Chapter 2050: Weighty Judgents – Part 7
An hour on horseback, and they could begin to see an army gathered up in the distance, bearing Blackthorn banners, Patrick banners, banners of low-noble Houses, and banners of the Treeants. They began to slow then, to evaluate their would-be battlefield from a distance, before they themselves beca involved in it.
Fingers coiled their way around their reins. A tightness that Oliver was not aware of, present in every one of his muscles. A stiffness of the jaw, and an animation of the eyes. The horse beneath him too felt it, the pressure built between the two of them. Sensing what it was that lay ahead of them, and feeling the magnitude of it.
Twelve thousand soldiers in pursuit. Stirring bloodlust in the air. That was enough to set anyone’s skin on edge. A peasant in the sa position, he would have felt it. Hoe in hand, misguided, thinking himself to be ready to sow his spring crops, even with frost on the ground. That man would have wandered out, with his muddled mind, all alone, far from any village, and even he, with madness licking at the corners of his mind, would have understood the magnitude of the presence.
He would have known to look, and to feel fear. That phantom would have stood and watched slack jawed, as King Patrick and Captain Blackthorn went racing past him, kicking up powdered snow as they went.
He would have looked off into the distance, where those soldiers were gathering, and where the two eager riders were headed. He would have heard the shouts of organisation. The horns that were occasionally blown, and the signalling flags that were often raised, to keep that army in organisation.
And, the lightness of his madness would have left him. He would have known to feel the fear. To stumble backwards, back towards the forest in which he had co. Where had wandered, as his mind tattered along with his clothing. For even such a man, incapable of speech, would have known – even if not to fear an ordinary death – to fear such a battlefield, where those soldiers pursued their prey with such an eagerness.
Closing the distance, Oliver could make out the individual units. He could make out the speed that they were keeping to. No faster than Oliver had said. A quick march, at best. Not a sprint. He couldn’t yet see the Ersons, but from the eagerness of the n that were still pursuing them, they could not have been far off ahead.
Confidence? Is that the emotion that sat in the air? Hard to tell. It might have been sothing more sinister. It could have been the instinct of a predator, enjoying the act of stalking its prey.
General Blackthorn was easy to locate. His impatience kept him at the very head of the army, plodding forward on his horse, likely needing to fight every instinct to keep himself going at the pace. Yet, as Oliver neared, he could very much see the smile on the man’s face. The wild look about him. Perhaps bordering on a madness of the sa sort as that illusory peasant of the forest.
Verdant rode just behind him, along with a handful of Blackthorn’s Colonels. He kept himself quiet, rarely sharing more than a nod with them, in the short ti that Oliver had to spy on him before he himself was right behind him. He had turned often in the saddle however, to look upon those Patrick n that were following behind him, to ensure that they were all in good order.
“King,” ca Gar’s pronouncent, warning Verdant before Oliver could descend entirely upon him. The young Sword was trotting happily beside Verdant’s horse, running back and forth. Dashing off ahead for a section, then coming back. It was on a backwards jog that he spotted Oliver and Captain Blackthorn rushing nearer.
“Your Majesty,” Verdant said, saluting him, as Oliver pulled the reins of a heavily breathing Nelson, to slow himself down in line with his retainer.
The Blackthorn Colonels spared him a respectful nod as he drew up, but no more than that. Oliver nodded back.
“How goes it?” Olive said, heaving in a single deep breath to steady his own breathing, and then speaking, in half a mont he was entirely relaxed.
“We are committed to that which you asked of us, Your Majesty,” Verdant said. “We have kept a slow pursuit. The Ersons lie ahead, just beyond the horizon. General Blackthorn keeps tabs on them with a small detachnt of cavalry.”
Oliver nodded. “Wise to remind them of us, even if they cannot see us. It will add to their exhaustion. They will tire faster than we.”
“Why?” Lady Blackthorn asked bluntly. “Are we not covering the sa distance as them, at much the sa speed?”
“We are pulled along, they are pushed,” Oliver replied. “It will wear on them, the alertness that they need to have, when at any mont we might choose to rush more quickly, and descend upon them. The weakness of their position will wear on them more readily than we.”
Verdant nodded his own understanding. “Quite. For the sa reason that the deer is quickly run down by the wolf. It is not a simple matter of speed. The relentlessness of the chase, and the building of the fear… To act out of fear, Lady Blackthorn, one reduces themselves. A terrified enemy is a weak one, a tired one.”
“What of Fitzer?” Oliver asked. “Do you suppose him to be afraid?”
“…” A pause, and Verdant shook his head. “The opposite, strangely. He’s composed. Yet his n, they’re certainly beginning to feel it.”
Oliver squinted his eyes. “Composed? Strange,” he murmured. “Does he suppose he can make it to sowhere defensible before us? Or has he simply given up?”
“I think he’s just a man who has seen a significant number of battles,” Verdant said. “His experience supports him. Finally, he finds himself with the opportunity to let his wealth of experience show.”
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