In twenty minutes, those ex-slaves went at it again. They'd drank water, and it had tasted better than they remembered water tasting. They'd eaten a small amount of hard bread, and the bread had seemed like a gift from the Gods, flavoured by the salt of victory.
They ate, but they were still hungry. Starving for that sensation. It was a wonder what victory could do to a beaten man. At once, it would both empower him, give him hope, but also make him more afraid. He dreaded to go back to where he was once before. So too was it true for these men.
The fear, at first, surprised Oliver, as Ingolsol recognized the scent, but Claudia pointed the reason out to him, and he could see parallels of understanding to it in his own life.
"Expect much from them," Claudia said. "This is when a man fights the hardest."
When he is both hungry to move forward, and terrified to move backwards, a man would show his greatest worth, or so Claudia said.
Oliver watched with great expectations, dwelling on what Claudia had said. His fist, in truth, was clenched. He sweated nervously. He'd known that he could rile men up to make them better than they were, but he didn't know if that excited state would stay, or if that progress would merely flit away with the wind.
Cormrant had woken up. He hardly seemed in a fit state to lead again, but with Northman still out scouting, he valiantly took the mantle. Oliver was beginning to develop a newfound respect for the man.
The most punished of the soldiers had been switched for fresh men, so that once again, their force was a well-rested one – save for Cormrant.
Oliver gave the command, and the fight began again. Again, the slaves rushed forward, as hungry as wild dogs. They didn't seem to know any other recourse. Judas and Firyr took to the front more fearlessly this time, both of them preparing themselves mentally to deliver the same strikes that had broken their way through before.
This time, they did not even allow the spear points to catch them. They were swinging even as they stepped in range, riding the wave of their allies pushing behind them.
All at once, the spear wall on both sides was shattered. It was the same two-pronged attack and Cormrant had attempted to defend it in the same way, but now it had been defeated even more easily than before. The slaves flooded into wherever there was room, and tossed any soldier that dared to get near them violently away.
Soon enough, FIryr and Judas were once more closing in on Cormrant, both of them wearing particularly sadistic smiles. The Vice-Commander gulped, and Oliver whinced, as he was knocked unconscious once again. He'd warned them to go light, but apparently, they must not have listened.
"How are they so changed?" Blackthorn cried. She sounded almost angry. Her outburst drew surprised glances both from Oliver and his retainers. She hurriedly covered her mouth with her hand, and shook her head, indicating that they should ignore her.
"That's two in a row," Nila said, walking over. Verdant had assured her that she could. The guard post was quiet as Verdant looked down on it. "It's strange seeing them laugh like that. They were as silent as mice a few days ago."
"What better place to forge a man than here, in the heart of enemy territory?" Oliver said.
Nila looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Everyone close to you would prefer it if you did it elsewhere, but somehow you just keep finding your way into situations like these…" She sighed.
"What's that?" Oliver frowned. "Both you and Blackthorn – I would have thought you'd be pleased to see the growth of your allies." They'd walked a short distance from the other retainers as they spoke, so that only the two of them were likely to hear their conversation.
"I can't speak for her," Nila said, looking past Oliver towards the almost melancholic Blackthorn, "but it is somewhat frustrating, in some sense, to see you do it so easily."
"Do what so easily?" Oliver said.
"This," Nila said, gesturing to the men, marching around victorious. "All of it. It comes too easily to you. Seeing it makes me think that, perhaps they'll never let you escape it."
"…Nila," Oliver said, unsure of what to say. It was quite clear that her point was coming from a place of concern for him, so he couldn't carelessly brush it aside, but nor had he considered such things himself.
"Ignore me," she said, looking away. "It's what has to happen. You're in trouble, aren't you? You've got to fight just to stay alive. It strikes me as unfair. Greeves, Judas, and even me… We're all safe, because of what you did for us."
"I didn't do anything," Oliver protested. "What you've done in my time away from Solgrim is yours alone."
Nila shook her head. "Are you going to say that, when you've seen already what you've done to these people? Before he sent them here, Greeves was sure that he'd made a mistake. He was convinced that they could never be proper fighting men, and look what you've made them already."
"That and this are two different things entirely. They're soldiers, and this is a battlefield. Of course, a Captain is meant to inspire his men," Oliver said.
Nila smiled and shook her head. "One day, Beam, I hope you'll be able to find peace. I don't think I'll be able to relax until you do."
He was surprised to see that there were tears in the corner of her eyes. She drew in a deep breath to calm herself.
"Ignore me," she said, tapping him on the shoulder. "You just make sure that you do what you've told these men – keep winning. You're made for this. They talk of Arthur, and his talent for warfare, but I can't imagine anyone who could eclipse you, Oliver. Don't slow, don't surrender."