A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1182 A Passing Result - Part 5
1182: A Passing Result – Part 5
1182: A Passing Result – Part 5
“Send them in,” Zilan said.
His voice was soft, almost velvety.
It was a noise that slithered from a man’s ear and around his neck, threatening to choke him. fгeewebnovёl.com
Even the attendant that knew him so well, and was able to endure his abuse for hours on end each day, still did not manage to suppress his grimace when Zilan spoke to him in such a tone.
A red flag was raised, with golden tatters flying off the end of it.
It bore the image of a chariot on it.
It was an order that General Zilan had given so often, that he deigned it appropriate to have flags of its own embroidered.
Though there were dozens of Generals in the Verna, and though the chariot was meant to be their national weapon, a symbol of their military might, few could have professed to use them as effectively as General Zilan had over his decades of warring.
The war machines came trundling over the battlefield, giving rise to clouds of dust.
There was a great herd of them stampeding.
Even the horses seemed angry.
Five hundred chariot men were sent in the direction of the Patrick forces, nearly the very instant that they had arrived upon the battlefield, and archers were marched out behind them, preventing any counterattack that might have been given.
Oliver couldn’t help but gulp.
It was one thing to bite at such a mighty foe, hoping to extract as much blood as he could from it, but it was quite another to have the entire army focused his way – and indeed, that was what he could see happening.
THUDDDDDDDDD!
A great slam echoed across the battlefield.
Something heavy had been loosed from its chains, and it landed, creating yet another cloud of dust, on another side of the battlefield.
Atop the walls of the castle, General Rainheart stood, his small eyes as wide open as the wrinkles would allow them to be.
He heard the results of his order, even if he could not see them.
“Easy, General.
You mustn’t allow your emotions to guide your hand quite so soon.
Do you think you can hound our reserves without us stepping into the fore?”
Where the castle’s gate had fallen, a thousand mounted men stood waiting.
Another two thousand infantrymen waited behind them, their spears raised high, and their flags flapping in the wind, bearing the sigil of House Rainheart, with thunder falling from a heavy swollen cloud.
The threat was obvious.
It was a preemptive move that showed no signs of going any further, but for the Patrick men, it was the only lifeline that they could be offered.
It was one thing to be charged by the entirety of the Zilan army, and it was quite another thing to have them pinned in place, with the warning of a pincer attack targeting their rear.
Zilan sniffed, seeming to show no degree of concern.
His hand fell to his belly, as he searched for more room with which to place his wine.
“Jealous, are we, Rainheart?
You need not be.
I’ll spare some time to play with you later.”
The only chance that Rainheart had in joining in on their field battle was if Zilan himself over committed and allowed for it.
Both Generals knew that well enough, and it was for that reason that Zilan hardly spared the open castle door and the men that stood before it any real degree of attention.
Of course, ordinarily, it ought to have struck him as a matter of opportunity – but he knew that gate would just as easily be closed up the second that his men got near it.
He could achieve little more in attacking it as he could with his siege weapons.
So he gave the order.
Mainly just to be troublesome.
Laying extra difficulties in the way of Rainheart’s reinforcement attempts.
He had his men target their siege weapons towards the castle doors instead, and towards the men that stood there.
Of course, those men could see those adjustments happening as they were taking place.
A catapult and a ballista did not have their trajectory changed instantaneously.
And so those men stepped free long before any missiles headed towards them.
They were forced a pace back, into the castle walls.
It wasn’t much, but it would at least ensure that their response would be delayed, and it would be more arduous than it ought to have been before.
With Rainheart dealt with, Zilan enjoyed the buzzing of chariots, and the squeezing of thousands of flying arrows.
It would be his first feast in a number of years, and the prospect of gobbling up the young Captain who had made him suffer the day before filled his mouth with more saliva than any cut of meat ever could.
“Another,” he said, emptying his goblet once more.
It was past his sixth, and his face had grown flushed from his drink, but his attendant said nothing, and wordlessly refilled it.
“L-look now!
This is why you need an experienced Colonel in charge!
They’re almost upon us, and you’ve yet to give even an order!” Yoran said, blushing when his voice cracked as he gave his shout.
None could poke fun at him, though.
Five hundred chariots charging unhindered across the open plains was just that terrifying a sight.
No infantry – or even cavalry – on the entire continent would be reckless enough to engage them directly.
There was only one order available to Oliver.
“We scatter,” he said.
It was a routine response.
Professor Volguard had told him as much.
With a routine response, there came a routine strategy.
The words flowed off his tongue, with the same sort of mindlessness as they did when they belonged to someone else.
“We split our forces in two.
Captain Lombard, you will have command of the left most force.
I will take command of the right.
That is all!”
He was pleased with the speed with which the men began moving.
It wouldn’t be a perfect split, that was clear enough, given how little time they had to prepare, but it was as even as Oliver could hope for.
The men ran as if the sandy ground was on fire.
Infantry sprinted to keep up with calvary, as half the army veered off entirely to the left, and half veered off entirely to the right.
