Chapter 1922: Poison Fangs - Part 4
The grandness of the enemy in front of him, the overwhelming of it – and then still, that belief of his men. The magnitude of belief that came from Verdant. Oliver had to trust it, for he could not trust himself. For those clever eyes of his, and his heart so full of wisdom, to regard the foe in front of them, and suppose that Oliver of all people might be a match for him. It made no sense, but Oliver was not in a position to question. He could only deal with what was in front of him. Delicately, without too much focus, lest he lost himself again.
A sword in a man’s back, then another. Driving his horse between three of them to split them up, and make them easier for the comrades that followed him. Looking over his shoulder now. A thousand Patrick men. Thank the Gods, a thousand of them. Oliver had been half-convinced that they had been completely destroyed because of his recklessness, but thank the Gods, there were still a thousand of them. The grandness of that reassurance, he gave a prayer of gratitude for it.
Then he was through, by the side of Hod, sprinting around the Minister in a circle, in an attempt to slow Nelson’s charge. Minister Hod gave him a serious nod. Trust there, again, as Oliver had found from his men. Belief. The same belief that had given him command of the army initially.
"Have you found your calm?" Minister Hod asked him.
Oliver shook his head. A childish gesture. The sort of thing he only showed to Nila behind closed doors, when he felt relaxed enough to be petulant.
Hod gave the smallest of smiles. "Nor have I. I give you command of the army regardless, General Patrick, and I trust you to know what to do with it."
Oliver opened his mouth then, about to tell the Minister, just as he’d told Verdant and Blackthorn about his identity. But he looked around before he did. He didn’t know what choices he ought to make anymore. There was reassurance in having others that knew his situation, and in the weakness that afflicted him, he immediately reached out to them.
The man that had once been a priest met his gaze, and gave the gentlest shake of his head. Blackthorn seemed to be in agreement, for she simply stared at him sternly, as if willing him to keep his mouth shut.
"I will take command, Minister," Oliver said instead, "and I will be the voice that they need of me."
"Very well," Hod said. "Then, I believe I should not have to explain our strategy to you. We are all but entirely surrounded. As soon as Tiberius rallies his cavalry for a charge, our line will be broken. We need to retreat before then."