This is set beginning near the end of A Meet of Figureheads. Any discrepancies between the two are mine.
Georgar gazed out his window, sizing up the road ahead. He buckled his armor on, strapping a guantlet on his left arm, and sliding his winged helmet on. He nodded to the men standing around him, and then walked outside into the courtyard. There, thousands of men were gathered, all in full battle-array, with the rangers and knights scattered in among each other. He nodded, satisfied, and then spoke:
“Warriors of the Grimguard! I called you hear to ask you: are your blades thirsty? Do you wish to hit the war trail once again?” After the roar of agreement subsided, he continued:
“I say, let’s hit those cowardly northerners who dare to call themselves the Northern Realm. They hold claim to being the power here, and yet they can’t even bestir themselves to pick up a sword and fight. Shall we test their mettle, and see if they are true northerners, with the blood of the Frostwithers, or are they merely young men playing at power? Who is with me?!” The troops bellowed back, roaring their affirmation. Georgar smiled grimly, knowing that for once, he would have the chance to pay back those lords whose endless politics and bickering had driven him from their ranks. Captains, stand out! Sergeants! Form up your troops! Let’s go!" A aide brought him his horse, which Georgar mounted. "Hyah! Let’s go! He jerked his horse around, and lead the grim faced and bearded men out of the castle and down the causeway, heading North, to war…