A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Where has the Rogue Commandant scurried off to?" Karstly asked lightly. They'd waded their way through the barricades, but that was not all that they'd gained. They'd managed to kill a few hundred men on their way, and a Violet Commandant in the centre. Of course, it seemed like nothing compared to the slaughter of the men that they'd lost.

The Rogue Commandant had eyed them so haughtily before, but now he was nowhere to be seen. There was a curve in the path, offering a corner to be hidden behind. That seemed like the only explanation to Karstly, but what sort of foe would go into hiding when it was his duty to hold this very point, and see them slowed?

"Will he not confront us?" Karstly said.

"I have a feel that our enemy is simply withdrawing his officers towards his own positions," Samuel said. "You've demonstrated that you're willing to bloody our men on mere barricades. I can't imagine he feels like he needs to offer up any more Rogue Commandants in order to slow you."

"What is this, Samuel? Is there doubt in your voice as well?" Karstly said, noting Samuel's tone.

The attendant shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "I do not enjoy seeing men killed without the opportunity to fight back," he responded.

"Not every battle is done with the sword or spear," Karstly told him, nodding his head at his own wisdom. "After all these years, and you still doubt me. I'm almost offended."

"I do not doubt you," Samuel said, rebuking him. "After all that you have shown me, I would be a fool to. Nevertheless, I cannot say that I approve of your tactics. We've lost too many men here."

"Have we?" Karstly said, smiling. "Something tells me that we could stand to lose a good deal more."

As ever, to Samuel, his Lord was as unreadable as ever. Even after spending so many years with him, it was hard to pin down exactly what Karstly's intentions were at any given moment. The man seemed to delight in change. Or more like, he delighted in changing himself to match whatever moment he was in.

He proclaimed himself to be a poet, but Samuel thought of him more as an artist with a good selection of paints, changing the whole world around him according to whatever colour struck his whimsy.

The Blackthorn men had established their own sort of method now in ridding themselves of the barricades. With each barricade that they overthrew, they lost fewer and fewer men. They'd managed an efficiency in a situation that should have been hellish for any other battalion, and still they marched straight towards their victory, maintaining that efficiency, as if their energy was boundless.

The men in the second rank grew closer to the barricades first, warding the spearmen off with their long spears first. Only then did the men of the first rank reassume their positions at the front, able to grasp for the barricades with a slightly reduced threat of death.

"Where is Rogue Commandant Ashmon?" General Phalem asked.

"He has retreated to the second barrier point, as you bid him to, General. He will man it against the enemy, just as he has this one," came the reply.

The General nodded again. All the preparations were in place. He'd improved his own strategy, when seeing how committed Karstly was to his. "I will drain you for every drop of blood that you have, Stormfronter," General Phalem promised. "This mountain belongs to me."

"""AWOOO!!"""

Came the Blackthorn cheers, as they cleared the last of the barricades. Anyone would have thought that they'd ended the battle there and there, with the strength of those cries. It must have come as an awful relief to them to finally make it through that hellish pass. Any onlooker that had managed to spy what lay ahead of them could not help but feel a good deal of pity.

"This seems like it will go on for a while longer," Vice-Captain Tolsey noted. "Perhaps we should tell the man to stand down as they wait, Captain?"

"No," Lombard said. "As wise as that might be in terms of strategy, the form of it is poor. We cannot allow ourselves to grow weak in the knees when we see our own men still out there fighting. Especially when they are engaging in such a dire front as they are."

Even if Lombard had told them to stand down, he knew that they were unlikely to do so. Not when the battle was still going on around them, and they could hear the clang of steel, and the dying of men. Few could reset amidst such violence.

"Do you suppose we should make our own advance?" Oliver mused, listening in on Lombard and Tolsey's conversation, but speaking it to Verdant.

The ex-priest pulled a smile as he heard his Lord's question. "I think that might be a step too far, my Lord. We would be causing even more trouble. I think now, we ought to be content with the backseat that we have been resigned to."

"You're right, of course…" Oliver said. "Yet it does feel wrong to just watch."

"Will you never be content?" Lasha said. "If Nila were here, I am certain she would smack you. You slew a Colonel with a broken hand! Do you know no satisfaction?"

Listening to the Blackthorn Commander scold their Captain, more than a few officers were unable to hide their smiles. They were all exhausted beyond the point of recovery, and there was Oliver, still speaking as if to move them forward once more.

"Have some sympathy for your men as well, my Lord," Verdant said, noting how tired the rest of them were looking.

"Do you require sympathy?" Oliver asked, directing the question towards Jorah, and his other two Serving Class attendants that stood near him.

"Not at all, my Lord," Jorah said, putting on a brave face, though even Oliver could see just how heavily he was leaning on his spear.