A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1139 The Next Patrol - Part 10
1139: The Next Patrol – Part 10
1139: The Next Patrol – Part 10
“Our turn?” Blackthorn asked, as they hung back uncharacteristically far from the combat.
It was strange for Oliver, just as it was for her.
He felt as if he ought to have been there, brute forcing his way through all the obstacles that they encountered.
He shook his head though, holding himself back, only barely.
“Not yet,” Oliver said.
“Give them a few moments longer.”
In that sort of situation, more than any, it was difficult to hold his patience.
The other units around them were beginning to react to the attack, and they looked as if they would swarm at any second, and still there was the matter of dealing with the units Violet Commandant, as he hung back away from the rest.
Only when that central gap widened up to ten men, and the cracks along the rest of the line began to fracture even further, did Oliver finally give his order.
“Firyr, Blackthorn, you’re up!
Tear them to pieces!”
Blackthorn’s horse was galloping even before she put her spurs to its sides.
The frightening black beast seemed just as eager as she was.
With Firyr on the left, and Blackthorn on the right, the two of them laid into the inner meat of the siege unit, tearing apart all those men that the heavy shield wall was meant to protect, and paying particular attention to the men with blue plumed helmets.
Their men went with them, and their operated with a surprising degree of coordination.
They allowed their numbers to overlap, and they fought alongside each other, covering each other’s weaknesses.
That was an even stranger sight for Oliver.
“Are we to wait as well, my Lord?” Came Verdant’s question.
Oliver knew that he didn’t ask out of the same eagerness as Blackthorn, but out of true curiosity.
That was what was so frightening about the man, that even in situations like this, he could be all but unaffected, and retain that calm curiosity that he always looked at the world with.
“We will be dealing the finishing blow,” Oliver said.
“When the time is right.”
“The time seems to be fast approaching,” Verdant noted.
It wasn’t as if the Patrick men could be held back for long.
As soon as the shield wall was breached, the game was all but over.
The men in the interior, that surrounded the catapult, seemed far from ready for such engagements.
Blackthorn, Firyr and their men hunted them with a relentlessness, until there seemed to be more dead bodies than alive ones.
Only when they began to near the wooden structure of the catapult itself did the Violet Commandant of the siege weapon step forward, and only then did Oliver finally put a foot to his horse.
“Do what you can to destroy that weapon of theirs, Verdant, I will see to the Commandant.
We’ve thirty seconds, I’d suppose.
In, then straight out,” Oliver said, acutely aware of the situation around them.
It was part of the reason that he’d saved his own assault for last – so that he could bring up the rear, and ensure that his men made a swift escape.
“PARTTT!” Jorah shouted, seemingly aware of Oliver’s charge without even turning.
His men began to part, as did Firyr’s and Blackthorns, opening the way for the cavalry that came with them, with Yorick’s men following in behind.
That was the finishing blow, the final nail in the coffin.
Any fragments of resistance that were left over, the cavalry swiftly located and trampled beneath their hooves.
In Oliver’s eyes, he only had one target – and that was the purple plume of the helmet, but he was well aware of his men parting from his own charge in order to fulfil the missions of their own. freewebnσvel.cѳm
They seemed set on complete and total destruction of whatever the Verna men had left remaining.
“STORMFRONKAR SKORMA!” The Violet Commandant spat as Oliver neared him.
He didn’t have the curved half moon blade of most Verna men that he’d seen, but a larger weapon.
It could almost have been called a greatsword, if not for the almost axe-like head that sat right near the tip of the blade.
It looked a thoroughly unwieldy weapon, better suited for executing a kneeling man than for trading blows in evolving combat.
Oliver took particular care of his horse in that charge, well aware of the damage that such a weapon could inflict on his horse’s unprotected neck.
His eyes were tinged with gold, as he tracked the man’s every movement, and he saw the blade begin to come down in time with his own charge.
As he’d supposed, the target was not him, but his horse.
He timed his own strike to match it, knocking the blade off to the side midair, surprised by the difficulty that he had in redirecting the blow.
‘So that’s the point of that weapon…’ He thought to himself grimly, as he wheeled his horse back around for another charge on the Violet Commandant.
The man had stumbled, unable to control the unwieldy weapon after Oliver had knocked it off balance.
When Oliver found him again, he still hadn’t recovered.
He was only able to turn himself enough to look Oliver in the eyes before the sword came for his neck.
And then, with a single swift blow, the man was beheaded.
The timing could not have been more perfect, for just as the head rolled its way to the floor, there came the most ominous creaking of wood, as the catapults central lever ground against its pivot, and there was a mighty crack, before the whole thing snapped and collapsed in on itself.
From the cloud of dust that followed, there came Verdant, remounted, his expression entirely serene.
However curious Oliver might have been as to how Verdant managed to dismantle the catapult so quickly, he didn’t have the time to ask – he could only be glad that the man had managed to accomplish the task that he was set.
