A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Chapter 323 : The Worth of a Man - Part 5

A moment later, Jok was back on his feet, the hope of total victory a distant memory, but a different kind of hope was born instead.

The conclusion that Jok had come to, seeing the villagers fight, after realizing that they held the power in their hands to end the battle by themselves, Beam had come to much the same one, but from a different direction.

He could feel the will of a man dancing about in their chests. There was a feeling that rivalled even fear there, somehow.

Fear was dark and murky, clinging, sticky. This other thing was like the fires that burned around them. It was hot and powerful, but weak and in need of fuel. It kept the darkness of fear within them at bay, or at least, it managed to, for the few moments that they were able to control it.

Beam hacked at a leg in front of him. He'd fallen amidst a dozen feet. He'd rolled and was ready to get up in but a single moment – so too were the Yarmdon, though. They were on him from the first moment, ready to take his hide.

He slipped through them all. The chaos was extreme by now. Their eyes weren't just on him, but looking toward their leader as well, as the man struggled back to his feet. Jok made an effort to look unphased as he righted himself, but the damage had been done, that shield of invincibility that he'd sought to make was broken instantly. They all began to come out of the woodwork from that.

The rest of the villagers were gathered in the shadows. They'd edged forward now, so that sleeves and hands could be made out, even before the whole body could. The Yarmdon men could feel those two hundred eyes on them, hungry. The dark distorted it, and it felt like there were far more. Nervousness ran through the group, and all the while, Beam was their target.

But even as they sought to grab him, even as Jok gave the frantic order, it was as though Beam was made out of oil – they struggled to pin him down, and with every movement, he grew closer and closer to the edge of the Shield Square, and back towards the shadows.

"STOP HIM!" Jok roared. He was hot on Beam's tail as well. Even if it put himself at risk, he knew just how desperately they needed to kill that boy. He'd become the hinge in the seesaw that kept the villager's assault alive. Jok's own preparations had been completely shattered. He could feel the tide turning against him.

He shouldered men aside, storming towards where Beam was. He'd made it to the second row by now. He fought backwards, taking backward steps towards freedom, as he tried to free himself from all the attacks that came his way, from all the different angles.

His only salvation was in that pressure that the villagers were exerting from the shadows. The outer line of men could not afford themselves the time to turn inwards, and help with Beam's slaying. They could only remain steadfast, and hope that their fellow men did the damage.

A sword drove itself deeply into the back of Beam's shoulder. It was one of many deep wounds that he'd gathered that day. He closed an eye for a split second, attempting to deal with the pain. Jok forced the last man aside, and stepped into range, swinging down at Beam, as the boy attempted to deal with the man that had just attacked him.

Jok's sword was halted by a well-placed arrow. He felt a shiver of danger pass through him, and he tilted his head back just in time.

"Damn it," he cursed, as the arrow thudded past him. It was that archer again, the one with the impossible aim. Each arrow that he shot was so well placed that it required Jok's full attention to dodge it, lest he turn into it, and seal his demise.

This was the only window of opportunity Beam would have needed, but he was granted ten more. A volley of 10 arrows, caught in clusters, fired from three different locations.

They slammed themselves into the back of those men that attempted to get in Beam's way, buying him enough time to turn on his heel, slice open the back of the man in front of him, and roll back into the shadows to catch his breath.

"Damn it…" Jok cursed again, seeing him go. The boy's breathing had been laboured as he left, the Yarmdon commander saw – and no wonder. That weakness had been the slightest crack in the armour that Jok had been offered, the slightest opportunity to bring the boy down. If they'd managed to keep him for another few seconds longer inside the square, they could have finished them.

Even as he thought such a thing, he found himself doubting it. The boy was so unknown to him. He'd changed several times through the course of their battle. All the limit testing, all the understanding that Jok usually went about performing, it had all been for nought in this battle. If anything, it worked against him.

A mindset of complete and utter wariness from start to finish was all he could employ. It was a thoroughly exhausting affair.

And now the battlefield had changed again, as though it was an alchemist he was fighting rather than a man. Someone capable of transmuting the hearts of people, as well as himself. The boy had not been their leader, Jok was sure, but now who was it that united them all?
Stay tuned to m-v l|e'm,p y r

It was done so subtly, that Beam himself likely did not even notice it, and yet it had happened. Every step of the way, it was as though Beam was riding a river that Jok was completely unaware of. As though he was doing battle against fate himself.

It was as though everything had been planned from the start, everything fit together so flawlessly, so smoothly, it was impossible to even see that anything was awry.