A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"NIla – Jorah! You four take the right flank. Use Firyr, and overcome that foe as quickly as you can. We cannot spare you for long. It would be no lie to say that our very victory hinges on your speed," Verdant said.

"Very well!" Nila declared, adopting a noble tone, and accepting the order with enough resolve for all four of them.

"We'll see it done," Jorah said, trying to assert the same grim determination, though he wasn't sure if he felt quite the same strength of belief that Nila did. He was still riddled with doubts, and fear – this was his first true battlefield, after all. He'd been blooded, but he'd never dealt with chaos quite like this.

Karesh and Kaya clenched their teeth and worked upon their own quiet determination. There was so much noise, so much pressure. It was hard not to lose one's mind in all that was to come.

With everyone that ought to be reassigned ready and waiting in position, Verdant made his way to the front line, leaving the centre for Cormrant, and joining Northman.

"Dangerous place this, for a Commander," Northman said, not taking his eyes off the enemy. He wouldn't dare. They were mere seconds away from colliding now.

"Then that's the place to be," Verdant replied. He knew with his strength that a place like this would be where he was most useful. What he feared, though, was how that hand of that Second Boundary man left in the centre would change things.

Unlike Verdant, Gadar hadn't dived straight to the front lines of attack. He hadn't arrived quickly enough for that. Instead, he was in the centre, asserting order, his calm expression like a funnel, redirecting the surging flows of Macalister men, and honing them to an aggressive point.

What collided with the Skullic men, and their extended spears was a near-unified army, hitting with the force of as many men as it carried, perhaps even more.

If Northman and Verdant had not been at the front and centre with their spears, the sheer force of the Macalister change would have been enough to uproot their men.

Instead, Verdant acted the second before impact, stepping forward and lashing out with an impressive thrust, slamming a single centre man aside, and hurling him backwards into his comrades. It was the revealing of the slightest crack, giving the mounting pressure – once it landed – someplace to go.

It was to their great fortune that they were not completely overrun the second their two armies collided, with the Macalister men favouring so much speed. The Skullic men were as good as their experience suggested. In a storm of spears, they locked their feet in the snow and stayed strong, shrugging off the momentum with grim determination, as their Sergeants hurled words of encouragement.

"DON'T YOU GIVE UP HERE, YOU USELESS ARSEHOLES!" Rofus screamed, his encouragement slightly different from the men around him. "WE'LL BE A LAUGHING STOCK, LOSING TO THE LIKES OF REBEL MACALISTER SCUM."

It was the rare sort of encouragement that angered allies and enemies equally. It was soon difficult to tell just what those men in that little corner of the line were fighting for. Whether it was for victory, or to merely reach Rofus so that they might tear him to pieces.

It was the ex-slaves that Verdant worried about the most, as he saw that his central army would well be able to withstand the initial assault. As the battlefield fell into a storm of exchanging long spears, with both sides carrying the same Stormfront favoured weapon, he spared a brief glance to his left – the group that, he supposed, should be the weakest of all on the battlefield.

To his immense relief, though they'd been pushed by two steps back from the central line, those men still held, and they even seemed to be pushing back now, thanks to the efforts of Blackthorn and Judas, and the immense red-faced strain that the ex-slaves were putting forth.

But now Rivera was starting forward with ten cavalrymen, slowly and carefully picking his way up behind his already engaged men, as they fought a fierce battle with their spears. He noted where the enemy was operating most strongly – that happened to be where Blackthorn fought – and angled towards it.

To her immense misfortune, it was Blackthorn, of all the Patrick soldiers on their field, that was made to be subject to the strength of the Second Boundary.

Rivera picked his timing impeccably. He didn't need to force his way past his men with his horse. Instead, he timed his step with them, and slipped through the second that a gap appeared, as if he'd ordered it.

With the bulk of his horse holding it, that gap soon widened, and the cavalrymen that he'd brought with him moved behind him.

Blackthorn was fighting with such a ferocity that she hardly saw the looming shadow creep up to her side. She was still struggling to get her thoroughly unsettled heart under control. If not for the elusive nature of her combat style, Rivera's sword might have pierced her through before she had time to even glance at his face.

As it was, it instead fell in front of her. She'd sprung a sudden backstep, sensing that the enemy resistance was growing, and she aimed to bring them into the position for a counterattack, just as she'd done so many times with the goblins. It was in that same instant that Rivera's sword passed her by, striking where she was just a second before.

"Gods!" She gasped, seeing the steel so close, and so suddenly. She sprang backwards an extra step and twisted, only just then seeing Rivera for the first time.

The pretty man gave her a stern greeting with that sword of his. The first attack had missed, but he didn't allow the surprise to get to him. He'd already been caught off guard once by Patrick's men – or women – and now he thought he knew what to expect from them. He pushed his sword forward, unleashing a flurry of blows.