A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"He's surrounded by men, Commandant!" Jericho pointed out. "Any one of them could hold a shield for him as he fought."

"And all of them are his inferiors. Besides, he does not have the hand to grip a shield, only a weapon. He's even more stuck than we are. Whether General Phalem saw it or not, his decision works in our favour, Jericho. Our plans do not change. With these borrowed shields, we will swim through arrow rain, and we will take the head of a son that we did not know existed."

In the face of such steadfastness, even the shaken Jericho could not do much but nod. Given their position, there was no other choice. It was forward, to claim the head that they set out for, or it was death, trapped in a ring of enemy men, buried beneath their arrow rain.

"Thank you, Yamon," Oliver said to the man holding a shield above his head as if it were an umbrella.

"Your hand, Captain…" the man said. "You can't hold it?"

Oliver pulled a strained smile. "In a few days, I'm sure it will be fine enough."

"I see…" the giant man replied. He looked convinced. Enough that even Oliver felt a degree of shame for having to lie to him. But the situation was what it was. Even if it meant a few lies, Oliver was willing to do what it took for victory.

He looked to the sky, and he looked to the path above, seeing all those archers, and he saw a different reality to that of Amion and Jericho. Those two men were already preparing themselves to go forward once more. Oliver had seen the shock on their face when the volley had begun, but they'd quickly recovered.

Amion had said something, like an older brother speaking to his younger, and their disposition had changed. They were certain in their task. Just as certain as they had been before.

Rightly, that should have been a time for Oliver Patrick to begin plotting his retreat. In those Verna lands, he'd already lost too much. Especially when one considered how early into the campaign they were, it was far too much. He did not need to lose any more on those mountain slopes. For a vanguard force of three hundred, the Patrick men had already achieved enough.

No more could be expected from them. It would have been better to cut their losses there and then, and leave it to the rest of their army to clean up.

"Hahaha!" Ingolsol's thunderous laughter filled Oliver's ears. He hadn't heard the Fragment laugh like that in years. It was the sort of laughter that needed to come from a surprise, and it was difficult to surprise a Fragment that had spent so much time with him. "Strategy… Strategy really is the best…" He spluttered, in between his laughing fits.

Even Claudia, though her outlook on the battlefield was inevitably a grim one, could not help but feel a glimmer of warmth. When a plan came together, and when the battlefield progressed as men progress, she could not help but be a little sentimental, appreciating that which she presided over.

"Congratulations, Oliver," she said. "I had my doubts, but it would seem that your mortal eyes already see further than mine. I am reminded once again – though we are Fragments of infinity, and we carry the weight of that golden blood, we are but children once we decide to make our return to the mortal realm."

"I had my doubts as well," Oliver said. "But I suppose that is where this impossible thrill comes from, is it not?"

"It is disconcerting that you talk to yourself so often, young Patrick," Lombard noted.

"Was it to myself, this time?" Oliver said smiling. "I do not think it can be classed as such, when you've been hovering so close by."

The other Captain did not appreciate the humour. "Your prediction has come to pass. Do not waste this opportunity with idle remarks. That injury that you bear can still transform into something worse if you give in to carelessness."

"Is that as far as your acknowledgement extends, Ser Lombard?" Oliver said, grinning. "Do I get no more compliment than that? We have before us our targets, and we have them trapped in, exactly as I assured you they would be."

"You did not assure me, you assured a member of the peasantry, if his speech with anything to go by," Lombard said, wrinkling his nose. "Your men are strong, I will grant you that, but it would be prudent to send me a messenger with a little more education, so that I do not need a translator in order to understand what they are saying."

"We're here and now. I would not change a thing," Oliver said, still smiling.

He'd needed to wait long enough for this to come about, but the wait had proved worth it. The left path above them had proved to be a looming threat for the longest time. It was the only thing that Oliver could think would overturn whatever victory they might try to establish. And so he'd needed to keep all his cards in reserve, until the moment that it was used had come to pass.

To the credit of the Verna Commandants that he'd entrapped, neither one of them paused their charge, even as they recognized the situation that they were in. They saw the armless sleeve of Captain Lombard's missing right arm, and for an instant, they wondered if they were being mocked. But even if there was a smile on Oliver's face, it was not one of mockery, it was one of triumph.

He'd penned them in, and he was sure enough that he'd done all that he needed to do to snatch his victory.

'He was waiting for the archers from above,' Amion realized. 'That was the card that he had hidden… and the betting chip that he placed was that he could last longer than our own General's patience… What mockery!'

"I will take the Rogue Commandant," Lombard said.

"I think not, Ser. Total victory – have I not earned that enough?" Oliver said.