A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1807 - 1807: A Scramble for Victory - Part 2

"It really was a mess too…" Oliver sighed, holding his head in his hands. She'd meant it when she said it, but Oliver had to clutch his chest when he remembered just how dire their position had been when those cavalrymen slipped through. He'd taken his men, and he'd made them walk straight through fire.

"You bested Tavar, my Lord," Verdant said, pointing out with a swiftness that which no one else had quite considered yet.

Oliver looked up, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "No I didn't, he's still standing," he said, quite quickly, as if he'd forgotten the nature of the trap that had so infuriated him, and the very reason that he had ridden towards it.

"...I don't think Lord Idris is wrong," Jorah said thoughtfully. "All that exists outside the walls, that is Tavar's domain. That you could slay eight thousand men under his watch. That bodes well for the defense. That bodes incredibly well."

They talked, and they talked, as if King Germanicus was not standing there angry and ready, with his troops just as angry and ready behind him. He heard them sing of Oliver's victory, and more pointedly, he heard the way they spoke of Tavar, and the fact that they had managed to get one up on him.

It made the hair on the back of Germanicus' neck rise, so acute was his fury. They were so idle, so complacent – to speak like that of Tavar, of all people, Germanicus couldn't tolerate it. The one thing he had learned on this campaign was the grandness of the man called Tavar. For Oliver Patrick to think himself the equal of such a man was not something he could tolerate.

For how freely those men saw themselves relaxed, Germanicus almost doubted that they could see him. He clenched his fist with increased irritation. He'd sworn that he would wait for Tavar's orders if the battlefield he arrived at was not what he expected, but quickly, he was losing his will to follow through on that promise.

Then Oliver Patrick looked straight ahead, right at him, a small smile on his lips. That was the final straw for Germanicus. It declared to him that Oliver could see him, but that he took him lightly enough that he did not even care.

Germanicus turned to his men, fury radiating from every fibre of his being. "You. Men of the Treeants. You will obey the will of your King, and you will slay this man."

He was angry enough that his words did not even come as a shout, they were far more as a growl, but with them, there came the intuitive Command that Germanicus had not trained – it was the will of the strengthy beast in the wild, to rule over the land that was nearest to him. And it resonated with those Treeant soldiers, covered in their swirling tattoos, and their light armour – and often bare chests. They were a swift force, the Treeants. And their ruthless attacking nature made for one of the most feared charges in the kingdom. Germanicus barrelled forward, determined to show Oliver Patrick just why that was, he came forward at a roar.

Only when King Germanicus was set to charging, did Oliver finally acknowledge him. All that ground in front of the gates was filled with thousands of corpses of both men and animals.

It was with a confidence that Oliver put his hand in the air, and had his men march backward.

"FORM THE LINES! PULL BACK TOWARDS THE BUILDINGS!" Verdant shouted, the command quickly being picked up by the other Commanders in Firyr, Blackthorn and Jorah.

The men found themselves quickly. Some twelve hundred they were. They'd been standing around so casually just seconds before, but the second movement was to be had, they fell into the shape of Oliver's desired formation, in the same way that water fell into the shape of a glass.

Then, without needing any further orders, Nila's barrage of arrows began.

She took her aim, right at King Germanicus at the head of his charge, with that black bow of hers, and she aimed for his eye, with every intention of claiming his life.

It was a flash of a sudden feeling of panic that saw King Germanicus setting himself to dodging. The arrow came swiftly enough that, despite moving his head out of the way, he still found himself with a line of blood trickling down his cheek. He narrowed his eyes, looking up at the red-headed creature that had brought his crippling charge to slow down, if only briefly. She returned his glare, just as fiercely, as a fox standing up to a bear.

He growled again. "You will learn your place," he swore, even as his men bore the rest of the arrows that fell behind him, with dozens upon dozens being struck, and many falling in the way of their comrades.

The archers that King Germanicus ought to have had available to him lingered outside of the city gates, unable to do much more than watch. If they were to come in further, Professor Yoreholder would pepper them with arrows once more from atop the western wall. And even if they were to advance, by now, with Germanicus charging, they were likely only to hit their own men.

Oliver saw his white horse pawing at the ground a short distance away in the middle of the city. The creature had found one of the few tufts of grass that were sticking up out of the snow, between a crack in the cobbles, apparently oblivious to what was going on around it. It was close enough that Oliver might have mounted if he'd had a wish to, but against a foe like Germanicus, he found that he would much prefer to do the battle on foot.

For all the army that he faced outnumbered them five to one, and still for the fact that it was King Germanicus that led them, Oliver found himself without the slightest trace of fear. And once more, it was without truly good reason. It was not him that seemed to see it, and understand why, it was something else entirely. Oliver found himself feeling so light, that he supposed to himself, that it mattered not who stood in his way then. That, whatever foe was inclined to stand in front of him, he would have seen them dealt with.