A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1774 - 1774: The Head of House Patrick - Part 5

The King was busy widening the left-hand side of his little gathering, allowing more men to clamber up the walls after him, and to fill in the space that he had made.

Amongst the resistance, and helping to lead it, along with a Blackthorn Colonel, there was Verdant Idris, wearing a rather grave expression, as continually their men were scythed down by King Germanicus' warhammer, as if they were nothing more than ripe shoots of wheat.

Oliver had worried, on the whole way over as he dashed through those streets of Ernest as to what he might do when he arrived. He had wondered how he might take advantage of the situation that he had created, even after all the damage that had occurred.

He supposed that, at least, he would be able to rally the men, and stop Germanicus from taking over the stairs. But that plan had been defeated in an instant, given that not a single soldier remained alive by those stairs.

He had supposed too that he might be able to borrow the help of a Colonel or two, to engage King Germanicus together. But even that did not seem likely, given the lay of the field. There was nothing but emptiness and Tavar men before Oliver. Every plan that he'd attempted to come up with had been defeated long in advance.

And yet, when he arrived there, Oliver did not pause for a single second, for all of a sudden, with the sight of King Germanicus' back, he knew exactly what he had to do.

He was rushing, with his chest still heavy from breathlessness, and his limbs still achy. He rushed, sprinting ever faster, giving it all for one reckless attack. For now it wasn't just that lone part of him that had supposed this to be a good idea - there were old sensations joining in as well. They recognized opportunity. Not for overall victory, for they had forsaken that the second they'd sacrificed it all for a foolish endeavour, but the opportunity at least to claw something back and make something of what it was that they'd done.

No one, not even Oliver Patrick himself had expected for the young General to be there at that moment.

When the Tavar men turned to see him, they did not even recognize him quickly enough to shout out. His sword cut through them. Only with the sight of blood did they seem to realize. By that point, however, it was too late. The one place they had not expected to be hit was from behind, from the very stairs that they had conquered.

It was Germanicus' feral instincts that saw his life saved. So quietly had Oliver's approach come that it would have awoken no one to the danger but he. Oliver had even killed quietly, his mind blank, and his heart rapid with excitement.

The silver sheen of Dominus Patrick's blade flashed, and opened up a line across the back of King Germanicus. Enough, once more, to cut through chainmail, but with the speed of King Germanicus' action, not yet enough to kill him.

When Oliver drew that blood, he found himself understanding just a slight bit more what it was that he'd done - what it was that the small part of him had sensed, and aimed to achieve, though he still did not understand it entirely.

To be able to creep right towards King Germanicus' rear, he could never have expected that. He could not even have dared to plan it, for who could have assumed that Germanicus would have his troops positioned as he had? To have them placed so widely, having conquered so much space in the centre?

The level of calculation necessary for that was something only Minister Hod or Tavar were likely to come up with. Not Oliver Patrick. He never had a head for such calculations, so wide did he try?

'Why did you try even from the start, then? Why did you try in an attempt to trust your doubts?' The same sensation, seeking to monopolise Oliver's reasoning, and to crush all resistances that he had towards it. It was a terrifying thing to trust, and Oliver doubted that he could listen to it ever again - but for the moment that Oliver stood there, facing off against King Germanicus, he could not deny the exhilaration, the rush.

It was so stupid. He was exhausted. He was out of position. He was completely surrounded - and yet, despite it all, it was to his advantage. Now when he stood still, he believed that with a firmness. The wind blew, and tossed back the hair on his head, cooling him down after he'd discarded his helmet on the run over.

Germanicus had to look at him for a good few moments before he could believe it - and those Tavar men had to do the same. But for Verdant Idris, there was not a single second of pause. While the others were busy drinking in, calculating, and rearranging their understanding of the world in front of them, Verdant was pushing forward and rallying men, as if he too were a General.

"FORWARD MEN! FORWARD! DEFEND YOUR GENERAL! TAKE THE HEAD OF KING GERMANICUS!"

Oliver echoed their cry, adding a resonance to it with his own form of Command. "LIKE A RAT, A KING FALLS INTO OUR TRAP!" He dared to lie, as if he had such a thing planned from the start. But who could doubt him, when things stood as they were? None but Oliver Patrick himself.

Suddenly it was all so different. The lost position, the men that they'd given up against King Germanicus' strength - somehow all that they'd lost served to make them stronger. It came back with a twang, like the firing of a bowstring. They exploded forward, on the very sacrifices that they'd given up. For now their sacrifices had been given a meaning. Now they were no longer simple losses, but the bricks out of which the bridge towards victory was built.