"Yes, they are not the best. Yes, they are more trouble than they are worth. But all have their purpose, and I intend to see it fulfilled."
The first of the ox-drawn wagons slowly rolled into camp, the wheels gouging worryingly deep furrows into the soil in a silent testament to how much was being hauled. Flanked on either side by my men, it was being brought into the center of the massive square of drab tents, the middle having been left conspicuously empty. And for good reason: I had been expecting this delivery.
Oh yes, I had a camp now. That probably should have been one of the first things to note.
I could hardly keep an army inside the walls of the city, could I?
"Harold, assemble Third Group," I ordered one of the many men doing pushups in the large square. One of older ones with a decent head on his shoulders, he had risen to one of the many informal positions of rank within my army. Just something else to revisit after I had a final count of properly trained soldiers.
After all, the initial count of ten thousand recruits had not held up after the initial tests. While admittedly brutal a test of endurance, both mental and physical, that run along the walls of the city had not narrowed the field as much as I would have hoped. Even now, I was left with thousands of troops. Thousands more than I could equip on short notice. Hence why I was leading fully half of this future army in further conditioning.
What a surprise, my initial models did not hold in the face of differences between theory and practice. Who could have guessed?
Was it dangerous to keep my face turned away from the approaching wagons? Hardly. It would have had to go through either First Group or Second Group, and I surely would have heard that happening. So the only real danger was from being run over…
And just like that, I was back on my feet.
"Fourth Group, finish your sets, and then relax," I instructed even as the head if the Third was still bellowing instructions to the other recruits. With clear disappointment, they briefly returned to their exercises, and I turned to supervise the unloading of the wagon. The Third Group working reasonably well to empty the wagon. They had had the chance to observe the other groups with their attempts at unloading. Some of them had even been able to learn. "Fifth rank, what did I say about neat piles?"
The troops in question froze at being singled out, and desperately began to neaten out the stacks of delivered goods. Not food or drink, those goods that I had arranged for on the very first day, this was something almost as important to the functioning of an army: equipment. Thick linen tunics from the clothiers' guild, made in cooperation with the weavers' guild. Rough boots provided by the cobblers' guild and making a deal with the tanners' guild for sturdy leather. Heavy wooden shields and short spear shafts, courtesy of the carpenters' guild with finishing touches and half-helms provided by the blacksmiths' guild.
It had been a pain to arrange the meetings to place so many orders at once, but that was just the way things worked in procurement. Though I was already concocting plans about streamlining the orders process from the guilds, I doubted that I would be able to implement them. The matter of the Stepstones took priority. But by the time that was done, Father might have recovered, and it would be on someone else's head.
"First wagon unloaded, Your Grace!" one of the recruits shouted. The first rank had indeed already completed their task, though they were still taking inventory of the cargo. No surprise there, they had been the first to start, but it was hardly a competition. And I was not going to let it become a competition, lest the ranks began to sabotage one another in an attempt to outdo the others.
I really needed better names for how I was organizing my army.
"Good work." Even if I did not incentivize coming in first, that did not mean I did not liberally dispense praise. "Verify the counts, then bring them to storage. Once the rest finish, we'll get you doing some proper drills."
There was some excitement at the news. Drills! Proper fighting! Now that would be a good change of pace! Even I was struggling to suppress my excitement at the prospect. I did so like to teach and learn alongside my students.
Unfortunately, my anticipation was most rudely interrupted by an incoming rider. Or rather, shouts of an incoming rider. At least my groups doing their own drills in the field were paying attention to something other than stabbing.
Moving into the central avenue of empty space bisecting the camp, I was able to look past the wagons in varying states of unloading. There, in the distance, I was able to spot something moving closer. Well, not much in the distance; they were already within the camp!
Well, not a "they", really. It was only a single man.
Just one man ahorse, clad in red and black, with another horse riding beside him. No other rider atop that one, however. Still, a man coming with a spare horse? That could only mean that they were bringing a horse. Thus, whatever news they brought, they were confident they knew what my response was going to be.
My first instinct was fear. Pure, bowel-clenching, heart-stopping, throat-closing terror. Was it Maegelle? Was she going to labor far ahead of schedule? Was she losing the child? Was Alyssa? Had Father's condition deteriorated? Were the children injured?
I found myself muttering prayers to the Mother in the hopes that my family was still healthy as I was busy playing soldier in the dry and dusty plains outside the city. More than that, I strode off to meet the rider, trying to shorten the time it would take to deliver a message.
"Your Grace," the messenger greeted me, his voice calm as the horses sent up a small cloud of dust as they came to a rapid halt. Already, I was reassured. If the messenger was calm, then mayhaps it was only a mild crisis. The kind of thing I could easily handle. Or he was just highly professional. "You are needed at the Red Keep."
Hello again, fear. Back so soon?
"Did something happen?" I asked, taking the reins of the second horse even as I asked. No mounting stool was required, and I rapidly swung myself into the saddle.
"Lord Greyjoy returned," the rider explained, to my pleasant surprise. Lord Greyjoy, and a frankly worrying number of nobles and captains of the Iron Islands, had gone off on a mad chase for coin in the far east after seeing what Corlys had accomplished. "He demanded an audience, and the Small Council requires your presence."
Well that was… potentially disastrous. If he had been successful, there was a good chance he would try to do as Corlys did. And that frightened me. If he had failed, he might try to hold Corlys responsible for bad information. And I did not want to start a civil war while a proper war still raged.
Because I knew what would happen if I tried to be diplomatic.
"Harold, you have command of Third and Fourth Groups," I ordered as I mounted up. "If there is enough gear to equip both groups, join the other two groups in their drills. If not, appoint a leader for Fourth Group for further conditioning."
I barely heard his shout of affirmation before I galloped off.
Not that the news that I received back at the Red Keep was any reassurance. The presence of the Ironborn was never any reassurance. Mayhaps I could use them in my campaign? Preferably against some piratical fireships? Ones that are afflicted with greyscale?
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Hey guys I really need you to throw some power stones to elevate the ranking :)
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