Oliver too softened. There was no hint of deceit from Greeves, though he tried to pass it off as a mere joke. The years had been tough on the man. With each month that passed, he felt the death of Loriel all the more keenly. It didn't seem to be the sort of thing that he would ever recover from.
The memories of their battle kept him up at night, and he turned to the bottle when he had to in order to block them out. He wasn't the only one among the villagers who could not seem to put those thoughts of the battle behind them – it had been that intense an affair, after all. There was little to be done about the matter.
"Oliver's trying to put me in charge," Nila cut in, giving the merchant the time he needed to settle himself. "What do you think about that? I would have thought it would be better going to you."
"No – he's right," Greeves admitted easily. "I'd prefer it if you take that on. What we've built will continue to move smoothly with that."
"These men that you've found Greeves," Oliver said, drawing the merchant back to what he'd said before. "Are they the sort that we've grown used to?"
They'd been dealing nearly exclusively in slaves and peasants before, after all. They were the sort of men that Oliver had grown rather adept at commanding, for he connected with their harsh and raw outlooks more easily than he did the Serving Class. That was not to say there weren't a few Serving Class individuals sprinkled in for form's sake, but as ever they were few.
"As I said, they're downtrodden bastards. Aye, that makes them the same as you've come to be used to. They'll adapt soon enough, I reckon," Greeves said. "If you left a hundred of your men behind to train 'em', by the time you come back, you'll have a second army, I'd say."
"And take the new cavalry and Serving Class infantrymen that you've found me?" Oliver mused, stroking his chin. "I'll be weaker for a time."
It wasn't a boast. It was a fact. He knew those new men – trained though they might have been – would be no match for the number that he'd trained over the course of three years.
"Nearly a third of your fighting strength will be new men," Blackthorn pointed out.
"Indeed," Oliver said. "I should have the time to sort them out, though. It won't be like the battle with the Macalisters, where we only had a handful of days. I'll have months to tune them into what I need."
"That's how long you expect to be away, then? Months?" Greeves asked.
Oliver shrugged. "You know how it was before for Blackwell. He's come back less than a handful of times since the campaign started, and then it was only for one or two days at most. It could be as long as three years, but I doubt it."
"Three years?" Nila echoed, the weight of that time written well on her face. That distraught expression was echoed by both Judas and Greeves, though the men tried to hide it well.
"Fine," Greeves said, steeling himself. "That's time that we can work with, I'd reckon, but I'll warn you, Ser Patrick, this village ain't going to wait for you while you're away. Work's going to need to be done. The place is growing as fast as mould."
"The walls will need expanding, is what you mean," Oliver said. It wasn't a question. They'd had an influx of more and more people in the past years. The wealthy had stayed, and new towns had been built, pressing ever closer to the high wooden walls.
"Aye," Greeves said. "By the end of this year, it wouldn't surprise me if we surpassed a thousand residents. We're nearing in on that number by now. With the size of the garrison we've got, and the strength of the walls, we could support a populace ten times that size, but the walls wouldn't be able to contain the houses."
"They'd have to abandon their homes if there was ever a raid," Oliver noted. It was typically how it was done, in most settlements. The peasantry would live beyond the walls, and only the very rich would live inside. However, with the state of Oliver's purse, he didn't need to abandon the newcomers quite yet. He still thought he could comfortably accommodate them.
"Have the walls expanded then, enough to accommodate two thousand."
Greeves nodded. "I'll get it done," he said. "You'll be coming back to a changed town."
"What of you, Lasha?" Nila asked. "Will you be going?"
At the question, Amelia and Pauline stiffened, looking up at their Lady. They'd grown used to Lady Blackthorn's presence on the battlefield over the many years, but they'd never become entirely comfortable with it. They always were left to worry when she went away, as they considered the prospect that she might never return.
"I wish to," Blackthorn replied. It was the most direct answer she could give. "But I shall need to ask Queen Asabel and my father for their blessings first."
"If you are to go, my Lady, then we shall go with you," Pauline said, with all the courage she could muster. "On campaigns this long, a knight will have need of attendants."
"A knight…" Lady Blackthorn said, tasting the word. She'd never considered herself as such, but that was indeed what she would be.
"Are you not missing something, Lasha?" Oliver said, leaning back in his chair. "You'll be missing out on something rather important if you join me. You've spent even more time at the Academy than me – do you really want to miss your Passing Scroll?"
"Ah," a small sound escaped Lasha's throat. It was quite clear that she just realized. Pauline went red as well, as she just realized the same. Amelia patted her comfortingly on the shoulder, a smug look on her face, but it was quite clear that she hadn't thought of it either.