A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1845 - 1845: Old Boulders - Part 2

None would have thought that General Blackthorn knew that however, for he fought with the same aggression that he had from the start, as if Tavar was barely a sword stroke away from being slain. It was difficult to tell exactly what kept the General at such a high level of intensity for so long. What manner of belief it was that allowed him such sustained action, as if he truly believed that in the end, it was his glaive that would claim victory – that or the sword on his belt.

Hod saw it differently, from his position on high. A hand curled around his chin, as he frantically tried to contemplate a course out of their current position. For the formation that Tavar now employed, he had been dealt a cutting blow of morale by General Patrick. That was likely the only other card they had in their favour – the fact that, though those men stood still and stable by their General's command, they could still see their own allies fleeing from the harsh flank-side attack that they'd been made to endure. That did no good things to the confidence of any of the soldiery.

Hod could see Oliver beginning to stir, once he saw the bleakness of their position. And Verdant Idris seemed to be expecting the same thing, for he didn't bring his soldiers further forward to bear that pressure that he had been up until that point, instead he began to circle, as if allowing himself to be the springboard for what might soon enough come.

It was with a degree of strength that Hod fought the urge to simply have Oliver charge in once more, as he had on the flank of those troops. It was tempting to rely on that same degree of magic that had seen so many men overturned just a few minutes before. But to do so would be to allow himself to become far too naïve. Seeing it once, Tavar would not allow the same thing to happen again. If Oliver were to charge with identical intentions, like General Blackthorn, they would soon enough to be smothered, and there would be no one that could rush in to get him out.

For the time they waited, General Blackthorn continued to fight in tireless suspension. The hundred men that he had managed to break through with were being whittled down bit by bit. They fought in just a single place now, surrounded by Tavar's troops. Any hope that they might have had of continuing that charge was quickly shattered.

Nor did Tavar let up with his intensity. He continued to reposition his troops, smothering them bit by bit. He sent in men towards the sides of Verdant and Oliver's positions, forcing them to take backwards steps if they did not want the burden of immediate engagement. In doing so, he pushed them even further away from the city, and the group of men that they'd have to follow, if Tavar decided to have them turn and dash towards the possible Emerson reinforcements.

Hod waited, very much expecting that to happen, but as of yet, the order was not forthcoming. When he looked at the position, he could imagine no other course of action. It was the tactic to steal the win, and yet Tavar remained, not taking it.

"Is he being considerate with us?" Hod dared to mutter, not quite understanding, but immediately he did cast that thought aside. Tavar wasn't the sort to do that. From the start, he had allowed them no concessions. He had not forgotten his duty to the High King. If there was victory in front of him to be seized, then Tavar would take it in an instant.

"Which means…" Hod continued in thought, casting his eyes out over the snow-covered city, and the men stalking each other in dangerous thousand-strong dances below, and his eyes widened in realization. There was something that Tavar had seen that Hod still had not yet. It was the benefit of the instincts of the defender – he that knew to fear the danger of the would be attack. He had a sense for something that Hod had not yet factored in. There was a supposition, hidden in all that, which pointed to a danger, should Tavar try and seize advantage of the position that he'd already created.

It was a tangled mess of a battlefield. The optics, if one would just judge purely on appearances along, seemed to sit so firmly with Tavar that it was laughable. He had the numerical advantage, and now he had the position advantage. About the only thing Tavar had to fear was the occasional terrifying arrow from the elite bows of Nila and Professor Yoreholder, and also the dying efforts of a soon to be extinguished General Blackthorn.

They were matters that would solve themselves with time. They were candles flickering in the wind, and what a wind it was that was beginning to howl that day. It tossed back the hairs on horse hair helms, and sent the open doors of abandoned buildings clattering against the stone outside, threatening to tear them off. It made men that had been forced to stand stationary become half-frozen from their inactivity.

There was a delay to be had there, the delay of those that had been forced to wait, who needed to warm up ever so slightly before they could exert the fullest extent of their battling prowess. It was only Tavar's men, truly, that would be afflicted by such a thing. Though slight, when Hod considered it, he supposed it was an effect that could tip the scales if it were part of a greater scenario. Yet it still wasn't the sort of thing that could make General Tavar show such a degree of caution.

Steadily, Tavar chose suffocation, rather than the tactic he had available to him. Which meant, somewhere, that tactic was flawed. Some other threat countered it. And if Hod could find that threat, he would find his next move. He wracked his brain trying to find it, but it seemed far more a product of instinct that it did of logical thought. It was something that Tavar avoided naturally, likely without even thinking of it.