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„Mister Governor?“ The elf asked and laughed a little. He hadn’t been called that before. Usually it was either “Your Imperial Excellency” – that was the correct ways of adressing a Governor - but he didn’t correct the human that stood before him now. All those fancy titles were getting on his nerves anyway. “Indeed I am.”
He listened to the short speech that the beardless Mister Redbeard gave. “Only one thousand?” He was no military expert, but a Provincial Army of one thousand didn’t sound that big, at least not compared to fifty thousand orcs. Of course there had only been a short time to gather them, but still …
“How much time do you think you’ll have to train them?”
He stopped as he noticed Malkaer’s arrival. “Your Grace.” He nodded to his brother. He considered it in appropriate to call his older brother by his first name when he was acting as Thane of Taralon. “Daekin Eyvind Avornmagor just told me that he has gathered about one thousand men here, seven hundred and fifty of which will be trained as pikemen, one hundred swordsmen and one hundred and fifty archers. This seems to be our new Provincial Army.”
“What do you think?”
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