A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"There have been rumours of interaction between the two parties," Gadar informed him, all but declaring it to be true.

"You would have me kill the daughter of a man that I respect?" Talon said, glaring at him.

"I would have you do nothing, you fight for the High King, old man," Oliver said.

"Gadar, Oomly, Rivera," Talon said, his tone changing, taking on a more commanding quality. "The enemy General still stands."

At once, the three of them pitched towards him, thinking it was an order.

"You head in the wrong direction," Talon informed them. "I already hear the footbeats of our army crashing into the enemy. Even with their numbers, they will not be so effective without you. Ride, my attendants, and secure me victory – no matter what name is attached to the head, do not hesitate."

"My Lord!" Gadar said, saluting. Oomly quickly followed. Rivera, with his injured arm, opted instead of a dipping of his head. The three of them turned their horses around, and took the cavalry with them, charging towards the Patrick ranks.

"They did not argue with you," Oliver noted. "Ordinary attendants would be loath to leave their General alone."

"They have eyes, boy," Talon said. "You might be standing – a brave feat, for which I commend you – but you cannot beat me at your worst, if you could not stop my blow at your best."

"I suppose that's something we ought to find out," Oliver said, putting on a smile. Though, the truth was, the mere act of standing was enough to rattle him with an extraordinary amount of pain. He doubted that he could even take a step forward as he was.

If not for Skullic's insistence that he get himself some armour – finally – for this mission, then Oliver was certain that he would have been dead from that initial charge. He'd managed to slip backwards by the smallest degree from the blood, keeping his organs free from fatal harm, but that was about the best he could manage.

It was extraordinarily clear to him that, as he was, he could not hope to defeat General Talon – yet he had to try regardless.

The Macalister army charged, and their cavalry wheeled around from behind to join them. The three Second Boundary men split up, to target different sections of the Patrick force. Oomly took the Patrick's right flank, against Firyr, whilst Rivera drove left against Judas, and Gadar went straight up the centre, aiming for Verdant Idris himself.

It was a horrifying sight to see so many men charging at once, especially when there was cavalry amongst them, and especially when they had the likes of those three Second Boundary men forming essential pillars, and preventing any kind of sudden counterattack.

And yet, the Patrick men knew that it could have been worse. There was a collective sigh of relief when they saw that the enemy General was not among their number. Had he charged with them, as he'd charged against Oliver Patrick, anyone with any battlefield sense could guess that it was all over.

For some reason, that General was still in place, looking down upon what should have been Oliver's corpse. There seemed to be no explanation for it. At least, not for the ordinary men. They could see any of what was going on.

Only those closest to Oliver could dare to hazard a guess.

"He's standing!" Nila said. She caught his figure with her sharp eagle eyes through the smallest of gaps in the enemy's running forces. She'd seen him for but a second, bowed, broken and bloodied. It should have pushed her further into the pits of despair, yet her heart raced with glee, as if it had just confirmed its most deeply held truth. "He's standing!" She said again, to Verdant.

The priest nodded. He could not see it with his eyes, for his eyes did not see distance, they saw depth. He could not see it, yet he could feel it for a certainty. The whole world now seemed to point to that obvious fact. It was obvious in the face of those Macalister Second Boundary attendants, if nowhere else. He clenched his fist, taking immense solace from that fact.

"HOLD!" Verdant said. "EVERY COMMANDER – HOLD. BUY TIME FOR OLIVER PATRICK TO TAKE THE GENERAL'S HEAD!"

He purposefully used Oliver Patrick's name like a magic spell. He believed in the power of that name. He believed that, in time, it would be a name that could excite the battlefield, and transform men, like the mere presence of Arthur Pendragon had once had. He dared to even hope that such a day might have been today.

The men raised their spears and bellowed their delight. They'd been impossibly close to breaking, seeing him fall – now, at the very least, they had hope again, even if they didn't have an outright path to victory. There was something they could do, something they could solve.

"Blackthorn," Verdant said, lowering his voice. The girl's emotions were unsteady. She hardly seemed to believe the news that Oliver was still alive. Her eyes were wide, and it was impossible to tell what she was seeing. Even though she was looking straight at Verdant, he could hardly see himself reflected in her eyes. "You will support Judas.

You are ordered to finish the kill that Nila has started – that's a wounded man, but a man of the Second Boundary nonetheless. Exercise caution."

She nodded, hesitantly. That was about the only response that she could offer. She nodded, but for some reason, she was still standing in place.

"Go!" Nila told her, gripping her shoulder. "You've something to prove, don't you? You've a job – one that can secure us victory, even just by itself! Kill that man, Miss Blackthorn!"

Forcefully, Nila sent her away. It was hard to see whether the girl had really managed to collect herself, but Verdant didn't yet have time to worry about such things.