A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

The trick now, from a lifetime long ago. Was it Oliver's memory? He had none of those. A memory of his men, then, or of Claudia or Ingolsol. An understanding of that trick, finally. A hint of gratification. An old problem, covered in cobwebs, now so easily shattered through, with a fresh wave of water.

Not only in the power, but in that which came before it. He drew his sword back, and he shifted his weight backwards, as if to take a step behind. Tiberius was almost upon him – and then Oliver was there, right in front of him.

A flash of surprise in his eyes, as the wind stirred, and Tiberius' hair was lifted up high. A grin from Oliver, enjoying the look on the face of the foe that he so hated. Sword slashing on, cutting through chest of the man's mount, reaching it before the creeping sword of Tiberius' could defend it. An angry beast, it refused to fall in the first step. The cut was deep, however, and in the next, it was set to tumbling, skidding along the ground, dragging Tiberius with it, and ruining the charge of the men that had been intent on coming behind him.

Misdirection. An old lesson. Oliver remembered how much he had once enjoyed that, and then wondered why he had forgotten. Different from how he remembered it. The sensation far more full of magic, able to reach into realms that Oliver could not yet conceive of. The solution to an old problem, and then a name remembered.

"...I finally solved that trick, Dominus," he said. "You weren't using speed at all, were you?"

Speed was only the ingredient that tied it altogether, but the strike began far before that. A glimpse of excitement, wondering at the words on his own tongue. Words spoken by a different mouth. A story not his own. Once more, a story from a different lifetime. A man called Dominus – he could almost see the woman hovering behind him. He wondered how he could have missed it before. That overwhelming love, and grief, and that barely suppressed desire for revenge. An impossible strength. A man of the highest calibre. The complete opposite of the creature that Oliver had just brought low. Tiberius was a monster in Oliver's forest, and Dominus was a great broad river that ran through even the tallest of mountains, giving life to all around it.

Oliver's men were with him, making use of that which he'd wrought. They broke up the rest of Tiberius' charge. Their spears doing the work now that the enemy had slowed. A rising of fear that Oliver and Ingolsol took advantage of. Then a warning. A foe that still lived, now beyond the reach of Oliver's sword.

He had to step back, and he did so with a dissatisfied growl. Still alive, he knew that, and he hated it. That creature that was Tiberius. As much as he was a monster, so too was he a worm. If even a single part of him remained, the man was monstrous enough to reform in another location. Wishing Oliver had more allies that he could rely on, to pierce through the mass of armoured men in front of him, but knowing he could ask no more of those excellent hundred that had followed him so far.

Movement to his right. More cavalry. Oliver had found himself entirely surrounded. Neither he nor his men had felt the fear that ought to have come from that. They were used to it now. They continually sought it out. It was there that the most meaning was to be found, where that delicateness that they could balance on revealed itself most strongly.

Two thousand strong the cavalry alone were, and they themselves were only a hundred. Oliver had acknowledged the odds with unmoving eyes, even as he was surrounded from all other directions by infantry. But now there was offered something else, in that cavalry breaking through, and riding down upon Tiberius from his flanks.

Allies, Oliver thought. But they didn't feel like the hundred that he commanded. They were distant from him. It was almost no fun. They did their work well, cutting into the enemy, relieving Oliver and his men, but Oliver wasn't so sure that he was thankful for that. They were ruining the picture that had been painted, and there were cracks of weaknesses appearing everywhere that the corruption might run through.

It was no surprise to Oliver when he saw Tiberius remounted a short while later, the side of his face and his hair freshly stained with blood. The net that they'd put around him hadn't been strong enough. The reinforcements that had come for him, he had no idea who they really were. He only knew that one of them wore a crown.

Tiberius circled, and he broke free of them. They were inside Tiberius' own formation, and here, he seemed to command more freely. The efforts those red-coated men put in were quickly slowed, and like Oliver, all two thousand of them found themselves slowed almost entirely to a halt.

"Pah," Tiberius said, drawing near Oliver, but not close enough that Oliver's blade could reach him, without going through a good few men. Oliver was already frowning, hearing him speak. He searched endlessly for some way to reach him at speed, but found himself, even with the wind howling at his back, unable to bridge the gap fast enough.

His men fought well. That they could hold their ground so encumbered by the enemy was a thing worthy of praise, but they simply didn't have the resources to pierce through to Tiberius once more, not without the man rushing to Oliver himself – though Tiberius didn't seem eager to do that.

"You're a relentless creature, aren't you, Oliver Patrick?" Tiberius taunted him. "I should have known not to draw too near your sword, given your title. A Sword is what you are, far more than a General. Perhaps this is evidence that you've recovered now? The heads of the slain meant so little to you, that you could forget them so easily?"

Oliver looked at him, his eyebrows furrowed, angry. Not understanding what Tiberius said, but knowing well enough that he did not like him for it.