"I will crush the last of their resistance," Tiberius said. "Oliver Patrick marches east. He will be there on the morrow. He will see the heads of his fallen comrades, and he will be defeated. Need you a more compelling vision of the future than that, strategist? Or will I have to snatch these men away from you regardless?"
Blake paused, not giving his response too hurriedly, despite the clear irritation written on Tiberius' face. The man was impatience personified. For a commander that had won such a grand victory, he hardly seemed to be too happy about it.
"Your current remaining number?" Blake paused. "Could you not finish the job with those?"
"Six thousand?" Tiberius snorted. "I could. But I won't. I wish for your reinforcements, and you will give them to me."
"If all you say is true, then this war might be over tomorrow. What can I say to the High King to reassure him against you?" Blake said.
