A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 2085: King Patrick - Part 3

He allowed that announcement to hang in the air, as the faces of those that had not been present before turned, trying to understand exactly what he meant by that. Oliver answered for them.

"The High King intends to unite the Stormfront against us, utilising once neutral parties. It is likely that he will succeed. We anticipate that the Treeants, the Pendragons, and the Wyndons will join him. We anticipate too that the scale of the enemy we must fight will be over a hundred thousand men."

Once more, as bluntly as possible, and once more, without the slightest shred of weakness to go along with it. Not the slightest sign that he was intimidated by that fact.

"We will meet such an enemy, and we will best them," King Patrick declared. "We claim all previously Emerson lands as our own. We conquer it in the name of the Patrick Kingdom – and where its borders meet with the rest of the Stormfront is where we shall fight our war. We will not take a backwards step. We will grasp everything that we hold, and seize more, until we hold the Capital, and have cast the High King down from his throne."

Sternness again, met by muted expressions of uncertainty. It was difficult to feel fear, when King Patrick looked at them like that – so firm in the way he determined his course. Stating the impossible odds that they would face, as if they were no more than a passing inconvenience.

He waited, expecting a raising of hands, some voice of dissent. He allowed two whole minutes to pass, doing nothing but staring down men in different corners of the room, willing them to speak. He frowned when there was not a word. He did not seem to realize that none could speak.

It was as if every corner of that room was owned by him. The degree of his certainty was like an outstretched hand. The will extending from him controlled far more than just the space in front of him, it seemed to extend down the full length of the tower. It was massive, and overwhelming. It was the sense of gravity that Edward had felt suffocating him.

"If you wish to speak, you ought to speak now," Oliver said. "Our numbers are few, at fourteen thousand – if we include the men that we have left behind in Ernest. It would be reasonable should men amongst you declare that you mislike these odds. I will not hold it against you, should you decide to leave. But if you must leave, you ought do so now. Every man that stays in this room I will consider an ally, along with the men that you command. Those that leave after this window of this opportunity will be considered deserters, and shall be treated as such, in the same way that King Emerson was."

He waited again, and still none spoke. A few quiet shufflings of the feet, done with uncertainty, but they soon quietened themselves. General Blackthorn sat, his arms folded across his chest, along with a toothy smile stretched across his face. Firyr was practically snarling – it was difficult to tell whether he was angry or excited. Verdant was stern, but he gave his King his nod. Lady Blackthorn was resolute. She stared forward, not making the slightest gesture. The physical embodiment of unwavering. They had all been present there before, in the instant that their King had gone against their will, and cut off King Emerson’s head.

He had chosen a route that was not their own – as was his right as their ruler. Only then, had Oliver begun to appreciate what a crown could do for him, in the same way that it limited him. It was a heavy sword to wield, but once he struck a blow, it would be far weightier for it.

The Patrick men were unified. The Blackthorn Colonels, once they saw how content their General was, were absolutely unwavering. Tavar’s old soldiers, in seeing both factions united, where there had been unrest before, had nothing to say either. They found absolute union, and strong foundations, where there should have been the stormiest standing possible. Those men of command, with all the dignity that was afforded to them, jutted their chins forward, and made a show of being as stern and as resolute as possible.

The Treeants, Oliver had doubts for. Their own countrymen would likely be soon enough rising up to fight against them. He had expected them to be the least likely to remain as allies, but somehow, they were the least shaken of the lot.

They did not even budge, or ask their questions. They only bristled in anticipation, hearing the dire situation that he painted their future in.

"KNEEL BEFORE THE KING!" Verdant bellowed, once it became clear that none would be raising their voices anytime soon. He led the procession in kneeling first. Then General Blackthorn followed him, standing up from his chair so violently that it clattered down behind him. The General even managed to make the act of kneeling seem fearsome.

The Patrick men followed suit, and the Blackthorn men followed after their Colonel. Tavar’s remaining men had no issue kneeling either – and the Treeants were just as quick as they. Against the certainty with which Oliver Patrick declared their course, there could be no doubts. Any man that could declare with such a firmness that they were at war with the Kingdom of the Stormfront, despite being so heavily outnumbered, was not a man that it would have been easy – or even reasonable – to argue against. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

Oliver nodded to himself. The slightest bit of certainty that they needed in this storm was that of their allies. Men that they could trust in. If they could know beyond a shadow of a doubt that every man in that room would fight until their last breath, then they had a strength in unity that an army as large as a hundred thousand would always find it difficult to match.

He had seized the war without fear. A hardness in his heart. For there was a dull certainty that he could not explain – that feeling that had pushed him so easily towards cutting off King Emerson’s head. The feeling that, once they were already inside the storm, once the decision was already made, then no matter what, would he find his victory.