A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1585 - 1585: War at the Gates - Part 9

They formed their lines, hard, and aggressive, with the fullest intention of meeting the enemy where they stood. But the cavalry came no closer. They stopped, just out of arrow range, lying threateningly on their left and right flanks, sitting waiting, sandwiching them in place.

Now Oliver could feel the dragon's breath right on his face. It had hardly shown its teeth yet, and already, it did seem that his men were placed in their position of checkmate. It was a wonder just how well a competent General could make use of twenty thousand men. They'd only operated a small portion of their grand army, and already, just on threats alone, they were able to put the Patrick men in their place.

Volguard frowned his nervousness, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Underneath the heavy steel helmet, he found the highest discomfort. He was unused to the weight of it, and the restrictions in vision that it offered, whenever it fell too far down his brow. Sitting on horseback, evaluating a true battlefield from a distance was a far different endeavour to sitting and reviewing it on a board, with a fire next to him, and a comfortable chair to support his back.

The only order he could give that seemed sensible was for a retreat. And though he deliberated on it for a good few long moments, he was forced to give that order anyway. As battle-ready as the Patrick men liked to think of themselves as, no number should begin their engagement surrounded nearly on all sides.

The army heard the order to retreat, and it began to step back together, bit by bit. Oliver went with them, pulled along by their flow, wearing a silent expression of his own, devoid of judgement, and devoid of the anxious irritation that the rest seemed to feel at being made to withdraw.

"There we are, quickly put in their place," General Tussle said, threading his finger through his mustache, and nodding his approval. "They've at least got enough of a grasp of strategy to know that they ought not engage us."

"Set the cavalry to continue following them," Fitzer said, through a messenger. "And push the archers up as well."

"You have my approval," Tussle said, though Fitzer had not asked for it.

The message was delivered with the slightest of delays. The retreat of the Patrick men, and now the advance of the bowmen, and the two cavalry forces to either side of them, were ever so slightly out of sync. It made for the smallest of gaps.

Without truly thinking what it was that he was doing, Oliver decided to turn his horse, away from the direction of his own retreating men, and towards the approaching cavalry, doing as they were doing to him, and steadily approaching them.

He heard the sound of clomping footsteps behind him, and briefly glanced, acknowledging that Gar seemed set on doing the same as he, though he had no horse to do it by, he still easily kept pace with a Walter that was confined to a mere walk himself.

"What's he doing now…" Fitzer said, frowning at Oliver's strange departure from his army again.

It was a taunt, or so it seemed. There was the distance of a whole archer's shot between Oliver and the cavalry, so even if they had decided to pursue him, it seemed rather unlikely that they would catch him. But the taunt still came slightly irritating.

Oliver raised a hand to go along with it, saying nothing.

"What's that signal?" Hendrick asked Tussle and Fitzer, a degree of urgency in his voice.

"It could be anything…" Tussle said.

Oliver's own men were asking the same question. Only Verdant seemed to catch on quickly enough to understand Oliver's intentions. "SEND THE BOWMEN FORWARD!" He bellowed, on behalf of Oliver, and those carefully retreating archers swiftly turned on their heel, and rushed up, in urgent support of their Lord.

"What's this again…" Fitzer said, frowning, troubled. "He's a despicable little creature. There's no purpose in his moves."

"Will you alter your orders?" Hendrick asked him.

"For what purpose? They're going to have to turn around and retreat regardless," Fitzer said.

Just as he'd supposed, the Patrick men were forced to do just that. But not before Nila, with her black bow, and Professor Yoreholder along with her, sent two arrows hurtling towards the by now too close cavalry. They were still a full archer's shot away – but the black bows shot further than a normal bow.

Both women found a target, and their arrows hurtled into their enemies. Yoreholder's through a man's chest, despite the chain mail that he wore, and Nila's through a slit in a man's helmet.

Only then did Oliver turn around to retreat, but he did so at the slowest of paces, just matching the advance of the cavalry enough so that they wouldn't catch him. He showed not the slightest shred of pleasure that they'd manage to pick off two of the enemy soldiers without real reason. He didn't seem to show anything at all.

The man next to him, in Gar, however, did show his irritation. "What point?" He said, stomping his foot, and glaring at the cavalry, before rushing after Oliver. Yoreholder gave the order to the bowmen, and set them to moving back as well, though she too failed to see the point in Oliver's actions.

If someone had tried to guess at Oliver's point, he would have told them that they were wrong, for without a thought in his head, everything that he did was without purpose. He merely set himself to toying with the flows of other things, and emulating them, enough so that the dragon could not see him.

"Gods damn him," Fitzer said, furious.

"Black bows? So what, Fitzer?" Tussle said. "Now they've revealed their hand, and they've netted a mere two soldiers with it. They did not even manage to get men of rank. What a cunning ploy, I do say! Let them stew in it. That's the closest they'll get to any sort of victory."