A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

The light snow whipped into his face as he ran and his heart beat a frustrated frenzy, as though he were new to this and this was his first battle. There was even a trace of anxiousness there – the typical fear of the unknown, that which couldn't be seen, hiding amongst those dense trees.

He continued to leave the column, travelling diagonally from where he'd been before. He passed the centre of the column and was soon moving parallel with the end of the line, just as he was beginning to near the trees up on the hill side.

Another arrow flew. Closer this time. Oliver managed to catch the sight of it exiting the curtain of green trees with their white cloaks. Another few steps and he'd be nearing it.

He was beginning to sense a rhythm. The slightest bit of it, but it was a rhythm nonetheless, the same rhythm that built up whenever there was a battle. The coming together of multiple threads of possibilities, as that which was once chaos soon settled in a process of order by the will of something akin to a martial gravity.

He sensed it more strongly now in the Third Boundary than he had in the Second. In fact, now that he'd advanced to where he was, the process of discovery of that sense seemed multiplied tenfold. Even in his normal life, without battle there, he'd fall into lulls sensing that rhythm.

He'd watch the students in the dining hall, as they slowly but surely fell into certain patterns, as though they too were pieces on the battlefield.

That sense told him now when to stop and dive for cover, just as that same sense earlier had informed him that something was off about their march.

He threw himself down into the snow. He was close enough now to the trees that he could crawl towards one of the thick trunks on the edge of the forest, but his target still lay a little ways along the tree line, judging from where the arrow had been fired earlier.

This arrow, though, came almost from straight ahead. The certain presence of a second archer. The arrow slipped silently into the slow just after Oliver as he made it into cover, his back pressed up against a tree.

Amongst this forestry, a bow was all but useless. That didn't mean the advantage was all his, though. His target could see him, yet he still hadn't laid eyes on the target yet, though he knew he must be somewhere nearby.

He allowed himself a few moments of pause, as he remained with his back flat against the tree, his ears open, listening, casting his awareness as far out as he could. When he truly focused on acknowledging his surroundings, he found that he could take lots more in. His problem had always been a hyper-focus on particular elements – that was what cast his vision off.

The soldiers of the column had noticed his flight towards the trees, even those outside of his squadron. The soldiers that he'd been given had attempted to follow him, but he'd put a good bit of distance between himself and them the moment he decided to give himself fully to the chase. Now they too were frozen in the snow, for fear of the arrows that were likely to come their way.

"DO YOU SEE HIM, SER PATRICK?" Northrun shouted over. The valley had settled into a fleeting silence, as the tension of the short standoff built up. Seeing Oliver so close, the archers had been forced to stop firing, lest they give themselves away. They'd only fire again when they had a clear shot of him.

That gave the soldiers the time that they needed to organize the horses, unharnessing them, and covering the beasts with the wagons as best they could. Now that those tasks had been accomplished, they were firmly focused on Oliver as he crouched at the edge of the forest, his sword drawn.

He shook his hand towards Northman in a gesture of denial. He didn't want to shout. He needed his ears open for listening. Northrun's own voice was still echoing down the length of the valley, Oliver didn't need to add to it, not when even the lightest sound could give his target away.

The only thing he knew for certain was that his target was up a tree, given the height from which the arrow had come. But the spruce bows nearest him – from the bottom to the top – they seemed far too thick for climbing. Not unless a man hacked them down. Explore stories at My Virtual Library Empire

He sensed nothing from the forest but silence. He had no means of guessing where the archers might have been shooting from, aside from the fact that they were somewhere nearby. It seemed unlikely that they'd make any more movements now that he was so close. That left him only one option – he had to force them to move.

He gathered himself. Certain now of what was around him, he was able to move quickly. He went from his crouch and turned on his heel in a sprint, plunging into the trees, his sword trailing in his hand behind him.

The snow kept his footsteps light, but it didn't do much to dull the initial sound of dried spruce branches that he broke. All the lower branches – or at least, most of them – seemed to be dead, from the lack of sunlight that reached them. The route that Oliver took was far from being a regularly used trail, it seemed, for there were a number of such branches in his way.

He didn't move in too deep. He only passed two trees, before he paused to reevaluate himself again. The archer had to be somewhere right on the edge of the forest, but finding a tree that seemed suitable for climbing, or even the slightest bit of evidence of where the man had walked would be—

Footprints.

The snow proved a blessing. It took him all of half a second to spot the footprints that lay off to the right. The moment he did, he heard a loud disturbance amongst the branches as something heavy shifted them, and then another arrow came hurtling his way.