A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

That ought to have put even more pressure on him, and indeed it did, but it also came with a sense of relief, for it simplified what needed to be done. He already had his plan, and all that was left was to execute upon it.

He turned his head briefly, to see Lombard forming up his men behind Oliver's own. He spared the man the briefest of nods, and then he gave the signal.

"CHARRGGEEE!" He said.

The distance between them and the foot of the mountain was not an especially short one. It doubled the range of the typical archer, to keep the men well clear of the arrow fire. It was the sort of distance that needed to be crossed at a jog, rather than a sprint.

The Patrick forces did not make that mistake. Though they were an eager bunch, taking after their young leader, they knew not to sprint right out the gate. They'd been in this position, charging down at an enemy, more than once, and the newcomers fell in alongside the old, almost gratefully.

Oliver stuck to the front, his shield raised, as he scanned the mountain's formation in front of him, daring to look for a gap that might not have been observable from their previous distance. He did not find one. But he did catch sight of a golden plume, on the very top of the flat mountain, staring down on the proceedings below with a haughty gaze.

"Tsch," the man said. "Is this it? No wonder General Khan let them slip through. He foresaw that it would be far quicker to allow them to gut themselves against our walls. This is not the level of opposition that one requires a Great General for."

"Indeed, honourable General. They seem to have made a mistake from the very start. The only way to take this mountain is with overwhelming numbers – but even then, the very fundamental manoeuvre would be a pincer attack. From the open road on this side, and the open road on the other," came the reply from the Rogue Commandant next to him.

"Amateurs at war," the General sniffed. "Have Amion deal with them. We shall wait, and observe the movements of the rest."

So it was, in response to Oliver's charge, the movements of the Verna barely shifted. Control of the start of the battle was given exclusively to Amion, the Rogue Commandant left in charge of the first of the slopes that Oliver would have to cross. A flag was raised, and Amion glanced up to acknowledge it, before swinging his arm down to give a command of his own.

"FIRE!" He said, and the arrow fire began. The Verna encampment was well stocked. Amion didn't have to worry about conserving ammunition, even against foes who seemed likely to stand up to the attack with their shields.

"SHIELDS!" Verdant ordered. It was the Vice-Captain's place to say such things. Oliver didn't find the need to intrude. As the men raised their shields, Oliver observed the position of the archers, and his eyes scanned for paths towards them.

"If we can rid the slopes of those archers, that would be victory enough…" Oliver murmured to himself. But it was a task that was easier said than done. The archers were positioned on the higher slope, with spiked wooden fences and a steep cliff defending them from any potential charges.

The only route to them was along the winding road, and through the first of the thousand spearmen positioned under Amion.

"Forward it is then," Oliver said to himself, as his feet transitioned off from the sparse long grass that they'd run through and down onto a section of smooth flat rock preceding the mountain. He knew that even the simplest of attacks could create room for the most intricate of strategies. The real fight began once their swords were locked, and they were jostling for position.

He held his shield tight to his shoulder, as the first of the arrow volleys fell, thudding his arrows with multiple shafts. It was already an unpleasant affair, and that was with his attention focused entirely on it. Soon enough, they would have to defend themselves from two fronts.

They would have to hold their shields high to defend from the arrows falling from the higher slopes, whilst also guarding with their swords against the spears from the infantry in front of them. The fortress enabled the archers to fire endlessly on attackers without fear of hitting their men. It was a troublesome thing to breach indeed.

"FIRYR! HOLD!" Oliver shouted, as Firyr began to rush ahead prematurely.

FIryr all but growled as he pulled back a bit. He was twitching with enthusiasm, knowing that the main role of this battle was for him – but they'd yet to even hit the slopes yet. They'd barely neared the base of the mountain, and now they were forced to skirt around the first of many wooden fences that stood in their way.

"My Lord, there's a second path," Verdant pointed. It was raised up and inaccessible to the Stormfront attackers, given its height, but it would be a perfect position for archers to be stationed once their attack began. It was positioned directly behind where they were likely to be. It was the sort of attack that even their shields would struggle to defend.

"We'll have to split the men up," Oliver noted, without a hint of alarm. It simply meant that fewer of his men would be facing in the direction of the attackers at once, but it didn't break their attack entirely, given that only ten men could really fight side by side on such a thin road.

Verdant nodded. They couldn't very well call off their attack now, but preparing the solution in advance was of the utmost importance. The delay of their reaction would determine how many men they lost, should they be caught by surprise.

Now, finally, they were taken to the bottom of the slope. Smooth rock was beneath their feet. The type of rock that Oliver knew would grow slippery as soon as it was drenched with blood – something else that would likely work against their attack.