A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Blackthorn was forced to back away. She watched in frustration as the front line was pushed further and further away, and she was isolated from where her men needed her. The cavalry came after, and they began assaulting the ex-slaves from the rear, leaving Blackthorn to Rivera.

"Shit!" Judas said, only just now looking over his shoulder to take stock of the situation. There must have been nearly eighty men in front of them, and now all of a sudden their line had been breached by horsemen as well. He clocked Blackthorn, and the man that pinned her down, and instantly understood. It was the sort of foe that he couldn't deal with. "Lady Blackthorn! Don't worry about us!

I'll plug this gap, one way or another!" He declared – and he meant it.

Blackthorn wasn't even given the time that she needed to say anything back. Rivera kept her thoroughly on the back foot. She thought that he was meant to be wounded, but from the way he was fighting, you'd never be able to tell. The way he fought, it was as though he'd been trained to fight one-handed from horseback from the start.

'…She ought to be dead by now,' Rivera thought to himself with a bitterness that did not match his pretty face. He narrowed his eyes, and built up the attack more strongly, giving a shout to his men as he did so.

"Crush them, fools!" He said, not raising his voice any higher than he needed to. "Widen the gap, and envelop them to completion."

"I won't let you!" Judas shouted back. With mace in hand, he was pounding his way towards the cavalrymen, throwing spearmen aside with each blow that he landed. Desperately, desperately, he was trying to make his way forward, but it wasn't enough. Nowhere was it enough.

He was ready to roar in frustration. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Blackthorn getting pushed back even harder than he. She would be of no use for a while – perhaps never. The last thing he caught from her was a spray of blood, as her shoulder was licked by Rivera's blade.

In the centre, Verdant held strong. He tossed men back with that strength that Bohemothia had given him. Each blow that he unleashed killed a man, and affected two more. He was the exact sort of thing that they needed in order to turn the tide against the amount of numbers that they faced.

If one looked at the centre, they might even dare to believe that the tide was capable of turning. With Northman and Verdant fighting side by side, the two took turns delivering orders, picking up on whatever the other did not.

"LEFT SIDE'S FALLING BACK! HAVE MEN REALLOCATED TO BRING IT FORWARD!" Verdant shouted to his Sergeants.

"WE'VE AN ADVANTAGE HERE! PUSH INTO IT, THEN DRIVE LEFT – WE'LL TAKE CARE OF THEIR STRENGTHS!" Northman shouted to his own Sergeants after him.

As they took care of what they could see, they left Cormrant to take a more overall view of the battlefield where he could, making minor adjustments here and there.

For a mere three men, they were having a remarkable effect, and all the while, Gadar had sat back, and merely observed. Just as Verdant needed to take overall command of the battlefield, he needed to do the same.

He could see that Rivera had already broken through the left flank, and was taking care of the resistance there. He reasoned that the battle would likely be won from the left, but given Rivera's recent injury, Gadar didn't dare to build the foundations of victory entirely off him.

Oomly, was having fun on the right, if his shouts were anything to go by, but for him as well, Gadar couldn't put all his hope for victory. Oomly was too excitable and destructive. He was the perfect attacking soldier. But victory, Gadar knew, wasn't just in a single attack. Victory had to be built.

"It will have to be from the centre," Gadar murmured. He eyed Verdant in heated battle, and assessed his strength. "That'll be a Second Boundary man. Impressive." Impressive though he might have been, Gadar noted his weaknesses as well. He saw a clumsy style in the man, and could well believe that he had been a priest for a number of years.

His posture was that of a man more accustomed to the pen than the sword.

Gadar was certain that, in one-on-one combat, he would have the upper hand. After all, Gadar was not of the Second Boundary, he was of the Third. He wondered if the enemy had yet realized that fact? Few did. Gadar was a man-made to play the supporting role. His control of his aura – a field that many, even the best Generals did not seem to understand – was unmatched.

He saw no reason to show his entire strength fully when he did not have to.

With such a card up his sleeve, he finally dared to push forward. He'd already consulted with the Sergeants. The attack would remain stable, even without his constant input. The left and the right flanks were in stable conditions as well. Oomly and Rivera would eventually secure victories there, he supposed. He had everything he needed to plunge into the heart of combat by his lonesome.

He signalled to his cavalry – some twenty men – and began to pick his way forward, gently prizing his way through the ranks with a little less subtly than Rivera had managed, but achieving his purpose nonetheless.

"Fuck, he's coming," Northman cursed.

"I will keep him locked down in place," Verdant assured him. "Take full command while I am occupied. We must buy my Lord the time that he needs to grant us full victory."

"Damn it, just don't get yourself killed," Northman said. "If we lose you, we really might fall apart. I hope you realize that, Lord Idris."

"Nonsense," Verdant said. "This battlefield will soon be bathed in the light of Oliver Patrick. My feeble self is not a requirement… Though I would delight in seeing it."

Northman shook his head, not understanding a word. In some ways, taking command of an army was far simpler than talking to the Idris heir.