A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

He was forced to roll out of the way of it, a decision that was not made quickly. He traced the path of the sword, and felt his fingers twitch, as he thought he found an opportune moment to parry, but before he could dive on it, his instincts took over, and he was rolling out of the way.

There was something unusual about Talon's strikes, he was certain, but he didn't know quite what that unusualness was, nor could he see clearly enough to dare to discern it.

The mere act of rolling free of General's blow had taken all the energy he had. He tried to push himself to his feet with his usual agility, but he could only manage a sloppy struggle in return. General Talon took advantage of that. Another strike was coming for Oliver before his feet were even fully under him, and this one seemed inclined to take his arm from its shoulder.

By the barest margin, he dove out the way once more, but with every dodge, Oliver could sense that he was getting another step behind.

Now General Talon stood over him, his sword pointed down, as Oliver lay flat on his back, preventing him from standing.

"Yield. Your body won't obey you," the General said.

"Yield for what?" Oliver said. "You'll kill us all anyway."

"For a painless death. I'll swear to you that I can deliver it," Talon said.

"And you think I'd take you up on that?" Oliver said, slapping the extended sword out of the way in a fit of annoyance, and rolling again, staging to his feet, pulling himself upright.

He had the strong feeling that the General had allowed him to do so, but he was in no position to snub such mercy. They were about the only thing keeping him alive.

He reached for his Fragments, just as he'd started to learn to, whenever he was in need of power or added strength. In return, he was greeted only with silence. Those voices that had been slipping into his everyday world with an increasing amount of ease seemed to be miles away. He could hear them only as the faintest fragments of whispers.

Talon's sword came for Oliver again. A lazy blow this time, it almost seemed like a swat. Written within the blow was the intent for an immediate follow-up – the General's torso was already twisted with the intention of delivering it. Oliver realized quickly enough that dodging the blow wouldn't be an option. The follow-up attack, this time, would most certainly kill him.

He squared his legs, and traced the path of the weapon again, willing his mind to discern the deceit that lay in the weapon's path. There was an unnatural concentration of power through it. The strike that landed did not seem to be the same as the strike that was thrown.

He timed it, as he normally would. His time spent sparring with Blackthorn had proved just as useful for him in timing his counters as it had proved for her. He used Ingolsol's awareness to extend his senses – at least that part of his Fragment was still near enough available to him, even if he could not extend its reach beyond that which lay directly in front of him.

He let loose his parry, putting all the strength he could into his arm. Overcompensating, if anything, knowing just how badly he had been bitten before. He snarled as he threw the blow, begging his legs to give him the power that he needed.

CLANG!

The two swords met. Talon's lighter blow was edged ever so lightly off course, but it was far from enough. The blow continued on, and sliced a deep cut through Oliver's shoulder.

"Even that was not…" Oliver started to say, but now it was the follow-up attack he had to deal with. A slashing blow looking for his neck.

This one, Oliver was forced to duck, though he made certain not to roll. He feared that if he did, with the pain running through his body, he would not be able to stand up again.

"Oho," Talon said, seeing that he was still standing. "Perhaps there is more fight left in you than I expected… Where are you looking, boy? You stand against your doom, and yet your eyes do not even look towards him. Is it the battlefield you're looking towards? Is it your men that you worry for?"

Oliver said nothing. He could not see as far as the battlefield. His vision was bad enough that he could hardly see the man in front of him. Still, he had attempted to look, as Talon had guessed. He could hear the sounds of battle, and he knew that he ought to be there, putting an end to it.

"It is interesting to see how a father differs from the son, but leaves so much in common," General Talon noted. "If you fear for them, then is your task not simple? Defeat me, boy. Put some intent behind your sword. You fight half-heartedly."

"Half-heartedly?" Oliver said. He'd never been accused of that before.

"Indeed. You're so worried about leading your men, that you don't see what is right in front of you," General Talon said. "It is frankly embarrassing."

"I ought to say the same to you, General Talon," Oliver said. "You've spared me more than once now."

"So you see through me as well?" The General said, smiling a thin smile. "Perhaps, then, you'd wish to coax me into going forward with all I have once more? Is that truly what you wish for, knowing just how quickly it could all be over?"

"Over for who?" Oliver said, having the cheek to make a quip, despite the danger that he stood in.

Talon was not amused. The smile that he wore contained no hint of humour of any sort. It was a bloodthirsty smile, tinged by anger. "Very well, Patrick. I'll put an end to this, as you so wish."

"Attempt it," Oliver said back, trying to instil his voice with confidence, though in truth, he still hadn't figured out how to make a single step forward. He didn't know how to parry Talon's attacks, and so he found that he didn't know how to overcome them.