A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1900 - 1900: After Victory - Part 3

"You make us look immodest before our new allies," Verdant seconded, gesturing to the Treeant soldiers that now formed more than half of the Patrick army.

It was interesting to note how quickly those men had found their place. They were an order of warriors that many in the rest of the Stormfront liked to call savages for the way that they dressed, and for their fighting styles. Amongst the Patrick men, however, they did not look or even act so out of place. There was that same gruff wildness that, within a night of drinking, seemed to form a good bridge of understanding between the two of them. There were only the smallest embers of tension – an usual thing. Both on the part of the Patrick men that were quick to embrace their General's decision of recruiting the enemy, and on the part of those Treeant men, for being open minded enough to do so in the first place.

Naturally, it would be impossible to have them fight entirely as a unified army, but they were not such a weak five thousand as they otherwise would have been, even with that obvious division amongst them – so obvious that they could be told apart merely from the clothes that they wore, and where they stood in the ranks. The Treeant soldiers, as one might expect, all stood together.

It was something that Oliver noted, but did not seek to find a quick resolution to. It wasn't the sort of thing that he thought would improve by force. His men, he trusted, to do that work for him. For they were a strange lot – the likes of Firyr, and of Judas, and Karesh and Kaya, and all those ex-slave soldiers and peasants whose mouths were as foul as their appearances. When they spoke, at times, they would win smiles from some Treeants, and the occasional snort of laughter here. Merely by being as they were, it was enough. That powerful individualism that sprung up amongst the Patricks, that was their strength in moments like this. That charisma that they had.

It was a charisma that had spread even as far as the Emerson prisoners. For the time that they'd spent behind the walls, the Patrick men hadn't entirely ignored them. For a time, they would not even look at them, for the harshness of the wounds that army had inflicted, but as the weeks wore on, they saw the truth of it – men just like they. On more than one occasion, drinks had been shared and dice had been tossed together, all in good spirit. It was part of that which had kept the mood of the Emerson soldiers away from the mutiny that it would otherwise have sprang towards.

In that regard, Prince Hendrick too had been as good as his word. After inspecting his own men, Oliver went to greet the Prince. The man had been given a horse, and his men had all been given armour fitting of them from Greeves. For the most part, it had simply been returned, and in other cases, the merchant had fetched it from elsewhere. Done with the sort of efficiency that Greeves was famed for, whenever he pursued something that he had a personal interest in.

One would have not have thought, from looking at them now, all clean, and organized in their formation, after a few harsh commands barked from General Fitzer, that they had spent as many weeks as they had as prisoners. They were practically bristling, full of energy. They seemed to enjoy the prospect of having a duty to carry out. Even Prince Hendrick did – the man was in entirely good spirits when Oliver met with him.

"Good morning, Prince Emerson," Oliver said, greeting him with a dip of his head. "I assume your presence here means that the outfitting of your men went smoothly enough?"

The Prince nodded. "Your merchant is worth his weight in gold. A dangerous man, he is, if put to the wrong uses."

"Oh, he raised himself entirely with the wrong uses," Oliver assured him. "You did not find yourselves at work too deep into the night? We've a good distance to cover before we can make nightfall camp."

"You need not concern yourself with us. My men are well rested. You, it would seem, have seen to that," Prince Hendrick said. "I will thank you once, General Patrick, for keeping them in the order that you have. Other captors would not have done half as much. And now, I will not mention it again."

Fitzer seized the opportunity to insert himself into the conversation. "To make matters clear, General, we are only following you in a defensive capacity, you understand? We have agreed to the escort of Queen Asabel, and nothing else. You are not to expect us to join in on your battling."

"Indeed," Oliver said. "I am not to expect you to join in on the fighting," he repeated, with a slight edge to his voice.

"We shall not join in battle against you, either," Prince Hendrick assured him. "I have already given you my word on that."

"Then, we all have our understanding," Oliver said.

"I don't like it," Fitzer grumbled. "Even with our agreements, I cannot bring myself to trust you, General Patrick. I cannot trust a man that never reveals what he is."

"You would have me bear myself on a stone altar for all to see?" Oliver said. "Allow me my privacy of existence."

"That too, I dislike. For a man you age to be speaking thus. It's unnatural," Fitzer said. "Dominus has raised something strange in you."

"I will not dwell too rigidly on that," Oliver said. "But if it means anything, General, I do feel a good bit easier, knowing that I can count on your strength to see Queen Asabel protected."

Oliver left him with those words, and a nod to Prince Hendrick, allowing them to make of the compliment what they would. Before Hod arrived, he still had his own matters that he wanted to tend to – namely a word with the merchant that they'd already mentioned, though he found himself wondering quite where they'd got to.

Away from where his Patrick army was gathering, in a small group just by the gate, that looked more of mercenaries than they did of soldiers, there was a conspicuous patch of red hair, sticking out from under a fur hat that seemed far too large for the lady that wore it.