A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 864: The Crushing of Pace - Part 5

"Very well," Verdant said. "I need you to aid in the holding of the centre, Nila Felder. The foe is strong – you seem to be one of the only few that we have capable of wounding them."

"I'll hold it," Nila said, clenching her fist. "We won't fall, not yet. You three – you had better be prepared to fight your hearts out." That was what she had to offer for Jorah, Karesh and Kaya, boys older than her. Somehow, they found themselves dipping their heads in acknowledgement of their task, as though they were being ordered by a superior.

That was all the planning they had time for. Verdant glanced over his shoulder again. Blackthorn and Judas had made it to the spear wall, and now true hell was being unleashed. In the prelude before the slaughter of the Patrick men, they were allowed to indulge in a one-sided slaughter of the Macalisters. Even as Verdant watched, that little battle was all but over.

It might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn Blackthorn was moving even better than normal. She seemed to be racing against Firyr for each kill, as though to put him in his place, lest he dare to think that he was faster than her. That only made Firyr tut in annoyance, as he pushed himself harder, slaying even more men in an attempt to keep up with her.

Soon enough, there were no more men for the two of them to slay. Lasha's expression of intense focus was substituted for one of loss. She looked around her, the confusion evident. She saw the Patrick men that she'd grown familiar with painted in red, but she could not recall how she'd gotten there amongst them.

"REFORM!" Verdant shouted. "FIRYR, RIGHT FLANK! JUDAS, LEFT! BLACKTHORN, REJOIN THE CENTRE!"

He gave his commands with an urgency, for the enemy was already moving. They were a disorganized mass of men as they came down from the walls, and the Sergeants were taking great pains to get them into formation.

A more optimistic man would have dared to hope that they'd take even longer before they were ready to properly charge, but Verdant knew, as soon as those high-ranking officers amongst the cavalry got involved, it would be done in seconds. From the way they shifted in their saddles in subdued conversation, that time would not be long.

General Talon regarded the body of the boy, lying in a tangled mess of limbs in front of him. His blood had already managed to map a circle of red around his upper body. He looked like some sort of macabre flag, the General thought, in that odd sort of way that he had.

His glaive was still ringing from where their weapons had made contact, the vibrations made the steel shaft dance.

"How was he, my Lord?" Gadar asked.

Talon considered it. "Stronger than he ought to have been."

The General had, after all, hit him with everything that he'd had. For an Attacking General of his calibre, that happened to be an awful lot. All his strength, experience, Command and the full charge of a horse on horseback – and yet his blade had almost been turned to the side. It made him shiver to consider it.

"He's Dominus' boy, alright," he continued.

"I do not think Dominus could inspire men like this," Gadar said, pointing over his shoulder.

Talon had known what was going on there without even bothering to look. Had it been a problem, he would have rushed over to crush them already. Victory came first, after all, and victory had already been achieved.

The General sighed, finally granting it his attention. He saw perfectly organized ranks, somehow birthed from the mass of chaos that Talon had already inflicted. "They've gutted that isolated party of spear-men," he noted. "Quick work. Good, attacking troops, it seems."

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"Quicker still is how they've reorganized," Rivera commented, almost sounding awed. "I have never seen an army that did not crumble upon the loss of its Captain."

"That voice – who was that? The Idris boy?" General Talon asked. "It's his work that saved them from a full rout. If he'd waited even a moment longer, this would already be done."

"Indeed, Verdant Idris, my Lord," Gadar said. "I was taken to think that he was a priest – but it seems that rumours are often twisted, and misinterpreted. What we see before us is undoubtedly a creature of the battlefield."

"…Mm," Talon said, turning to give the corpse in front of him another look. "What strange things this Oliver Patrick has found… That fox-haired girl, who caught Rivera, a priest with enough charisma to overcome a routing army, and a force of attacking men strong enough to crush our spearmen in minutes, and to push battle rams all the way up this fort hill."

"C-compliments," came a voice from the floor, followed by a cough of blood.

Swords were turned on him in seconds. Oomly had stayed quiet – he had no place in serious conversations – but as soon as he sensed the threat in front of them, his sword was the first to be pointed its way. Gadar and Rivera followed fractions of a second afterwards, whilst Talon alone kept his calm.

"Alive?" Talon said, narrowing his eyes at the corpse. Indeed, its arm had twitched, and a hand reached up to wipe the blood from its mouth. But from the way his legs were still splayed in the oddest directions, Talon doubted that he would be able to stand. "You take a blow well, youngling. Though, it would seem, not well enough."

"Should I finish him, my Lord?" Gadar asked. "The men are waiting for your command. We ought to smash them, here and now, as thoroughly as we can."

"I-I'm afraid, I cannot allow you to do that," Oliver said, with grim certainly, thrusting one of his bloodied hands into the snow, and pushing his torso off the ground. His whole body was wracked with pain, but he forced himself to make the effort nonetheless.