Oliver held back, respecting the power of the cell that they'd formed. With his sword, he couldn't easily get in close without risking his horse. He needed to wait for a better opportunity to attack. The chariotmen eyed him like insects, extending their weapons to make the distance he had to cross even longer. It was a hive mind that kept them as ferocious as they were. Oliver saw that not as an insult, but as a compliment, both to them, and to their Commandant. His Command over them was vast enough that – though there were few enough in number – he seemed to own them completely.
"My Lord," came Verdant's voice, loud, despite how quietly he'd uttered the words. It was the sounding of a horn, a great trumpeting. Just the pressure he was exerting from standing off to the side was vast. He made those chariotmen wary. He made the sturdy chariots jump up and down from the ground in their nervousness.
