A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Chapter 320: The Worth of a Man - Part 2

Then came another volley of arrows. The focus of Jok's men once again proved to be their downfall. Whoever it was in those shadows, they knew how to detect the attention of their prey, they knew how to make it to an enemy's blindspot. Once again, three men fell, without even knowing what had hit them.

"Troublesome…" Jok complained. But there was nought he could do to deal with as of yet. There were no group orders he could give that could make their opportunism useless. It was down to his own men to react in time.

And now they were. He could see it on their faces, they'd perked up slightly. They were forcing their attention all around them. They held their shields loosely, so that they could raise it at a moment's notice.

When the next wave of arrows came, they found only wood.

That party of four hovered nervously as the earlier gap began to close up, as Jok's men rolled the bodies out of the way, and filled the gaps with shields.

But by now more groups were gathering. From the rear this time, from the path of flames that the Yarmdon men had left in their wake. Somehow, this group had managed to circle around them completely, and come back down the same road that they'd been down.

There were only four of them there, but from the way they swaggered confidently with their walk, Jok could sense that there were more of them in the shadows. The look of them reminded Jok of Gorebeasts. Of scavengers, and criminals. He wasn't far off.

The men wandered, knives brandished, until they were within twenty steps of the encirclement, and then they merely began to scoop up snow from the side of the road, making snowballs – sneaking the occasional rock into them – before blasting them against the enemy.

They hooted with delight as each one landed, an unsettling childishness to their actions, despite the dire circumstances.

Jok's attention had been distracted by them for but a moment, but the next time he looked, that boy was gone. The gap in their shield wall that he'd left stood open, like a painful wound, but there was no sign of the one who'd inflicted it.

"WHERE IS HE?" Jok shouted, urgently, he could feel a chill down his back. The real danger here was that boy – and it was Jok's head that he was after.

"Ran back in amongst the houses!" Came the shout in reply.

Only hearing that, did Jok dare to lose his tension slightly. He'd half expected the boy to be in the air. He was a creature to him by now. There was an element of supernaturalism to the way he fought.

"Calm down..." He murmured to himself. There was a chaos here. Jok was used to fighting against a single leader, or maybe two or three of them. He wasn't used to this kind of lawlessness. It was hard to pick out a pattern in the fighting.

There were those individual groups of four that kept arising, each of them from different locations. At first, it seemed as though their objection was primarily him, but as soon as one of them was injured, they went berserk, and went in for each other.

And then, one group of them even aborted the attack. They were still hovering nervously, having yet to engage. Jok half expected them to go back into the shadows. It was so tempting to send a dispatchment of soldiers after them, to crush them immediately… But they felt like poisonous pieces. In a Battle game, he knew to be wary of those pieces that were easiest to obtain.

There was no rhyme or reason to the way the fighters were acting. One group might go charging in, whilst another cowered by the sidelines. And then there were those archers, hiding a distance away, magnifying every slight change, every slight weakness. Then there was that boy on top of that… That boy seemed to have his own purpose entirely. He didn't even bring a single man with him.

Then those men towards the rear, still throwing snowballs – he could sense an element of planning in their actions. Another leader, within an army of rabble, but as of yet, they were all unified.

Two more squadrons arose from the darkness. Six in one, five in the other. Even the size of their groups had no uniformity to them.

One group charged straight at the shield wall, led by a particularly spirited old man. He wielded a pitchfork as though it was a spear, gave a particularly valiant battle cry… And then he flung himself at the feet of the Yarmdon in his way, stabbing them through with his spear.

The wall opened up instantly at his insane manoeuvre, and the group of five that came after he flooded into the gap.

The old man was killed instantly. A single stomp of a hard boot crushed his skull. But the man had aimed for that from the start, he'd sought to sacrifice his life merely to secure an advantage.

Again, this lot, Jok could feel it in their eyes – they were all aiming for him. Pitchforks, axes, knives. Men and women, they gave a mighty roar, like starved animals. There was an old woman amongst them and she seemed just as suicidal as the man. She jumped at a shield like a monkey, merely to weigh it down. In response, she was delivered an axe in her skull.

But for her sacrifice, a knife went flying through, managing to snag the man's throat by the most impossible bit of luck. Jok could hardly believe it. It was like they were throwing coins, and by some random chance, they were all landing on heads.

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The arrows went flying again, and another group charged. This lot slammed into Jok's spear wall, and were repelled as effortlessly as the snowballs that were being tossed. It was as though their bodies had no weight. The Yarmdon allowed them to hit their shoulders against their shields, and then they took a step outwards to stun them.

Axes and swords reigned down a second later, killing them all easily, almost instantly.

Jok narrowed his eyes. Again, there was no rhyme or reason.

More groups came out, four this time. They slammed into the shields again. A whole group was repelled once more. Then arrows came for the rest.