar spent his time and his supplies sacrificing. For the swift nourishment of a monster of the most profound sort. That, and it gave Tiberius time. 'That is the only thing my two allies do require,' Tavar thought to himself. 'Time.' From the Capital, Blake had Tavar sent instructions and information on what was going on in the rest of the country, and speed was always his urging, though he did not ask it harshly enough for it to be called a command. He did trust in the man he had named as Commanding General as he said he had, but even had his patience beginning to be stretched thin, especially by outbursts from the High King.

Apparently, the High King had wished to capture and utilise the various blue flames that had been uncovered around the country, hidden in underground monument, inside the ruins of structures long past. But each group of men he sent to seize them seemed to simply disappear. He'd sent a second group of men after the first, to enquire about their whereabouts, but in their place, those men had only found ash, and the complete absence of the blue flame that they were meant to acquire.

The High King suspected it must have been the work of Blackwell, who had grown conspicuously quiet, and even Blake wasn't certain that the man didn't have a command in it. Tavar, however, stroked his chin in considering it. It did not seem to bear the flavour of Blackwell's strategy. He supposed it to be a third force, if anything – and not the sort of problem that he could devote a good deal of time to solving in one go.

He was determined to carry out his duty, to the very end, and the duty asked of him was to overturn the rebels from the Kingdom of the Stormfront, and restore the country to the peace that it had once known. That, and only that, was Tavar's primary objective. The third force could not steal away his attention until the moment it began to snatch power for itself.

As Germanicus trained himself and his men, so too did Oliver train himself, and his own sword arm. He sparred furiously with a Gar that was keen beyond measure, pushing the Sword past his limits, and supposing in him the same strength that he had seen in potential enemy Germanicus.

For the longest time, he had trusted that he could overcome his foes in individual combat. Even when he had seen the effects of Command on the likes of Khan, he had supposed that, somehow, it was still possible to overcome them. Against the likes of Germanicus, no matter how many outcomes he imagined, he could not see a victory in a single one of them. And that was only through observing the man from a distance, and hearing the tales that the Minister of Blades had seen spoken of him. Oliver knew that no matter how hard he pushed himself in his training of the sword, it would never be enough to match him.

And yet he was glad to do it. He was glad to be able to rise at dawn, and fight and train himself to a sweat, amongst his men, pursuing a foe that he could not overcome. The approach to the battle was different from the likes of the battle with the Emerson. With the presence of Blackthorn, the responsibility of the defence wasn't so crushing a burden. They had more options, far more than before, and with it, Oliver had to trust that there would be far more potential for victory.

So too did he trust in Blackwell, and in Karstly and Skullic, who he knew had yet to join up with any of their allies, and there was Minister Hod too. No longer was this a battle of Oliver Patrick's undertaking. This was the shared responsibility of all of Queen Asabel's forces.

"It's far nicer fighting under an agreed upon strategy, than doing things off on my own," Oliver had commented lightly to Nila, only to earn an exasperated shake of her head in response.

His diligence in his training did much for the men. To have Oliver Patrick there was enough in and of itself for those peasants, Jorah had remarked, and Firyr had been quick to agree, especially after the two had spent so long trying to stoke in them the fury that they'd seen in the previous batch.

It was Verdant who went one step further. "To see my Lord at his most pure," Verdant said. "That does far more for them, I do believe."

In those training grounds of Ernest, amongst the empty courtyards where nobles had once lived, and where the Patrick men had seen giant hedges flattened in order to make way for their encampment, the men saw their training done together.