A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1802 - 1802: Favour - Part 4

"Good men of the Patrick army," Verdant said, as they went. "I will now be testing your endurance. Your General awaits you with an eagerness, and we've a good distance to cover with a rapidness that you might fear. You will do so anyway, with the fullest knowledge that your Lord wills it."

By the north wall, where Minister Hod himself was fighting, Lady Blackthorn received her command first. She'd been fighting with the cold-hearted efficiency that she'd begun to be famed for amongst the soldiers of her fathers in army. In truth, it was a style built up to remedy her lagging stamina from years ago, but even with that stamina remedied, the cold precision of the style still very much remained.

"You… to you. And you, count a hundred," Lasha said, drawing a line of men with her sword, when she was told to select a hundred. She tried to find what the best way of gathering up a hundred men was, and the result was an order that was almost impossible to decipher – but those Blackthorn men deciphered it anyway. There was an honour in fighting for their General's daughter that a few of them had begun to covet. To be selected at all by her brought with it the smallest hint of pride.

The man counting to a hundred stood at the top of the stairs, and he counted the men one by one as they went, with a rather stressed look on his face, from how quickly they were moving. When a hundred men had passed, he put his spear to block the way, and shook his head at the irritated man that had been cut off.

"Damn it," the soldier cursed, but he went back to his fighting regardless.

Firyr too was given the same message, but one had to doubt that he heard it at all, for his was a loud style of combat. He rarely saw a man killed without giving a shout. And instead of replying to the messenger, he shouted to Judas instead. "You look worn out, you fat oaf! The day's far from being over yet."

"Damn… you…" Judas said, in between breaths. The fact that he was still alive after so many days of fighting seemed a miracle to Judas, but the fact that he had not killed Firyr in that time, after spending the full duration fighting under him, was the even bigger miracle. "Listen to the messenger, you bastard… we've got somewhere we need to be."

"Eh?" Firyr turned around. "You. What d'ya want, eh? Don't you know we're in the middle of battle? I don't have time for your love letters."

The Blackthorn messenger narrowed his eyes, but repeated the order regardless. "Go towards the west gate, your General awaits reinforcements."

"The General?" Firyr said, his eyes lighting up. "Oh, you should have said so, ya fool." He clapped the man on his shoulder as he passed him. "C'mon you lot!" He shouted to the men that he'd been given. "We've finally got a proper fight to go to! No more treading water! About pissing time too – I was wondering what the Boss was getting up to!"

Firyr dashed to the bottom of the stairs, with far more spring in his step than any more that had been fighting for so many hours should have had a right to. Judas had to call out to him before he went any further. "That ain't west, Firyr," Judas said. "West is there. You're heading south."

"...I pissin' knew that, didn't I?" Firyr said, but he went racing in the direction that Judas had pointed anyway, with some fifty of his men trailing behind him. It was left to the messenger to see the rest of his hundred gathered up, for Firyr was so busy with his rushing that he hadn't looked behind him to see who might be following.

The messenger that had seen Jorah spoken to likely had the easiest time of it, for, as outsiders often pointed out, he seemed the least eccentric of all the Patrick Commanders. He nodded with seriousness as he was delivered his orders, and enquired as to what he might find there – soon enough, he was brought up to date on the entire field of battle.

"What of those calvary men that made it through? How are they being dealt with?"

"Lady Felder has been given the order," the messenger said. By now, Nila was gathering a name for herself with her bow, and there were very few soldiers that did not know the name Lady Felder atop those walls, and the bright-red hair that went with her.

Jorah visibly relaxed hearing that, and he nodded. "We'll be able to devote ourselves fully to the fight then. Who will fill in for us, when Sergeant-Majors Kaya and Karesh leave with me?"

"Minister Hod has seen that taken care of, you need not worry. General Blackthorn will see all gaps plugged as well," the messenger said. "You ought concentrate on that which is in front of you, Commander. Though the Minister has allowed your General these reinforcements, I do not envy your task."

"You are kind to worry," Jorah said with a small smile. "But I feel on far more solid ground fighting beside General Patrick than I do up here on these walls. I've a position of privilege – so it is that I must apologise to those that I leave behind. Regardless, I thank you for your instruction. I shall begin withdrawing now, as best as I can, without leaving problems behind me."

"My thanks, Commander," the messenger said, giving a salute, which Jorah promptly returned. Then he was crisply turning on his foot, and barking his orders.

"Begin preparations for retreat. Kaya, Karesh! We're to assist the General!"

"Brilliant," Karesh said, giving a mighty swing of his sword in celebration.

"Ahhh, finally," Kaya said, wearing his own excited little look. "I'm sure he's got a big old problem waiting for us."

"No doubt about that. But I'd prefer one big problem to all the endless little ones up here."

…

…

Swamped, that was what Oliver found himself to be, when those five thousand infantry men did hit. It brought to mind the battle with the Emerson once more, to be so overwhelmed by infantry that he could hardly look around him. Though he supposed the situation was not quite so dire as then. He could still catch sight of his allies when he did look up.