"Temporarily," Oliver said. "We will recapture it in ti. But Ernest is yours, General Blackthorn – it belongs to House Black."
If a General was willing to give up such vast estates, it did not make much sense for the lower nobility, with lesser lands, to grumble. Besides, there was sothing beyond that, that Ingolsol whispered in Oliver’s ear. Sothing that strayed beyond the route that honour ought to set, towards the sort of deviousness that might inspire a Yarmdon raider.
"Do understand, gentlen, that to the victor goes the spoils," Oliver said. "This is an opportunity to change your station, to grasp for more than you ever had. Your work for will be rewarded. I will not miss it. The Stormfront is corrupt in more ways than just the High King. Noble families, without contribution to the realm, have been able to hold on to their wealth for centuries. Doing naught to support those beneath them – they simply sit idly, like a stream that has ceased to run. The Stormfront is full of such stagnant water. We will be the wave that sweeps them all away. A new era will be ushered in. We have always been a realm built in war – it makes sense, then, that to the hardest fighting warriors, the largest shares of our kingdom shall be given."
...
...
"King Patrick."
Hod t him at the gates of Ernest. A delay in his departure, just so that he could see and get a feel for the man whose weighty decision had only been told to him in the form of a letter.
Three days had passed since then. General Blackthorn and his six thousand already moved up towards the eastern border, and the other six thousand, who Minister Hod would command, were moving towards the southern border. Only King Patrick, and his two thousand returned.
The King carried himself with all the grace and certainty of a man that had spent his entire life being grood for royalty. There was a presence to him now that he had lacked when Hod had last seen him. Then, uncertainty had twirled around him, and it took a loyal man to see the grandness that lay beneath, and to trust in that Oliver Patrick. But this man before him was like a rock. With such a hardness to him, none could doubt that he was a King. They would have known it even if they did not see the silver crown of the Pendragons on his head, or the silver crown of the Erson King that hung from his saddle and bounced as he rode.
"Minister Hod," King Patrick said, his tone level, his gaze intense.
"Forgive for delaying in following your orders, Your Majesty," Hod said, dipping his head.
"It is a small request that you made of . I am happy to oblige," King Patrick replied. "You were not present. You seek greater clarification on what has occurred, so I will summarise. King Erson spoke of the trap that Lord Blake has led us in to. I see no strength in his trap, and no reason to avoid it. I will not allow the corruption of tis past to sit for any longer. We have the strength of arms to see this war through to the end, even if it ans to war with the entire Stormfront."
When King Patrick said it, Hod believed it – though when he used all the tools of logic that were available to him, he could not see the situation favouring them. It was a strange situation. For the entire substance of his education, and the very weapon that made him useful to King Patrick, to be the very thing that he had to dismiss, in order to believe his King entirely. He had to follow that sense in his heart, that he had always known to sohow be superior to the logic that had allowed him to govern his world for so long.
"And your strategy in doing this is to utilise a single mobile force?" Minister Hod said.
"For now," Oliver said. "Or indefinitely, if it becos impossible to raise more troops. I will push the two thousand beneath to their limits. I will be all places at once, and I shall strike where they are least willing to have ."
"That seems a terrifying thing for our foes, Your Majesty," Hod said. "Which n have you chosen? I do not solely see Patrick n amongst your numbers."
"I was unable to take all of my n. It is imperative that the soldiers beneath have experience riding. The mixture beneath is motley at the mont – so of the noblen that Tavar gave you. My own Patrick n, naturally, and then those Treeants that can ride. They are far from being a complete fighting force currently, but I will sharpen them, and the realm will know to fear them."
"Indeed," Hod said. "You have a talent for growing the n beneath you, Your Majesty. I look forward to seeing the results that you are able to inspire in this new group. You have allowed your Colonel Jorah, and your two Commanders Kaya and Karesh. Is that wise? I fear to take such quality n away from you."
"They would be wasted here," Oliver said. "I have not enough soldiers for them to properly command. You will make good use of them, I’m sure."
The only two Patrick n of station that Minister Hod could still see amongst Oliver’s number were Lady Blackthorn, and Gar – Gar being the only soldier in Oliver’s order that was not mounted. Apparently, he’d jogged the entire way there, running alongside Oliver’s horse. There was sothing strangely hound-like about the youth. He looked as content as one could possibly be, despite the distance he had no doubt covered.
"And your Captain Firyr is sent to Lord Blackthorn?" Minister Hod asked. "The General will find good use of him, I am sure."
"Indeed," Oliver said. "I will not delay you any longer, Minister. You must make haste."
Hod took that to be the signal for him to ask the last of his questions, but he found in the way that King Patrick carried himself all the answers that he needed. He could be strangely confident himself for the fact that his King was strangely confident.
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