A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

That was what Kursak's death revealed to Jok anyway. The enemy had allowed them ground and opportunity, in return for one of their commander's lives. Jok had no doubts as to which one was the more valuable, and he twisted his lips in annoyance from the thought.

They now only had two Blessed Warriors, whereas the enemy had three. It was enough to put their numerical advantage into question.

"What to do, though…" Jok murmured to himself, as the men flooded back from the frontlines, and his ranks swelled. He only needed to look at the boy from across the battlefield, and he more than realized that he didn't favour a direct engagement. Especially not when he had another Blessed Warrior with him.

His eyes drifted from the boy towards the other side of the battlefield. There was his victory condition - Gorm – as it always was. It was only a matter of time before their giant leader forced the enemy back, or slew their commander. That was time that Jok needed to buy for them.

"Archers," Jok decided. The men that had just joined him looked up in surprise. They were unfamiliar with his warring methods. After the initial peppering that they always did at the start of battle, it was rare for them to return to their bows, especially after having already done the initial charge.

Jok ignored the confused looks. His own men were already heeding the order. The newcomers rushed to join them, finding the bows and arrows that had been left behind before they'd begun their charge and arming themselves with them.

"Fire," Jok said calmly. They were well within range of the enemy. With a hundred and twenty men under his command – each of them managing to find a bow, for there were plenty of them strewn about – the cloud that they unleashed was nothing if not menacing. Find stories at m-vl-em-pyr

Beam glanced up at where he thought it to be. The arrows had disappeared into the night sky the moment that they'd been unleashed.

"TAKE COVER!" Tolsey bellowed, pulling Beam down with him. The rest of the men – who had been cheering just moments before – started to dive down back behind the stakes.

A few cries rang out, as the unlucky were pierced by arrows, and like that, just a few more lives were taken, just as they had been earlier. Tolsey moved to stand up again, half expecting the Yarmdon to once more draw their swords, and once more go for the charge.

But this enemy was different. Unlike Kursak, Jok had no qualms about playing the tactical battle. He admired Gorm, their leader, but he did not seek to become him. For one, he did not have the man's height, nor his strength. To seize the glory that Jok dreamed of, he'd realized long ago that it was Jok he needed to be, no one else. It was his strengths that he had to play to.

"Fire," Jok said again, his lips beginning to curve back into a smile. He could see the look of panic on that blonde commander's face. The man flung himself to the dirt once more.

The Stormfront men had been cheering when they saw the Yarmdon retreat. They weren't cheering now, Jok noted.

More screams ran out as arrows embedded themselves into the earth next to Beam. He felt a sudden flash next to his ear, as his senses alerted him to the danger. There was a ringing sound of metal on metal, as he tapped the arrow away with the blade of his sword.

"Damn it…" Tolsey cursed, growing frustrated. He could hear his men dying around him. If left like this, then there was no hope – no hope at all.

"I'll take to the front," Beam offered. "I'll distract them whilst you come up with a plan."

"There's nothing at the front to be had!" Tolsey said, his voice stern. "They'll merely pepper you with arrows, and there'll be nothing left of you. If they play the war of attribution, then our only hope is with the Captain."

"Then should I not rush to assist him?" Beam asked, but again, Tolsey shook his head.

"Can you not feel the aura of the man? Even from here, you can tell that he's at least of the Fourth Boundary. The Captain is not fighting him to win. He's fighting him to buy time. He was betting on us winning here, but…"

"Then what are you hoping for from the Captain?" Beam asked pointedly.

Tolsey caught himself suddenly. He'd stated that their only hope was the Captain almost reflexively, but in his questioning, the boy had forced him to reveal that his own argument was circular, as was his thought process. He was continually putting the solution elsewhere in his head, as he clung to the irrational belief that Captain Lombard would deliver them the solution.

"…Draw them in, if you can. We'll make sandbags out of the bodies and give ourselves some breathing room," Tolsey said finally, as his mind unfroze.

Beam nodded seriously, and after a few short bounds, he was already leaving the trenches.

Tolsey could not help but think it absurd as he watched. Beam had already drawn his sword. He was holding it off to the side, with a clear threat behind it, as though he really would manage to close the distance between himself and the enemy, as though that was entirely his intention.

Even Jok was given a moment's pause as he saw the boy rush from the defences towards them. "This is surely a distraction… and yet…" Jok murmured to himself. If he looked beyond the boy, he could already see the soldiers behind him begin to move. They were dragging bodies. The reason for that seemed more than obvious to Jok.

If he was to make a rational decision, then he'd merely ignore the boy, and continue to pepper the enemy with ammunition. They were at their weakness now, when they were attempting to rebuild their defences. There was a certain advantage to be seized.

And yet, an instinct told him that such a thing would be unwise. He dared not leave the boy unchecked. Though it was unlikely that he would manage to achieve anything on his own, Jok was unwilling to take the risk.