A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Their destination was a land further to the south, far away from any sort of friendly territory for Oliver, and a good distance away from Solgrim. Even from the Academy, it would take half a day of riding to get there. As one would expect from the south, the lands here were just as they were famed to be – large swathes of forest, and many rivers of varying sizes, some of which had frozen with the snow. Oliver had worried initially, seeing the different rivers appear off into the distance, with no bridge in sight. But of course, that worry had been needless. As the one to plot the route, Verdant would not have made the mistake of taking them anywhere that was impossible to ford. They drove their animals in cycles – a burst of moderate quickness, followed by frequent periods of slower trotting, giving them time to breathe, before they would send them off again. They were lucky in the fact that they had very little supplies they needed to carry with them. Anything weighty had been sent with Karesh, Kaya and Jorah in the carriage the day before, freeing their horses up to focus entirely on the human weight on their backs. The Macalister House ruled over several villages, and two larger towns. It was one of these larger towns that they'd pinpointed as their destination – the town of Newfell, named after the logging forests that had once been so populous in the area. It was on the edge of this town where they were told the Macalisters had gathered their forces – five hundred men, so the sources said, firmly entrenched on a reasonably well-fortified hill. Though, as Skullic had warned Oliver, it remained until the moment of arrival the question of what exactly they'd be faced with. The numerous forests, and rivers of the south offered plentiful strategic opportunities, as did the hillsides dotted amongst them. Oliver had paid the map mind – there was only one river in particular that he seemed to need to worry about, but forestry, most certainly, would play a significant role. If they were to fall into an ambush, the minimal forces that they were forced to bring would not nearly be enough to survive. It was a forest just before Newfell that Skullic had sent his men to make their camp in. Of course, they couldn't go too close to the Newfall Encampment itself, or else they'd be charged and run off by the garrison there before Oliver had even arrived. Just as there was no point camping too far away, and having them waste time marching to close the distance between themselves and the enemy once they arrived. Such was the problem of having a Commander that was unable to stay with his army full-time. Nonetheless, with Skullic making the arrangements for this part of the expedition, one could be sure that the rendezvous spot he'd picked was well chosen. He'd at least made sure to go that far – for that was as much as his reach was able to extend. Thus, as Oliver rode, he was able to do it without worry. Everyone else had taken care of the minor details, setting up the board in advance. His only concern needed to be arriving on time to play the game. That concern quickly proved to be mute as well. A full forty-five minutes ahead of their arrival time, they spotted the large swath of roadside forest that indicated the area near their rendezvous point. The three had proved eager travellers, and the mounts that they rode were well-bred enough to respond to those expectations. Walter hadn't been ridden often enough to have the endurance of Casper and of Lady Blackthorn's mount, but he made up the difference in heart, and didn't allow either one to get ahead of him. Another fifteen minutes later, they were plunging into the edge of the forest, and guards stationed behind trees were raising up spears to meet them. "Woahhh there!" Verdant said, seeing the point of a spear flash towards his chest. "Woah there indeed," Sergeant Rofus said. "You're always so fuckin' overeager, Gamrod. We were to make a good first impression – it's been a good two weeks since we've last seen him, and the first thing you do is almost pierce one of his men." "Sorr—Wait it, was you that told me to do it, Sergeant! You said there were strangers on the horizon, and that it was too early to be Ser Patrick!" Gamrod said, protesting the blame that had so duly fallen to him. "Besides, you're the one pointing a spear at Ser Patrick himself." "Heh? This? It's a joke – me and Ser Patrick always do it. He's not weak enough to get caught out by the likes of this," Rofus said, puffing out his chest confidently. "It's good to see you again, Sergeant…" Oliver said, though there was a markedly strained smile sitting on his face. "Fools, both of you…" Vice-Commander Cormrant said, his expression as sour as ever as clomped the two of them on the back of his head. "The Commander was right to send me to greet them along with you. What a meal you've made of the whole affair." "Soldier," Verdant said, stiffly. "You seem to be under a misimpression. Your Commander stands before you – Ser Oliver Patrick I have not seen you salute him." There was an increasing trace of bitterness on the soldier's face, as he looked Verdant up and down, trying to guess who he was from the surcoat that he wore. "Are you Lord Idris?" "I am," Verdant replied, though there was an impatient twitch to his brow. "Then, welcome, I suppose," he said, offering a salute that was a little sloppy. "And welcome to the Commander as well… Though, I wonder what rank that makes me, now that the position of my superior has been usurped…" "Soldier," Verdant said again, his tone even harsher this time. "Your discontent has been made obvious. To say any more would be to invite discipline. You were given a task by your superior, were you not? Show us the way to your camp."