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 monts 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 n, 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 seed just as eager as she was.
With Firyr on the left, and Blackthorn on the right, the two of them laid into the inner at of the siege unit, tearing apart all those n that the heavy shield wall was ant to protect, and paying particular attention to the n with blue plud helts.
Their n 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?” Ca Verdant’s question.
Oliver knew that he didn’t ask out of the sa 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 ti is right.” “The ti seems to be fast approaching,” Verdant noted.
It wasn’t as if the Patrick n could be held back for long.
As soon as the shield wall was breached, the ga was all but over.
The n in the interior, that surrounded the catapult, seed far from ready for such engagents.
Blackthorn, Firyr and their n hunted them with a relentlessness, until there seed 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 n made a swift escape.
“PARTTT!” Jorah shouted, seemingly aware of Oliver’s charge without even turning.
His n began to part, as did Firyr’s and Blackthorns, opening the way for the cavalry that ca with them, with Yorick’s n following in behind.
That was the finishing blow, the final nail in the coffin.
Any fragnts 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 plu of the helt, but he was well aware of his n parting from his own charge in order to fulfil the missions of their own.
They seed set on complete and total destruction of whatever the Verna n 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 n 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 movent, and he saw the blade begin to co down in ti with his own charge.
As he’d supposed, the target was not him, but his horse.
He tid 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 ca 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 ca 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 ca 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 ti to ask – he could only be glad that the man had managed to accomplish the task that he was set.
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