A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1673 - 1673: A Captured Capital - Part 8

Now Blackwell thundered down alongside the right flank of his allies, bellowed a loud battle cry, and plunged straight into the ranks of the enemy cavalry, with his own advance force of cavalrymen. The infantry came behind them from a distance, but Blackwell could not very well wait. He had no modesty left to him now. He craved blood, and excitement, and more than anything, he craved that killing blow.

"PEDIDARIUS!" He shouted, as he slaughtered man after man with his glaive. "PEDIDARIUS, IS THIS THE TRAP YOU LAID FOR ME? IS THIS IT? WHERE ARE YOU! STEP OUT FROM THE FOG, MAN, AND ACCEPT YOUR DEFEAT WITH NOBILITY!"

There was no reply to Blackwell's words. Only an endless stream of thousands more cavalrymen. It was a force made up entirely of that, it did seem. It did not seem a stretch to suppose that all the horses in the Pendragon Kingdom had been gathered up exclusively for this plan – and now all that preparation was being laid to waste.

Soon enough, Blackwell's infantry caught up with him, and began to wade into the fray, sowing chaos, along with hundreds and hundreds of corpses from both horses and from men.

"Go, Commanding General," Broadstone called out to him. "It is your glory to seize – you have seen through it. We will hold them here, and advance after you."

A brief bit of sanity allowed Blackwell enough dignity to raise his hand in thanks. "Men! With me! We go in search of a weighty head!"

They bellowed their excitement, and went after him. The stream of Pendragon cavalrymen tried to halt their advance, but they were quickly brushed aside, and then sent flying past by virtue of their own momentum. The fog and the darkness that they had used to conceal their own advancement was now turning against them. Now that chaos was he, it was they that needed to recognize and reorder, lest they begin to crack, and it was they that did not have the tools to do so.

If a man had raised his voice, he might have been able to bind them together. But by now, even if he had caught no sight of Blackwell, or even failed to hear his voice above the wind, he knew that something was off. That was why he too kept his silence.

"That coward will not be allowed to flee," Blackwell swore to himself. It was not the sort of promise made to oneself where it seemed as if he would have to gather himself to overcome an obstacle – it was said with certainty. He could smell something in the air. His instincts pulled him in the direction of the man that he had been looking for from the very start of the battle.

It brought him wading through man after man, through that overwhelming flow of cavalry. Fifteen thousand, Blackwell now supposed their numbers to be. Colonels shouted in dismay, recognizing him, and pointing their fingers to reorganize their men to send his way, but Blackwell dealt with them soon enough. Any man brave enough to try and establish a proper chain of command, he rushed to personally, as though he had a personal disdain for them.

Up the hillside he went, moving faster, his men struggling to keep up with him, and his own bodyguard struggling even more so. Colonel Willem called out to him, but Blackwell ignored him. He was overcome by battle lust. There was a feeling of invincibility, as if he could take on ten thousand men alone.

His horse's shoes feet scraped along the exposed rock, when the snow-covered grass began to grow fewer, and the men even fewer along with it. He could see the many imprints from where they had stood, staring down at the castle. How mighty they must have felt then, to arrive and see nothing but the rear of an enemy, so engaged and intent, and apparently, so defenceless.

"It didn't all go according to plan, did it, Pedidarius?" Blackwell said. The wind was louder here, but the world was quieter.

"It didn't," finally came the response, as a chestnut warhorse, covered in heavy armour, stepped out from amongst the sparsely spread trees.

"Even here you attempted to hide," Blackwell said scornfully. "Do you fear me that much? You ought to have surrendered when you had the chance. That fear would have kept your head attached to your shoulders.

The man mounted on the back of the beast was armoured just as heavily, his silver plate and his full-mask helmet making him seem more golem than man. "We believe in using individual strength sparingly," Pedidarius said. "In saving one's might for a moment of decisiveness. Is this not that moment, Blackwell? Where are your men? You've lured yourself into a duel – would I have had that option before?"

Blackwell was not convinced. He snorted his scorn. "They're seconds away, you fool. Your little deception has run its course. You've shown me far too much respect to attempt to suppose us to be equals now."

The man said nothing in response, though the way he gripped his mace made it clear that he intended to fight. Blackwell gritted his teeth, and drove his heels into the side of the horse, lurching the beast forward, despite its increasing tiredness, giving General Pedidarius his wish.

Blackwell's glaive went sweeping out ahead of him, its range far superior to Pedidarius' mace. The man was forced to block, though he did so with a grunt, apparently not enjoying the disgusting force behind such an attack.

Another blow Blackwell sent his way, this time feigned towards the man's flank. Pedidarius moved faster to defend himself this time – only for Blackwell's blow to be redirected towards the side of Pedidarius' mount instead.

The horse squealed from the strike, but its armour kept it standing.

"You drag the Stormfront to the grave with you," Pedidarius said. "Your hatred streams off from you. You bring personal matters into the governance of a Kingdom – they should have seen through you from the start."