A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1588 - 1588: War at the Gates - Part 12

Seeing that, without saying a word, the strength of the Patrick men grew. They saw something beyond their comprehension, and they delighted in it. Their cries shot into the air, individually at first, like fireworks, and then they exploded, in great enthused fires.

Suddenly, it did seem, as if the tide was going in the Patrick favour. The peasants that watched on from in the centre – though they were trained soldiers by now – looked in awe. Their limbs were nervous from the prospect of the approaching fight. Fear caused more than one man to let loose the urine that he'd been holding in his bladder, and let it run down his leg, as one less thing to worry about when the fight was to come.

It was a glorious fire, a glorious hope, it was like the sun after a long period of miserable rain – and to that, Oliver had to be the most wary. He couldn't dare to celebrate, for even if it was so gloriously bright, he knew that such an obstacle, so overcome, could certainly not serve to defeat the dragon. He could not put all that he had into its defeating. He had to remain calm, and steady, and immune to his own great will.

"Endure," was the only word that he thought to himself. By his mind, he saw past the fire, and he saw towards the dying men. He knew the results were not good. They'd lost a hundred of the Yoreholder spearmen already, just from the first charge. Now that they fell into the melee, those numbers were stabilizing, but it did not exactly skew towards a Patrick victory.

"…What in the name of the Gods is that?" Hendrick said, pointing to what seemed like a natural disaster, where all the dead bodies of horses and men had begun to collect in the vicinity of Oliver and Gar and the Minister of Blades.

"That, it would seem, are the strength of Fourth Boundary men," Tussle said calmly. "I had supposed those to be Yoreholder flags, but the man confirms it himself with such a display. Two Swords, my Prince, that is the destruction that is being caused there. It's about as one would expect, but a mere two men can not serve to change the tide of thousands."

"Three," Fitzer pointed out, earning him the attention of the other two. "Three," he repeated, when they turned to look at him. "There's a third. An unarmoured man on foot."

"Unarmoured, you say?" Tussle said. "Nonsense."

But even as he looked, he caught a glimpse of Gar, leaping up off the ground, with a broad grin on his face, as he slashed with his sword, and opened a man's neck through his armour.

"…Well, he might exist, but he's certainly not Fourth Boundary," Tussle said, taking a backwards step.

"Whatever he is, he's causing as much carnage as the other two," Fitzer said. "The dead are piling up. You'll lose morale if you have them fighting for much longer."

"Nonsense, they're well on their way to losing half their number already," Tussle said. "And see? The other cavalry does advance, and our bowmen along with them. Our victory comes, one quiet step at a time. They've put all their Swords on one front. We'll simply work around them, as is the natural course of action."

"Fitzer?" Hendrick said. "Are you in agreement? This seems a decisive moment to me. I would not have to us throw all our pieces in one place merely based on a single supposition. We must have solidness."

"This is solid," Fitzer said. "He's pinned down. Tussle is making a mess, but with the number of men that we have, even he can't fail to ruin it."

"…You seem as if you have criticisms to offer," Hendrick said. "Voice them."

"He's left the rest of the troops too far back. There's no reason to keep them away from the action. Have all the soldiers stationed outside the walls advance on the same front. We'll take no risks at all," Fitzer said.

Tussle frowned at the suggestion, but Hendrick perked up when he heard Fitzer say 'no risks.' "Yes," he said, nodding. "I like the sound of that, Fitzer. Order them forward."

With Oliver taking over the left flank, Volguard saw to it that the cavalry stationed there was withdrawn. It felt almost devious to snatch his General's allies from him, but he knew that Oliver would not complain. He even had the sense that Oliver almost expected it of him. Though they were only two hundred in number, the cavalry were their most mobile pieces, and of immense strategic value for that fact. And they needed all the strategic value they could gather at the moment, with the entirety of the enemy army seeming on the move.

"Catch the cavalry with our centre," Volguard said, aiming to match the fifteen hundred strong cavalry with all the infantry that they had remaining. Already, they had their bowmen primed and aiming in their direction. The real issue was the three thousand bowmen that followed up in advance, and then all the near ten thousand infantry that came marching after them, though they were still a certain distance away.

The soldiers kept up their steady advance, the steady building of that magnificent pressure. The water was set to boiling, and the dragon's tail firmly coiled around them. The steady process of suffocation seemed already well locked in place. Both General Fritzer, and General Tussle together, though they had their rivalry, proved once more to their Prince that they were not figures to be underestimated.

Even if they were, once again, at each other's throats, right in the midst of the coming charge.

"Two moves ago, I would have seen this done," Fitzer said mildly, provoking Tussle in an instant.

"We saw what you achieved, Fitzer! Two dead men, and nothing of note!"

"You've seen far more of our number killed," Fitzer pointed out.

"And far more of the enemy's number," Tussle said, growing aggressive now.

"Gentlemen, if you would…" Prince Hendrick said, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "I do believe it was you yourselves that pointed out that this was the critical juncture."

"Critical it might be my Prince, but I do believe the danger has passed," Tussle said, barely turning around to state that fact, as he continued his glaring contest with Fitzer.