A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Northman," Oliver acknowledged.

"That I am," Northman said, sparing the bodies of the fifteen men behind them a glance. "I'll have to ask about that later," he decided. "Looks like we're going to be hard-pressed for a few minutes, eh?"

"Spear," Rofus said, landing next, copying Northman's command. Another spear was passed up to him. For fending off large groups, nothing could be better than the spear. As soon as he'd sensed a change in how the enemy was likely to respond, Northman had ordered the spears from the back of the wagon to be brought out.

"Spear," another man landed, Amberlan this time.

"Spear," Gamrod said next. Discover stories with My Virtual Library Empire

One after the other, even more quickly than the flood of approaching reinforcements, Oliver's men arrived. He could hear the sound of Cormrant's approaching infantry rushing to join them as well, thudding up against the ladders.

Soon enough, the whole squadron was there.

"I'll take the left," Northman said, "how many men do you need to hold the right?"

"Give me four and I'll turn the tides," Oliver said.

"Greedy," Northman grumbled. "You best be quick. Even with the spears, seven men against twenty isn't exactly a damsel's dream wedding day."

"What the fuck does that even mean?" Rofus said.

Even quipping as they were, they were moving with the utmost quickness. It was a soldier's way – or Rofus' way in particular – of keeping a measure of calm on the battlefield even as all those peculiar emotions were pounding through them, that acute awareness mixed with that concoction of fear and near-anger.

Gamerod and Amberlan went with Oliver, along with a couple of other men. They only just had enough time to lower their spears before the first wave hit.

It was easy to tell that these men were not accustomed to fighting in general, much less against those long weapons. They misjudged the gaps in between the spears – as naturally there were some, with so few men – as safe spaces to dodge and continue running, such was their blood thirst. But a slight shift of the spear point and those men ran themselves through.

A good three men offed themselves like that, seeming surprised that the lengthy weapons were allowed to move so quickly.

The others narrowly avoided them and instead shifted towards the centre of the walkway, away from the spears and towards where Oliver stood. Whether intentionally or not, what the soldiers had ended up creating was a funnel. The walkway was wide enough for eight men to go side by side, if they didn't mind a tight squeeze.

With the spears guiding them, it was only around two at a time that could safely make the dash towards Oliver.

That was far too few to overwhelm him. They were encouraged far too much by the superiority of their numbers. They allowed the weight of their numeracy to go to their heads, and they fancied themselves behemoths. Too eager were they, in seeing so few men in the opposition, that they fancied they could crush them like the weaklings that they were.

They ceased to think of themselves as the axe-wielding individuals that they were, and more as extensions of this overwhelmingly more mighty mass.

That, of course, against Oliver's sword, gave them no advantage. A quick slash, and one man was dead. A kick, and the second was sent hurtling back into the wave of men that followed, earning him a spear thrust through his midsection as a parting gift.

Then, they heard the sound of more soldiers from beneath. Cormrant's men had made it to the walls, and were making use of the ladders that they'd set up, rattling it as they went. Oliver and Northman defended their climbing points aptly enough.

On Northman's side, with the seven of them together, side by side, they'd made a near-impenetrable spear wall. They weren't as tight as they could be – an eighth man could have been forced in, if they had the number – but it was more than effective at warding off such an inexperienced foe. That lot didn't dare to charge the vicious points.

They needed some kind of opening before they could believe that they'd make it through unscathed.

It instead settled into an odd sort of standoff, as the men on the left slowed, and the men on the right continued to be butchered.

Oliver was offered up two more pairs of men before they seemed to realize that the spear-made funnel was something of a death trap. As soon as they stopped coming, Oliver gave the order to step forward.

"Forward!" He said, motion with his sword. He could see the fear and uncertainty swirling around the men. They hadn't done this sort of thing often enough to know how to deal with it. How was a man meant to deal with a spear wall? They froze up in the face of that uncertainty and their inexperience shone through.

Oliver's men stepped forward with him, encouraged by the anxiousness of their foes. When they took a step forward, the front row of the enemy dared to take a step back, watching the spear points with a renewed level of fear, now that they'd seen just how deadly the weapons could be.

Back the men went, on both sides. With the enemy unwilling to engage, Northman too sought to secure more space, forcing the men backwards. The day that he didn't seize freely offered space on a battlefield would be the day that he ceased to be a Commander.

Gamrod's men made it over the wall. Many of them had brought spears of their own. The first three rushed over to Oliver's side, seeing that he was numerically worse off. He made no remark as they settled in next to him, despite how unnecessary they currently seemed.

With more men joining him, Oliver picked up the speed of the chase. They'd been slowly walking the enemies down, forcing them back more for psychological reasons than truly death-ensuring ones, but now he gave a sudden burst of speed.