Chapter 1792: Supposed Victories – Part 3
It was the small things like that which Oliver found himself dwelling on. When he positioned himself so quietly, and declared that he would do as was asked of him, and simply wait, he saw aning in the small things, as if they carried with them the very embers of that future victory.
And who could say that they did not? If a single mont had vanished from the battle that Oliver had done with the Erson’s, he did not believe they would have had their victory. A single turn of the head different. They were all notes in a grand piece of music. One thing out of place, and it would not have been the sa.
The question, however, was still in what he needed to do. Every ti he tried to keep himself relaxed, he found the urge for activity boiling up from sowhere, just as Blackwell had felt in the Capital. If Oliver had known how such a feeling afflicted even those grand and more experienced n, he might not have been so hard on himself in feeling it. Yet he had nothing to compare it to, he was sure it was just another sothing borne from his own lack of maturity. Hod and Blackthorn were busy waging their war, eternally sure of what they needed to do next, constantly reacting to the dictates of battle, and Oliver was forced apart from it all, with nothing at all to draw on.
Another solider dropped his helt. Oliver turned his head again, and raised his eyebrow. This man seed particularly embarrassed, for there was a hint of accusation in the eyes of those that glared at him, seeming to label him as doing it rely to copy the man before him. Both n had seen their helts tossed up and down, as bored as they were, and both of them had eventually had them miss their hands, and go clattering to the floor.
Oliver wondered if it was madness that made him study that fact for longer than he should have. An analysis of the quiet pulling of so sort of wind. Did it even matter if there was truth behind it? Oliver wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything at all. The only thing that guided him was a feeling that was foreign – an entire sense system that was foreign. That system glared and things, and saw aning in things that Oliver would have previously overlooked.
It wasn’t that Oliver didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find a hundred little ways that might affect the battlefield in front of him. It was that not a single one of those ways forward brought about the wave of feeling that he felt rising up whenever the mont was significant. That was the only guiding force he had, as far as surviving in a battle against Tavar’s strategy. He knew not what it was, but faith in it was likely the only advantage that he had.
There was the steady patter of nervously shuffling horses’ hooves. Oliver had a hundred cavalry with him. The horses weren’t enjoying standing still either. Initially it had been proposed that Oliver have an entire detachnt purely of cavalry, but with so many peasant soldiers amongst them, that hadn’t seed a feasible thing to enforce. Besides, Oliver was content enough with a hundred horses. He’d seen the effects of a re hundred horse ti and ti again as a Captain.
Glancing up at the walls, he could see Nila and Professor Yoreholder with their team of archers making a dash along the walkways, looking for space in which they might fire upon the enemy. A great cloud was soon enough cast into the air, from the bows of the enemy archers. Nila and her n were able to duck close behind the wall, however, and imdiately they were on their feet returning fire, their range far greater than that of the enemy.
When Oliver lowered his gaze, it was as if he could see through the wall. By the eastern gate, just a short little curve away from the gate itself, there were likely a thousand bown stationed, if the size of their arrow volley was anything to go by. He felt the slightest little twinge of sothing as he acknowledged that. Enough to make him narrow his eyes, and put his hand in the air, and give the order for the n to walk forward with him.
They ca, slower than a normal walk. A stroll was more like what it was, but they went eagerly for it. No longer were there n dropping their helts, or horses impatiently tossing their heads. There was tension instead, as if the n themselves were the arrows of a bowstring even larger than the black bows that Yoreholder and Nila held.
As they walked, a boulder made its way crashing down into the city behind them. It was a good few hundred tres away, but they could still stand to see the enormous damage that it had done to the building that it fell upon. Soone’s ho it might once have been, but now its thatched roof was caved in upon itself, and the walls of the second story were folded down into the first, replacing the ground floor entirely with rubble.
“Mmm…” Oliver grunted at that as well, and slowed down even further. He was well aware that the catapults were an eternal problem for the defending army. To get rid of those would have been a great boon. Though he was aware too that they would most certainly be well defended.
To open a gate, and to race out from under it, was a matter of the utmost risk. It allowed the enemy army all the ti that they needed to rush into the city. It seed to be a play that brought about more problems than it solved. It was far from being a clean plan.
It was a reminder, though, to Oliver, of the targets that he might select. In the quietness that he had been forced to dwell in, there was sothing more beginning to build. It might have simply been his own sense of bloodthirstiness, but there was a feeling in his chest that was rising to the point that he almost felt like rushing forward.
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