A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Some," Oliver replied. "We do not have the carriages to redistribute them otherwise."

"Very well," the man said. "Would you mind if we performed our own inspections, so that we may give a more precise report for the General?"

"By all means," Oliver said. There was nothing in the wagons that they wanted to hide, though he supposed it might have been a little alarming for Amelia and Pauline to suddenly have soldiers opening the door to the carriage they were riding.

"Blackthorn men," Verdant noted.

Oliver twitched, looking back over his shoulder. Indeed, they were Blackthorn men. He hadn't paused to evaluate their uniform. He'd simply taken them for General Karstly's men on first look, given how they acted.

'Strange,' he thought to himself, evaluating his own misinterpretation. He had not thought that General Karstly was so well assimilated with the Blackthorns that they were unified already.

"Captain," came a stiff-armed salute, as the refined Lombard picked Oliver out from a distance, and came to greet him.

"Captain," Oliver replied, with similar military courtesy.

"You understand the General's intentions, then?" Lombard said, noting Oliver's calm.

"And I appreciate them," Oliver replied.

"There's a gathering of extra equipment over there," Lombard said, pointing to a circle of empty horses, carts and wagons that had been collected a distance away. "They were all Lord Blackwell could spare, but there is more than enough to make this battle a success."

"I'm in agreement," Oliver replied. "I'm impressed by how quickly both Generals were able to prepare the necessary arrangements."

"The reach of a General extends to far more than just his troops," Lombard replied. "He has command over resources, and could utilise them as he wishes."

"We have completed our inspection, Ser Patrick!" The soldiers said, returning and saluting as they did so. "By General Karstly's orders, you should be due three extra wagons for your load."

"Very well, soldier," Oliver replied. "That will be most helpful."

"Ser!" The men said, saluting again, before they promptly rode away to prepare the extra equipment that the Patricks would be needing.

"Have they inspected your wagons as well, Blackthorn?" Oliver asked. He'd been too distracted by his conversation with Lombard to watch them through their entire inspection.

Lasha nodded quietly. "I think they realise that we're the same force."

That made matters easier. "The General might realize it, but do your men?" Lombard said, noting the less-than-pleased looks on the faces of the Blackthorn soldiers. They weren't used to serving under any man that wasn't a Blackthorn, especially when that man was a mere minor noble.

That discord wasn't anything new to Oliver, though. He had discord enough with his own cavalry. He didn't let it worry him. "When battle comes, we will make whatever adjustments are necessary," Oliver replied.

"Hm," Lombard said. Something about his gaze said that he didn't quite believe Oliver, but he left those words unspoken. "Very well, Ser. I shall leave you to your business."

He saluted again, and departed, much like the soldiers had. Oliver knew that he wasn't imagining the renewed level of formality that Lombard was demonstrating. He seemed an increasingly different man the closer they came to the battlefield.

In short order, the Patrick supply chain was rectified. They were given their new carts and horses to go along with them, ensuring the swiftness of the logistical portion of their army. Slowly but surely, the same was made to be true of the other forces under the Karstly command.

Oliver saw the General himself moving amongst his soldiers, performing inspections of the wagons, and nodding in approval to himself. He was taking the problem as seriously as Oliver would have hoped.

"Not long now, my Lord," Verdant commented.

He was right in that. It was not five minutes later when with the clanging of metal, the attention of the five thousand was gathered to the General, as he sat astride his horse.

"Preparations have been complete, gentlemen!" He informed them. "If any of you had worry about our supply chain, then you need worry no longer. From this point on, our movements shall be forward. We will be Lord Blackwell's arrow, aiming at a single location only – the mountain outreach that he desires we take."

There came firm murmurs from the men. They weren't cheers, per se, but they sounded very much like expressions of resolve. There was a tight tension in the air from it. Lord Karstly allowed silence to hang for a few moments, as he looked over his men. Then he nodded to himself, as if approving.

"By the front, then. We begin our march," the General said, wheeling around on his horse, his white hair swinging up behind him, and then his higher-ranked mounted officers drawing up behind that, as the whole army began to move, bit by bit.

The walls of Lord Blackwell's castle, as well as the remnants of the soldiers left in the encampment gathered to see the departure. They too understood the significance of the advance force. The explanation had travelled far beyond the Commanders that it was first told to.

They very much understood that when it came to this war, it was the advance force that had drawn the short straw. Or, if he was a man in search of glory, then it was the advance force that had taken that glory from him. At least for now.

The Patrick forces soon got their opportunity to begin moving as well. They were near to the back of the line. A good sea of men already stretched out in front of them, a mixture between infantry and cavalry, with nearly three-quarters as infantry. It was a reassuring thing to see, for it was the same balance that Oliver's own forces had.

He hoped that meant that the infantrymen would not be left behind as they began their mad dash towards the enemy.

Oliver had consulted the maps with Verdant. They'd drawn a line together, anticipating where the Verna forces were likely to be in relation to their target destination. Their prediction supposed that they would clash heads within two days, at best.

...

…

"ORDER! ORDER! FORM THE RANKS! FORM THE RANKS!"

It was not even halfway through their first day of marching, and already a man with a Pendragon flag was rushing down the line, waving a signal.