"Ah," Northman said, nodding. "So that is what you mean. Very well, Captain, it shall be, though I wish to make it clear that we are all your subordinates, in every matter, no matter what ambiguity title might delineate."
"That goes without saying," Oliver said, seizing the reins then and there. "Now, I wonder, Commander, have you seen any of the men that I sent your way?"
"It depends which ones. Oh, there's been seen a number of men wearing red, but only a handful of them did we dare let in. The rest are a wilder sort… To be quite frank, I still don't believe that you sent them here unattended," Northman said.
"Are they unattended?" A voice came from across the clearing. Strangely enough, it was a woman's voice. Oliver's party had their heads turn like puppets, whilst the soldiers barely reacted. Evidently, they knew that she was here.
There she was, striding confidently across the clearing, weeding her way through tents, with hair as red as a fox's, a bow slung over her shoulder, and an army of terrifying-looking men walking along behind her, wearing the Patrick red, and making the new uniform seem somehow shabby by their contrasting appearances.
"Nila…" Oliver said, his surprise mirroring those of his comrades. They looked at him expectantly, seeming to wish for some sort of explanation. The second Verdant heard the name 'Nila' though, he seemed to mostly understand. Blackthorn, for her part, seemed to be baffled that there was another woman in the encampment.
Nila strode confidently through the square of soldiers, leading her men behind her, with Judas next to her, making apologies for any toes that they might have stepped on. No one would have ever guessed that she was a peasant girl from the way she carried herself – nor even from the state of her clothes.
"Hello," Nila said, cheerfully, a mischievous grin on her face as she came to a halt in front of him, folding her arms across her chest, evidently proud of something. "I take it you weren't expecting me? So, it seems, even Greeves knows how to keep a secret."
"Judas… You as well," Oliver said, seeing the man awkwardly position himself next to Nila, with their army of slaves and peasants sauntering shamelessly in front of the soldiers, drawing their ire.
"Aye… I mean, yes Ser," Judas said, saluting. He looked unsure of himself, but the way he was dressed seemed to be the complete opposite. He was armoured in mail, with plate over the top of it, and a large Yarmdon-style axe at his side. In other words, his appearance here was clearly one that took preparation – not something made on a whim.
"So… What are you doing here?" Oliver said, finding no other way to ask the question. "Whilst I'm pleased to see the both of you, and I'm sure you'll be a great help, I could have sworn the both of you swore off the battlefield. Nila – you in particular. You hate it, don't you? And Judas, isn't your wife pregnant?"
Given that no immediate explanation seemed to be forthcoming, both Verdant and Lady Blackthorn had the good sense to sit quiet and listen, until it was their turn to do the asking of questions.
"Well, we heard, didn't we?" Nila said. "That you were in trouble, that is. Greeves told us, and it wasn't like we could hear that and stand around and do nothing. You're right – I hate the battlefield. But I'd hate it even more if you went off and died somewhere and I could have done something about it but didn't."
She said all that in front of a crowd of strangers, all of them from a far higher station than her, and yet the girl didn't bat an eye. The whirlwind that was Nila Felder was as impossible as ever to abate, it seemed. Her ascension and success only served to make her more unruly, rather than tame her.
"A sentiment I'm sure we share, young lady," Verdant said, oddly respectful, despite his station being dimensions apart from her.
"I'm of the same opinion," Judas said, scratching his head awkwardly. "Felly agreed with me, even though she was upset about it. Now that the village has hope, we don't want to let it flit away so easily. There were a good number of men wanting to come, Ser, you shoulda seen it. Greeves had to hold em' back, telling them that they couldn't just turn up out of nowhere.
That an extra handful was one thing, but an extra hundred was another."
"Extra hundred? That many?" Oliver asked, surprised. Verdant and Lady Blackthorn shared that surprise to an increasing degree. After all, they knew relatively little of Solgrim, and Oliver's elevated station there.
"More," Judas said, "the whole village was ready to go, but it was decided that only the men of fighting age would take their place. But the Boss – Greeves that is – shot it down."
"Damn…" Oliver cursed lightly. A hundred extra men – that would have been of significant use. If he'd known, and had dared to organize something then maybe… No. He shook his head, casting such thought aside. He couldn't take from the village numbers – he'd already decided that. It would be counterproductive in the long run.
If they lost any more men, the village might cease to function at all. The slaves that Oliver had bought and the peasants that he'd enticed were another matter. "Greeves was right though, I suppose."
"Maybe," Nila said, "but that wasn't to stop us from coming. Besides – you needed someone to look after this lot. Have you seen the state of them? What were you thinking inviting so many?"
She pointed at the garrison that Oliver was beginning to build. By now, their numbers had inflated to fifty, and more than half Oliver had never seen before. They were in a sorry state. Unarmoured, aside from the cheapest boiled leather plate around their midsections. Even their weapons were in a questionable state.
Each bit of metal seemed battered, from the swords to the axes, to the spears – and that was the other problem, the fact that there was no uniformity in their weapons choice. It seemed as if they'd just grabbed what was on hand.