He watched the foolish battering ram driver race the horses down the hill as if he were pulling a chariot. It bounced in the potholes in the roles, and the entire thing threatened to flip more than once, but sohow, the driver kept it steady. What a thrill he was having too, if his shouts were anything to go by. He seed to genuinely be enjoying the task he was given – though it might have been a suicidal one.
A volley of arrows ca flying down from atop the wall, now that the battering ram was in range. Here, the hill grew steeper, and the road slightly more winding, as it led to the castle gates. It was impressive that the battering ram had made it that far, but King Erson thought that to be likely where it stopped.
The Patrick troops were racing behind it, though there was no way they had any chance of keeping up with it. King Patrick himself wore that silver crown on his head, rushing right at the army’s head. A foolish sight indeed it was. That boy was no King.
Diocles transferred his reins into a single hand, and pulled out a small circular shield to protect himself with as he went through the storm of arrows. A grunt of acknowledgent was all he gave when one skewered him through the shoulder. Then, he tossed his shield aside, knowing that they wouldn’t have another volley ready for him. Arrow sticking out of his shoulder, he devoted his all to this final task.
For the speed that he was going at, he couldn’t navigate the curves in the road. He took a different path, straight over them. The terrain was far more treacherous here, with a great many rocks, and ditches to cover between each gap in the road. The battering ram bounced beneath him with trendous anger, and it walked the tightrope toward flipping over with a thinness of precision that brought sweat to an observer’s face.
The danger made Diocles’ grin widen. A harder task than he’d ever been given, as far as a chariot was concerned, but he was not about to turn it over yet. Bouncing from patch of road to patch of road, he drove them forward, hardly losing the slightest bit of speed.
"...Will he truly?" King Erson said, feeling himself frown with shock, as the battering ram ca nearer. Each obstacle that the driver had overco seed more difficult than the last, and now all that remained were a few patches of uneven ground. It seed hardly likely that he would stumble there, when he’d made it over such terrible terrain already, and yet... and yet all King Erson could do was hope.
"CLAUDIA GRANT SWIFTNESS!" The driver howled, as he sliced through the harnesses of the horses with his sword, and then jumped on the back of one of them. He cut deeper than necessary, slicing the backs of the beasts in order to inflict the terror necessary to escape. All four of them dashed off to the side – one bearing the rider himself on.
The battering ram went flying past, as Diocles’ horse lost its footing, and went falling down into a ditch, dragging the driver with him. Even as he fell, Diocles’ eyes were on that battering ram, willing it forward.
Like an arrow, it flew straight and true on that final distance. Even an archer would have been proud of it, for how solidly it hit the centre of the target.
GAWOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!
A great bellow, a great creaking of wood. A monstrous amount of weight struck the centre of the Erson gates at considerable speed. Two of the support beams snapped entirely, and the third could not escape a significant bending.
The gates did not fly open. The Erson King could certainly thank for the Gods for that. However, they had been forced in enough that there was a sizable gap – enough for five n to fit through at a ti. And now, racing down from the top of the hill, was a man adept enough with a sword to take easy advantage of such a gap.
King Erson could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. "Will they be fast enough..?" He muttered. He hadn’t expected this to be such a closely run thing. He thought they’d be preoccupied with getting through his defences for a good while longer. He thought he might have been able to bleed them against the black stone bricks.
It was that driver that was to bla. He looked down from his keep, hoping to see him unmoving, filled with spite. He and the horse had taken a mighty tumble. The other three horses had found themselves in similar positions, but lacking a rider, though they might have fallen, they were back on their feet now, and rushing away towards what they perceived to be safety.
The fourth horse too was now getting to its feet, having crushed Diocles under it. It went racing away, blood dripping down its back from where Diocles had cut it.
As for the man himself – it was the laughter that King Erson detested the most. He dragged himself to his feet, booming with laughter. He snapped the arrow off in his shoulder, and drew his sword in a greeting.
"THE ERSON CAPITAL, KING PATRICK! A PRESENT FROM GENERAL BLACKTHORN TO YOU!"
"A PRESENT WELL RECEIVED!" King Patrick shouted back, as he and his best n – King Erson recognised Lady Blackthorn and Lord Idris amongst them – went rushing through the gap, with thousands of soldiers streaming down the hill after them.
He ran his fingers along his forehead, feeling the sweat glistening there, despite the coolness of the day. He looked down at those moist fingers, studying them, as if in them, he’d found so answer to the riddle that he’d suddenly been proposed – so solution to the problem that seed well enough about to fell him.
A deep breath. The howling wind taught him that. All he needed to do was steady himself – that was all. Patience. All was still within the realm of control.
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