A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1584 - 1584: War at the Gates - Part 8

But the fire came short lived, As quickly as he was there, Oliver was gone. He had charged forward, as if there was nothing more important in the world than attacking the advanced archers, and then, so suddenly, he had veered off to the side at a trot, as if his intentions had been entirely different from the start.

A few volleys of arrows came thudding after him, landing confusedly in the empty snow. It was hard to tell quite what Oliver's intentions were in that sudden attack. Or even what his attentions were now that had given to a trot, and was veering off to the right.

"…He's attempting to get a better view of our defences," Hendrick guessed.

"Why would he need a better view? He bloody built them!" Fritzer said hotly, irritated that the sweeping blow of his hand, that he'd put so much force into, had hit nothing but empty air. "Err… Apologies, my prince."

Even Volguard was caught off-guard by Oliver's positioning. The archery that he'd set to retreating, he felt, was now misplaced. If he'd known Oliver would draw their attention in advance, he would have kept them where they were, to pepper the enemy. He felt a brief flash of annoyance at himself, for missing the opportunity, and after some debate, he sent them carefully forward again, just to exert some kind of presence, even if they remained out of range.

With them, Volguard saw the opportunity to move his men more towards the left flank of the enemy. He gave a few careful and quiet orders designed to have their melee positioned more towards that angle. The fort served to slice the enemy army up into three parts, with two parts to either side of it, and one part in the middle. Naturally, Volguard saw that it was better to crush what pieces they could individually, rather than trying to overwhelm them all at once.

Then, Oliver spoke, seemingly overriding that.

"Jorah! Gather your men in the centre!" He said, wilfully, with fire again. The men came racing, gladly, as their Commander in Jorah saw the order relayed. They rushed towards the front, full of readiness, a mere hundred of them, poisoned ever so threateningly in the snow, their eyes glaring down those few thousand archers that still gathered haughtily, inviting them closer.

General Tussle spoke then, through his messenger, rather than as a loud bellowing General, but he gave the order forcefully nonetheless. "Reinforce the archers – move up three thousand of our infantry. Have them overlap."

The order was given, but by that point, once more, it seemed irrelevant. The hot command that Oliver had given earlier, now ended with a single remark. "We can see better from here, can't we? It's not a bad night to be outside."

The weapons that had been bristling quickly fell in confusion, as it became quite obvious that they wouldn't be rushing forward any time soon. The men looked to their General, that same confusion written on their faces, but Jorah quickly recovered, and told them off.

"What are you getting so excited for? You weren't given the order to charge. Hold your positions, and calm yourselves," he said.

Both sides seemed at a loss. Naturally, that was to be the case, when a man operated without purpose, it was increasingly difficult to suppose what it was that he might do next. But Oliver knew that even that was finite. There was nothing to be grasped that would allow him to move continuously. No matter how much he crushed all that he was, still there was something that would remain. That quiet spark of something would build, and the dragon's wrath would change along with it.

It was a valiant attempt that prolonged his ability to stand as close to the dragon as he was, but it would not last forever. Soon enough, the dragon would shift, and there would come danger for them.

Fitzer gave Oliver that danger, when he snorted with disdain. "He's trying to make a mockery of us. To sow confusion in our ranks. He's trying to have us alter our own positions, bit by bit, until he sees the gap he wishes to attack. That shall not work, I tell you. We'll send the cavalry, from both sides."

"Are you asking my permission?" Tussle asked with a raised eyebrow, for the cavalry on the right flank, by rights, was his to command. Fitzer responded with a shrug, and Tussle tutted, seeing that such a thing was the best that he was going to get out of it. As it happened, though, they didn't seem to have much of a choice. If the Patricks were playing at being slippery little worms, then all they had to do was cut off their ability to move as freely as they wished to.

"Very well, see them sent," Tussle said.

"We've three thousand cavalry, will that be enough? Hendrick asked, quite seriously.

"They're a mere two thousand infantry, my Prince," Tussle assured him.

"They've men of quality amongst them, however…" Hendrick said, uneasy.

"We won't be dealing with them through cavalry alone regardless," Fitzer said. "We shall merely narrow their available movements, and prevent them from causing the same nuisances in rank that they've been trying to."

Only with that assurance, was Hendrick finally convinced. He took his father's words to heart. He knew how important this victory was for the Emerson's, and he dared not look beyond the battlefield, towards any of the future engagements. Oliver Patrick was strange, and tricky enough, that he could cause them problems, despite their number. He had a strong sense for that danger, just in seeing his strange opening two actions.

The cavalry came charging, in two separate streams, from both sides of Solgrim's fortifications, where they'd been gathered behind their infantry. They charged at a gallop, briskly enough to force some bellowed commands out of the Patrick men, as they lowered their weapons, and prepared for an engagement.

With only the Minister of Blades' infantry being entirely of spearmen, their mismatched group of soldiers were at particular risk to cavalry attacks, as Volguard had pointed out to them all, in their pre-battle war meetings. So it was that their alarm, when the cavalry came that close, was palpable, for many of the Commanders saw them as being their biggest threat.