Beam watched it all, from his position behind Tolsey and Lombard. The Captain had made him agree to wait, to make his presence a surprise, sothing that they could use to gain the advantage in the decisive mont.
Watching the Yarmdon charge, though, he wondered whether a surprise would be enough to deal with them. There were at least a hundred n in that first wave, with enough aggression pouring out of them to take a man's breath away. They charged in with seemingly no regard for their life.
But as arrows ca flying towards them on Lombard's orders, not a single one made it past their shields. Not now that they were in the arms of the n.
They crossed that hundred-tre distance between them and the Stormfront encampnt with giant strides. The fastest of them broke away first. There was no effort to maintain the line. There were only howls of bloodthirst, and axes brandished, as they rushed across the frozen earth in a single targeted wave of aggression.
They reached the trenches, and leapt.
Gods, they were huge, the soldiers thought again, as they landed within range of their spears. Ti and ti again, the enemy only seed to get bigger, as they had marched within range – and now that they were in spear range, it grew even worse.
A spear rushed out, a spear in trained hands. It pierced a Yarmdon man through the chest, blemishing the fur coat that he was wearing. The man glanced down to look at its point, as though stunned. And then his anger took over. With a mighty roar and a long looping swing, he brought his axe crashing down.
It crushed the soldier's steel helt as though it was nothing more than wood, shattering the man's skull, and sending him lurching forward in a puddle of his own blood.
With that, the battle was started. More Yarmdon troops leapt over the trenches, rushing towards where that first and fastest man had secured a foothold.
As more spear points pierced the leading giant, finally, the man began to stagger. He gave another wide swing of his axe, a swing that looked like it could fell a tree in a single motion, but Lombard's n were wise to that by now. With the fatal wounds assured, they pulled back, allowing the blow to pass harmlessly in front of them.
But even as that man fell, it was hard to grow excited, for there was a whole army of horrifying giants pouring after him.
It was hard for Beam to restrain himself as he watched. He saw a spear shoot out, and then an axe swoop in to match it. There were so many openings. The enemy was so painfully slow. If it was rely this – this calibre of warrior – that stood between him and protecting the village, then he was itching to slay them all.
His heart was unsettled, as it had been all day. The more he thought about how he felt, the less steady he was. He rely wanted to solve the problems that were in front of him, to contribute in so way or another. But Lombard assured him that his most significant contribution would co if he waited.
That was painful for a boy that did not want to think, who could hardly stomach it any more. He'd still not co to terms with the events of the day, and already a new catastrophe had been thrust upon him. When his hands twitched now, he wasn't so sure if it was because of the cold, or whether it was because of fear, or whether it was both.
More Yarmdon pressed against their defences. They had fifty n set up in between the stakes with their spears pointed outwards, ready to intercept the charge of a hundred. Lombard calmly allowed his reserve of bown to remain where they were, as they reigned arrow after arrow down upon unsuspecting enemies.
The amount of arrows that managed to make it past shields was relatively few, but it still served to keep the enemy distracted, allowing the spear infantry to land the blows that they needed.
Soon, nearly half of that charging first wave had made it across the trenches.
"Flabearers – light it."
And then Lombard gave the order.
The first stage in an otherwise rather limited defensive strategy. Those starting fifty Yarmdon n were all engaged in furious combat, whilst another ten or so were still scrambling through the trench, coating themselves in oil.
A torch was tossed through the air. It seed almost careless. Like a man tossing a scrap to the dogs. Beam's eyes traced the torch. There was little else he could do until he was given the order to move. He saw how the soldiers reacted to it, almost fearful.
It took only a mont for him to find out why.
To Beam, it didn't even look like the torch had made contact with the oil before it burst in a cough of fla. Its spread was near instantaneous. One mont there was a torch, the next a great flash of light, and then in the third instant, every Yarmdon man that had fallen into the trench was now a ball of fire.
And then the screams began.
It was a horrific noise. Absolutely bone curdling. The Yarmdon battle cry earlier had been sothing fearso, enough to shake their hearts. But it was in the sa way that a bear caused fear – it was an instinctual fear of the mighty, and of the strong. This here was sothing much darker, sothing that played the music of all the Dark Gods.
It was the height of suffering, and of agony.
This sa breed of n, who had been able to take a spear point to the chest, seemingly unfazed, were now reduced to howling balls of fla, as they collapsed to their knees, as desperately rolled, trying to put the fire out.
The furs that they all wore did not seem to help. The oil burned them viciously.
The Yarmdon that had made it safely over the trench could hear such cries at their back. The height of agony and suffering. Their gazes wandered, as they even began to feel the heat on them.
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