A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 852: The Strength of Resolve - Part 6

"How is his condition otherwise?" Talon asked.

"He should not be battling, at the very least. If his stitches tear, there's a very good chance of him bleeding out. That girl very nearly claimed his life," Gadar said. "I fear we will not have him for battle."

"Oh, we will," Talon said.

"My Lord, you ought not force him," Gadar said, with a hint of regret. He wondered why the loss of Rivera worried him so thoroughly. After all, they still had Oomly, and himself, and even General Talon. They had little to fear.

"I will not be doing the forcing," Talon said, "he will come of his own accord, and I will not deny him. My years of commanding on the field are numbered. Rivera is well aware of that. He will not wish to miss out on a battle such as this. Besides, I have a feeling he might wish to avenge himself against that girl."

"A cruel image," Gadar said. "She was too young a thing for a place like this."

"Such is life. Such is war."

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Oliver did not disappoint his foe. By mid-morning, his battlerams were being sent carefully down the hillside paths and manoeuvred over the snow and ice, through the trees, towards the bottom of the Macalister hill. Their thick wheels lent them extra assistance in the snow, but the fact still remained that carts like this were meant for warmer weather. More than once, their wheels had gotten stuck.

Whilst a pain when they were getting the battlerams into position, he knew that them getting stuck would be a problem no longer. This was one avenue in which the Macalister's clearing of their hill made Oliver's life easier. There were no obstacles for them to avoid, and they could simply focus on pushing right up towards the gate.

Two large ragged blankets had been thrown over the top of the battle rams, to conceal the many jars of oil that lay in them. The ceramics had been tied in place with thin twine, but they'd still jangled alarmingly as they walked. The last thing they wanted was to drench their men in oil before they'd even begun to battle.

At the bottom of the hill, they took the time to pause, and stare up at the enemy. Their flags fluttered in the wind, two distinct types of flags. The flag of Skullic, that his men proudly flew, with its tower, and then the multiple sigil flag that Oliver and his men wore on their surcoats.

By now, it was more than obvious to the enemy what their intentions were. The men stood in formation, their faces grim and determined. Cormrant's cavalry whinnied from behind the central column, pawing at the ground in impatience. The same beasts that had been used against the Patricks were now set to be sent to battle against the Macalisters.

The enemy numbers were on the front wall of their fort, waiting. The other walls were thinly manned, a fact that Oliver would have liked to take advantage of, if they'd had more men to do so. But those Macalister men, and their General, knew just as well as Oliver did, that his only chance at breaking in without sustaining impossible losses, was to kick that front gate straight through.

As Oliver waited, allowing his men to rest from the climb down, his attention remained firmly fixed on those Macalister battlements, as though he aimed to cower them from such a distance away, merely by gaze alone.

With such intentions, he was amongst the first to see the arrival of his board partner. His true foe. He knew the instant that he laid eyes on the man that the position of General belonged to him.

The Macalister men parted like pigeons before a fox to allow him through. He was flanked by two impressive-looking men on either side. One seemed a veritable giant, and the other wore the stern face of a long-time diplomat.

The man in the centre was who Oliver affixed his attention to, though. He noted that mask, but more than anything, he tried to discern his strength through the use of Ingolsol and Claudia. Being so far away, he couldn't say anything exactly, though he could still feel the heat of the man's power. With nothing precise to say, he could only note that such a man was strong indeed.

He felt a brief chill pass over him. It was his job to put such a man in the ground, after all. Their entire battle plan hinged on it. Oliver's first glance made him uncertain about such prospects. The man carried the weight of a General in a way that even exceeded Skullic. No doubt the man was far his elder.

The men soon joined the horses in demonstrating their restlessness, pawing at the snow in front of them with the tips of their boots, or otherwise finding ways to distract themselves. Oliver noted that, before it could turn into something worse. By the men's own decision, their rest was over.

"Forward," he said, giving the signal with a slight motion of his hand. That order was soon transmitted more loudly by the officers nearer him.

"Forward!"

"Come on now, forward! Get those battlerams moving!"

The slave men in charge of the carts had already taken a large shield for themselves from the pile. As big as those shields were for a normal man, they were just right for those brutish new recruits. With a shoulder to the pushing-rods, or to the back of the cart, they were able to keep their shields in place even as they pushed.

They led the army, calm and steady. In the place of horses, they made the carts look light. There were twelve men on each, and that, thus far, seemed to be more than enough. Even with the incline of the hill working against them, they kept that pace steady, as they walked to the side of the many barricades that Oliver had set up.

"We're in range now!" Nila shouted out over to Oliver. That signal was heard by much of the rest of the army as well, as they stiffened, as men naturally should when they entered arrow range.