A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

The long-spear-wielding men were forced to abandon their main weapon in favour of something smaller. It was only spear wielders like Verdant and Firyr who managed to keep what they normally wielded, for their length was far more appropriate for one-handed wielding.

It was Lasha's Blackthorn men that were hit the hardest. They were forced to replace their trusty spears with swords, and none of them looked too pleased about that fact. Oliver was put in a similar position, given his lack of a hand. He was forced to keep his sword sheathed whilst he held the shield. When he was close enough to his foes, he planned to discard it.

"Heavy enough for you?" Firyr grunted, seeing Oliver test the weight. "See, we Syndran's have the right idea about these things. If I were to wield a shield again, I damn well didn't expect it to be one of these pissin' Yarmdon pieces."

"You're a man of the Second Boundary now, Firyr. I wouldn't expect the weight to be a problem for you," Oliver said.

"W-what? No, it ain't too heavy for me, I just don't like the look of it. See? I can move about however I want to," Firyr said, tossing the shield about on his arm to show Oliver how light it was. Oliver did his best to hide his smile.

"Lady Blackthorn," Oliver called to the woman to his right. "How does the shield feel to you? Too large?"

"A little," she replied. "I don't suppose I'll need it when we begin the melee though."

"Ah, you've the same idea as me," Oliver said. "And you've taken your mount to the rear?"

"One of the Sergeant's did," Lasha replied. "…Are we really doing this?"

"'We' is right," Oliver said. "I'm going to be relying on you, Lasha, and your men. You're going to need to get every scrap of strength out of them. We're going to force our way forward, and secure that Colonel's head."

"…I'll do it," Lasha said earnestly. "Of course I will. It is because of me we are in this position regardless. If you wish for me to play the Commander, then I shall."

She pursed her lips in a display of her determination. "I do not know how to speak to them properly, but I will try regardless."

"Don't overthink it," Oliver said. "We're going to be searching for something more than just strength when the fighting begins. All you need to do is listen, and watch, and make sure your men know they're being led."

"Even I can do that much," Blackthorn said affronted.

"Then do so, and we'll snatch at least something that can be called a victory," Oliver said, patting her on the shoulder. "Go and prepare your men now. Karstly is already looking this way. He's tired of waiting."

"Oliver," Lasha said, pausing for a second, staring at the ground as she searched for the words. "Please do not get injured further. I will not be able to forgive myself if you do."

"The day you decide to take responsibility for my wounds is the day we both lose," Oliver said with a laugh. "Has Nila told you nothing? I have tried to put a leash on my recklessness, but I am unable to turn down the opportunity. I am afraid what will be will be."

"Then I will be there to stop their swords from reaching you," Lasha promised. She fled before Oliver could protest any further.

He sighed to himself, watching her go. They were too clumsy, all of them. He'd felt older these past few years, and mature, but the second adversity arose, he was back to the same manner of behaviour that he followed as a youth. He didn't know if he'd ever escape it. He didn't even know if he could call it immaturity.

Though, the least he could say was that it was nothing like the careful coolness that Lombard employed.

"Regardless," Oliver said to himself. "That does not matter. Today I will play the General. Passion is the only way I know to reach my men, there is nothing else."

He raised his voice, feeling Ingolsol stirring. He let it happen. He often put a dampener on the activity of the Dark God, for fear of the impulses that it would give rise to, but he didn't then. He needed all he could be. He didn't know what it took to wield the subtle Command that Khastly and Khan employed, so the least he could do was make up for that subtly with a significant increase in quality.

"PATRICK FORCES, STAND READY!" Oliver said, his voice raised. The men had only just finished collecting their shields, and his voice fell upon them like a whip. Immediately, they began to straighten up, well aware that the rest of the army was looking.

Khastly grinned, drinking it in. He could very well understand the pressure that those men were under – and that Oliver Patrick himself was under – and he would have wanted in no other way.

The voice came off as louder still, for the relative quietness of the forest. Even their enemy in the Verna had been unmoved by their arrival. There had been a few short blasts of a horn, and the Verna men had readied themselves in position, but they'd been unmoving since, completely unwavering in their confidence.

"BLACKTHORN! Bring your men in closer," Oliver said, speaking with the tones of a General. There was still separation in their army. They could not afford for there to be.

With Oliver's order came Lasha's nearly instantaneous movement. With that shield that was far too big for her slender frame, she made her way pointedly three paces to the right, where Firyr was already standing in front of his men, and the Blackthorn troops came sullenly after her.

It was easy to tell why they'd set themselves apart. Firyr's men weren't exactly the sort of soldiers to take excessive pride in their appearance. Compared to the Blackthorn men – despite their already aggressive demeanours- the ex-slaves and peasants were brutes and barbarians.