A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

It wasn't that he feared they might lose. There was no chance of any army headed by Gorm losing, that much Jok was sure of. It was the losses that he feared. What came after the battle, when they faced down more enemies, when their injured men grew weary and rotten? He would have much preferred to save their strength.

Yet Gorm and Kursak were both as hungry as starved dogs.

"This truly is a land of the unblessed," Gorm said, squinting at the sky. "I cannot feel the Goddess' love, as I normally would. The evils of this land seem to block out her divinity."

At such lamentations, the mighty Yarmdon leader comforted himself with a grin, as he set his battleaxe against his shoulder.

Jok had certainly felt the air about this land of their enemy. Indeed, it seemed thick with something that was far from holy, far from the Gods that they worshipped. It was growing even thicker now, now that Jok cared to look for it, at Gorm's prompting. Like an invisible oil, weighing them down.

"If there be evil, then I merely need to spill enough blood to wash it away," Gorm said, his grin widening. "PREPARE THE FIRST WAVE!" He bellowed.

From the looks of his battleaxe, as he shifted it down towards his side, it seemed as though the mighty leader would be charging too. The arrow fire paused, as the Yarmdon soldiers came within range, and they switched back to their shields and axes.

"Well, fortune seems to be with us," Lombard said, as he hefted himself back to his feet, now that they were clear of the chance of arrows. "How many men did we lose, Tolsey?"

"Ten, as far as I can tell, Captain. There's several more injured, but they're set to fight," Tolsey told him.

"Better than we could have hoped, far better," Lombard said.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The Yarmdon stated their impatience with a shield cry, as they bashed their axes in rhythm against the wood of their shields, and stomped their feet. Three hundred angry Yarmdon, all within charging distance. The Stormfront men couldn't help but shiver. The enemy was even larger up close.

With spears extended, all they had between them was a trench – a trench that was beginning to look far too small now – and those stakes that they'd hammered into the ground whilst complaining. They certainly weren't complaining now. In fact, they wished they hammered home more of them.

None of them truly believed that they would be unlucky enough to actually have to fight. They figured with the amount of forces mobilized to deal with the Yarmdon threat, it was basically a sure thing that they'd miss out on it.

Yet here they were, after days upon days of enduring monster attacks, they were having to face against the full might of the invading Yarmdon force. It seemed as though the Gods themselves had turned against them.

And the Gods indeed did watch, though the mortals were not to know of that. A woman with silver hair looked down upon the scene with sad eyes, as she gazed upon it through the mirror of her seeing pool.

Whilst that Goddess lamented, another God rejoiced. He sat upon his gilded throne, surrounded by darkness, his grin so wide that it exposed his long fangs. "Ah… Now this flavour… This begins to taste like despair."

The Stormfront soldiers were indeed in such a state. Outnumbered three to one, and against an elite Yarmdon unit at that, not a single one of them was particularly optimistic. As the Yarmdon beat their shields and roared their anger, preparing to charge, it was hard for their hearts not to waver.

Hands quivered as they gripped spears. If one man had fled then, then they all likely would have fled. Each of them was looking for any excuse to abandon their duty. The night was too dark, too terrifying. The air was too cold, and the enemy was too monstrous.

Only their Captain stood unmoved. "Any movement on the northern front?" He asked lightly.

Tolsey's anxiousness was more similar to the men, but he managed to keep his voice steady as he replied. "None. It seemed you were right about something disturbing their attacks."

"Well, for now at least," Lombard told him. He glanced behind him, to see Beam shivering. "Hold your sword until I give the order, boy. Timing will be key in establishing a foothold here."

Beam nodded. He stood up, the cold getting the better of him, as he threw a few practice slashes with his sword, in an effort to warm his body up once again.

"If only the rest of our men would be so eager," Lombard said, watching him. Tolsey could only agree. New to his position of command though he was, he could feel the morale of their men steadily dropping. But his Captain seemed unfazed, so he too did not bring it up.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

"GORM SE BRUDGROLA! MEH SE GA NE!" The Yarmdon leader called out. It felt strange for the soldiers to see him as the leader. To see him as even human. Wrapped up in furs as he was, he seemed more a bear than a man. A great mountain bear, speaking the human tongue.

"It's coming," Lombard said.

"You understand them?" Tolsey asked.

"I understand their intent," he replied. And then he gave an order of his own, his voice level, as though he was merely speaking to the man next to him. "Flame bearers, prepare the torches. Front line, draw them in and hold steady."

He gave no more reassurance than that, but to the men who had served under him for a while, just those calm orders were enough. It served to calm their beating hearts, if only somewhat. They'd learned to trust in the Captain a long time ago. If he saw no reason to panic, then neither would they.

That bearish enemy leader concluded his speech, as he continued to bark at the sky, waving his battleaxe around threateningly, his words accented by the drumming of shields and axes. With a slow, almost careless gesture, he swung his axe downwards, and the first wave of Yarmdon came charging forward.