Two thousand cavalry Tiberius must have headed, all heavily armoured, and it was two thousand infantry, all veteran Patrick men that Verdant had seen brought with him. Just the sort of sword that Oliver knew how to wield best.
The state of his heart was a swirling, chaotic, stormy mess. But in the centre of it, there was that black jewel, bearing itself as certain as it could possibly be, feeding Oliver his anger, allowing him to set fire to himself in his rage. That rage needed to burn hot indeed, in order to break back the wave of overwhelming grief that so threatened to drown him.
"General Patrick, how swiftly you come!" Tiberius tittered to himself, as he re-angled his cavalry, to match Oliver and the men that he was fleeing towards.
"My Lord," Verdant said, seeing with relief the fire that burned in Oliver's eyes, and at the same time, feeling the guilt that came with it, knowing in truth what he had done to Oliver, and how he had harmed him, in seeing such a state invoked.
