A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Chapter 291: The Tigers of The North - Part 7

Loriel realized from the way he was talking that Greeves had no intention of going with them. She looked over to the girls. They were already standing up from the furs that they'd been seated on for hours. She wasn't sure if they were just that afraid of the noises of battle, and that anxious to leave, or whether it was the corpse in front of them that was driving them to move so hastily.

"What about you?" She asked, as they gathered at the door to the tent. Greeves gave her a tense smile back.

"I'll see you halfway there," he said. Then he reached down towards the soldier's sword belt and drew the blade. He wasn't able to make it look light in his hand. In fact, he let out an audible groan at the weight of it. "How are they swinging this like it's nothing?" He muttered to himself.

There was another thudding boom from across the battlefield. All of them looked up at once, like startled forest animals. They couldn't even think to imagine what the noise might be. They had no conception of men like Gorm – warriors of that calibre. Most of them had lived quietly, amongst villages, even despite the darkness that riddled all their pasts.

They could not fathom that a giant of a man had managed to cut through several thick wooden stakes with but a single swing of his mighty axe. If they'd paused to consider it, it might have frozen them to the spot in shock. They certainly wouldn't have trusted in Greeves' vault quite as much.

They dared to make their way outside. Greeves led them, with the sword in his hand, pretending that he even had the slightest idea of how to use it. All the while, he was muttering under his breath. "Damn it… Where's that Judas? All that gold, and when it counts, he's off fighting someone else's battle."

They could see nothing amongst the camp as they stuck their heads outside. Only the flickerings of dying torches that had been left. The camp was all but deserted, a painfully quiet dome absent of life.

And then to the sides of it, when one strained their ears ever so slightly, they could hear the screams, the clang of metal on metal, and the whooshing and thudding of arrows.

Greeves dared to look towards the battlefield. He could just barely make it out past the sea of tents. He caught a glimpse of giant men, shields and axes in their hands, bearing down on desperate spearmen, that gave all they could just to hold them back.

He was no man for evaluating battle, but he knew how to evaluate people. He could see that those men, those soldiers, they'd all be given up. They were the last desperate attempts of wounded animals. They were what he'd see in the faces of debtors, as they gave their last desperate attempts, already believing that their attempt would fail, before it even did.

"GRAH!" He heard that shout ring out from the battlefield, as one of those Yarmdon men knelt his giant frame, and put his weight behind his shield. He charged one squadron of Stormfront soldiers, with shield against shoulder. It was almost comical how easily he broke their position. Two men went flying backwards, whilst the others rushed to encircle him with their spears.

Their weapons dug into the man's side, punching holes in his furs, and dying them red with his blood. But they hardly seemed to slow the man. It was like angering a bear. The man only swung more wildly with his axe, anger and adrenaline blocking out the pain.

Then his reinforcements came with him, like a great wave. There were only two of them on the front line – and really, that was all that was needed – but Greeves could see many more behind them. The last remnants of that squadron were scattered like the wind, and Yarmdon soldiers began to stream into the encampment, breaching the defences.

"Gods…" Greeves moaned, glancing towards it. The sinking feeling in his heart surprised even himself. He thought that he'd already given up on the village. But for there to be disappointment, there must have been hope, he realized.

He dared to wonder what he was clinging to, what hope, but that thought didn't last long, for his own fear spurred him into action, along with the fear of a dozen beautiful women, all of them staring up at him, eyes as round as owls. Experience the adventure on m|vl_em|p_yr

"Damn it," he declared, breaking into a run. "Loriel, get them moving, now! This whole thing is about to crumble!" He said through gritted teeth.

He heard the rustling of skirts behind him, as the girls quivered, and Loriel encouraged them. "Come on now," she said. "We'll be fine. It's only a short way."

As Greeves rushed to leave the encampment, he heard the whooshing of more arrow fire from the south, and he cast his gaze towards the sky.

THUD!

An arrow landed uncomfortably close to his foot.

'Where are you, boy..?' He found himself muttering. By now, as he ran, he was getting a better view of the battlefield. He was beginning to be able to make out faces, and the backs of soldiers. But the one person that he was looking for, the one person he'd dare to put any sort of hope in, his back was entirely absent.

Greeves knew nothing of battle, but he could hardly believe that the situation was so dire if that boy was still out there fighting.

Greeves searched, but his gaze never found him.

Beam was wedged behind a gaggle of tents, as he was forced further and further back into his encampment, as he attempted to deal with the Yarmdon that were breaking through, that the squadrons were unable to hold back.

There was getting to be a fair distance between him and the line of stakes now. At least ten steps. If Beam looked over his shoulder, the first canvas of a tent would not be that far away – and the number of Yarmdon only kept increasing.