A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 947: The Blackwell Forces - Part 3

"How many, Lombard?" Oliver asked.

"Fifty thousand is the initial estimate," Lombard replied. He said it so casually, but it was a pronouncement enough to make the air freeze.

"That many?" Oliver asked.

"Indeed, that many," Lombard said. "Blackwell supposes that they intend for a counter-invasion. The capturing of their castles was a blow that they will not stand by, and with the numbers they've gathered, they're likely to assault the Pendragon border."

"Fifty thousand… by the Gods," Verdant murmured. "That is… outside of our expectations. Have you sent word to Queen Asabel?"

"She has been informed, worry not," Lombard replied. "Of course, I do not need to remind you that those are merely the initial numbers that we've spotted. It is not impossible that they would arrive with more. We're very much on the back foot, I'm afraid."

"You don't look afraid," Oliver noted.

Lombard gave the smallest of smiles. "Your impetuousness will be a great distraction from the problem that we face. I am looking forward to fighting alongside you once more, Ser Patrick," he said, extending his one good arm for a handshake.

Oliver took it firmly. "Let's hope that the battles of this campaign are a little easier on the eyes than what we've dealt with before."

"I imagine they will be," Lombard said. "Unless they've dredged up a mage, there is little that will come close to that. Though, the immensity of the numbers that we will have to deal with presents its own manner of chaos. You will have to get used to that, and get used to it quickly."

"Of course," Oliver said. "I've been warned of that more than once by Skullic and Volguard. I'll do my best to ensure that I don't let my lack of experience become a weakness."

"Very good," Lombard said. "Might I ask when your men will be arriving, Lady Blackthorn?"

"Tomorrow," Lasha responded.

"Very good," Lombard said. "Two days hence, we will resume our march east. By then, we should have gathered five thousand men."

Oliver had doubted when Lombard had said it that a further two thousand men could be gathered in just a matter of two days, but he was quickly proven wrong.

Men came at all hours of the day, wearing several different colours, all from different Houses, dressed in different surcoats. The large majority of their sigils Oliver did not recognize, but Lombard assured him that their loyalty was unquestionable.

The majority of them were from smaller noble Houses under the yoke of House Blackwell, as evidenced by the owl sigil that decorated at least half of their surcoats, whilst the sigil of their own Houses decorated the other side.

The next day, the Blackthorn soldiers arrived as they were expected to, and the lot of them looked thoroughly exasperated with their young mistress. Her two retainers wore much the same look, though they were a good deal more forgiving than the men.

"Is this really going to be alright?" Oliver had overheard one of them ask. "I know Lady Blackthorn has proven herself with a sword and all… but I don't think she's the sort that's cut out to lead, is she?"

"Shut up," came the crisp response. "Don't you be speaking like that, and don't let anyone else hear you speaking like that either. It's our job to make it work for the young Lady. That's why General Blackthorn chose us, and not some other greenhorns."

The men that Lord Blackthorn had sent for his daughter were obviously of some considerable strength. They were far better than the typical quality of Serving Class soldiers that one saw. These were veterans, strong and broad-shouldered – almost as big as the ex-slaves that Oliver had trained up.

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The men radiated that feral attacking might that the Blackthorns were famed for, and Oliver found himself quite eager to see them in battle. Lasha, for her part, hardly seemed interested in them at all. She greeted them with the fewest possible words, and a blank expression, and then looked to Oliver for guidance.

He'd simply suggested to her that they set up camp until it was time to depart, and she'd seized on that suggestion with a readiness, clearly having been at a loss for what to tell them.

They set up a crisp camp, surprisingly orderly for soldiers that served the likes of the ever-excitable General Blackthorn. It seemed almost a waste to tear it down again once the morning came, but they did so without complaint.