A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1042 Impatient Warriors - Part 2
1042: Impatient Warriors – Part 2
1042: Impatient Warriors – Part 2
Not only that, she was being forced to endure endless arrow fire with her shield raised above her head as if she had no more use than a simple brick wall.
‘Is no one else irritated?’ She wondered, looking around.
Her soldiers wore their usual stern faces.
They didn’t seem too appalled by the position they were in.
No doubt they’d endured harsher situations under Lord Blackthorn himself, but still… Wasn’t there an indignity to being made to wait like this?
She looked around, and eventually found Captain Lombard.
Surely he, of all people, was being forced to suffer the greatest indignity.
A veteran of his standing, and he was left waiting behind a boy less than half his age.
Not a trace of impatience could be found on his face, however.
He looked ahead as if he was studying something – the most interesting thing in the world, one would have thought from the intensity of his eyes. freёwebnoѵel.com
His gaze was so far from the impatience that Blackthorn felt as to be impossible.
Even his comparatively younger Vice-Captain, that great bearded Tolsey, showed no signs of disgruntlement.
He seemed to be imitating his Captain with that searching look that he was wearing.
The only impatience that Blackthorn saw was when she looked forward to the other veteran Patrick men.
The men belonging to Jorah, that had yet to reach the frontmost ranks.
They were impatient by temperament, and that impatience was being worn on their faces now.
Of course, they were impatient.
This wasn’t the style of battle that they’d grown used to.
They’d never been made to stand still like this before.
It was always continual and reckless engagement.
The only sign of life was given by the enemy side.
Lady Blackthorn had heard a command shouted earlier in the Verna tongue, and it had been accompanied by a further movement of men in their ranks.
A flag was hoisted high, and a man with a purple plume and a long lance began to make his way by horseback through the shield ranks.
‘Horseback?’ Blackthorn thought to herself sceptically.
On these slopes, and in these sorts of battle conditions, she wasn’t sure she would wish to be mounted.
She had far more trust in her feet than in her horse’s hooves when the manoeuvring needed to be delicate.
‘Oh,’ she noticed his sleeves.
They were wide, just like the men in front with their shields, and there was a golden ribbon around his wrists.
He must have been that same type of odd soldier.
With their strange almost emotionless approach to combat.
She wasn’t sure if she liked it.
Though many had pointed out to her that she rarely showed any signs of emotion, she still liked to be able to read emotions on another human’s face, especially in combat.
It was a great advantage to see a twitch in an eyebrow, and predict where a side blow might come.
The Verna man lifted up his great plumed helmet to the cheers of those frontline men, and he announced his arrival.
And then, he passed it off to an attendant, revealing a bald head, and large round eyes that seemed moist enough to have been crying.
It struck Blackthorn as being an almost childish face, for such a clearly aged man, with the wrinkles that he wore on his forehead.
“So that is their ploy,” Karstly noted from the bottom of the mountain.
“Surround that Second Boundary Patrick soldier, and dispatch of him.
Simple enough, I suppose, given that he’s caused so much trouble already.”
“You don’t seem to be particularly worried about that fact, my Lord,” Samuel noted.
“Do I ever strike you as worried?” Karstly asked.
“I would be a poor fit for my job if I grew emotional at the slightest movement from the enemy.”
“That isn’t at all what I meant, my Lord…” Samuel said, with a touch of exasperation.
With the nature of that battlefield, the arrival of Violet Commandant Chang was noted by all present.
The ceremonious way with which he presented himself, followed by the calm pointing of his lance towards Firyr, marking him as a foe.
It was the sort of battlefield strategy that even the lowest and most uneducated of infantrymen could follow.
The Verna made their aim of killing a single man quite clear.
And in response to that man’s arrival, their eyes soon drifted elsewhere, to where the young Captain Patrick stood, still waiting, yet to issue an order.
His hands were folded behind his back, with his left hand delicately enveloping the right.
He did nothing, he said nothing.
“Lord Idris – ought we to move?” Jorah said.
He’d noted Verdant’s movements for the last few minutes, and he was certain of it now.
Verdant was intent on holding his position.
He had no wish to continue forward.
Both Karesh and Kaya were forced to match him, as they stood next to him, preventing any of them from assisting Firyr.
“This is what our Lord wishes,” Verdant replied.
Firyr was almost dangerously positioned now.
A full two steps away from them.
A full encirclement was being threatened, but with a great effort from the three fighters, they managed to keep the rear open.
The fact that Firyr was still standing at all was a thing that should have been the object of great admiration.
Strikes came from all angles, and all of them Firyr either parried, or retaliated on.
He hadn’t managed to return fire as often as he would have wished, but nor had he exactly been pushed back.
“DOGS!” Firyr cried, almost falling into his old Syndran tongue, as his battle instincts took over.
He’d stopped thinking a while ago.
He was most thoroughly dedicated to his spear now.
There was no room for anything else.
He was vaguely aware of the presence of a larger looming threat, but he didn’t feel in the least bit unsettled by it.
Even as it steadily grew closer, to the point that a shadow was soon falling over him, he hardly shifted his stance.
His body knew to dedicate all it had to physical threats now.
He could spare no time for anything else.
