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Even given such restrictions, that they aim high and not hit their own, he still heard screams ring out from the enemy camp. More than one arrow had found its mark.

He felt the tension on the field within his chest. He was really beginning to feel it, for the first time ever. The flow of a battle this large in scale. He felt the fear in his chest along with it. He really was afraid that Gorm would kill him for his decision, but more than Gorm, at the moment, what he feared was that premonition of darkness.

It made him want to fight harder, make his decisions more effective, and buckle this enemy even more quickly, whilst saving as much strength as they could. He needed not just victory, but perfect victory, so that he could deal with what came later.

There was that boy amongst the enemy ranks, him and that blonde commander. They were making things difficult, somewhat. But with this style of fighting, their strength wasn\'t utilised as well as it could be. It was the spear-wielding soldiers that met their charges head-on. It was only the stragglers that the two Blessed Warriors were able to deal with.

Jok spied the boy beheading another one of his men. His blade was swung without a shred of hesitation, as though he\'d fallen out of the womb straight onto the battlefield.

It made Jok shudder to look at him. To guess his age, compare it to his own, and then see his strength. They both had the same amount of blessings, or so Jok assumed. Jok was young too, at eighteen. It was a mighty feat for him to receive the Goddess of War\'s favour so early. They\'d praised him for it, back home, and called him a genius.

He\'d received his blessing even younger than Kursak had.

For that, he was given the honour of fighting under Gorm. There were many other Earls that he could have fought for, but there were few that did not know the name of Gorm. He was a hero amongst his people, for his feats and his victories.

Ironically, it was the siege of Grul that he was best known for – another highly strategic siege battle, that Gorm had stormed straight through, by pure personal might.

It was personal might, and his ability to inspire his men, those were Gorm\'s strengths. After being around the man for as long as he had been, Jok was beginning to understand just how special those traits were, and just how lacking he was in them.

He knew, if he crossed swords with that boy from across the battlefield, then he would lose. For him to have dealt with Kursak so easily, that told Jok as much. The two of them had been near even in strength, though Jok would always seize the upper hand because of his trickery.

Now that man was dead, and Jok\'s equal was a corpse. There was no praise to be seized in that.

But even if he could not beat the enemy in single combat, there was no reason for him to fear. Single combat had never been his strength. It was this constricting style of group battle that he favoured, as he wound his way around an enemy like a snake, gradually forcing more and more oxygen out of them.

He could see the enemy numbers dropping, slow and steady. His arrows claimed a few men, then the axes claimed the others, as the soldiers looked up, fearing for the arrows that came their way.

The tension had been built up. Even against two Blessed Warriors, Jok could feel it. He had them in a bind. He was squeezing the life out of them, and still, he had ninety more men that he could send in to join the rest.

At any moment, the balance would crumble, and he\'d be able to shatter their defensive position entirely. That was all that he needed. Then, Gorm would be freed up, and victory would be theirs. Against the mighty Gorm, even that boy stood no chance, Jok was sure of that.

Beam dealt with another enemy, as he tried to slip through the gaps unnoticed. The man was more than double his height, but Beam dealt with him the same as all the rest. He warmed the cold steel of his blade with the man\'s blood, dealing him a single thrust through the heart, and dodging the axe that came his way in retaliation.

Another man dead, another man fallen to his fate, another man dealt with so easily. And yet, they were losing, Beam could feel it.

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Tolsey frantically gave orders by his side, urging their men into position, as arrows flew out overhead. The commander dealt with any Yarmdon that came his way just as easily as Beam did, and yet still, they were losing.

Mighty as they were, they were but two men. Their might served to augment the might of the men, just as the men augmented their own strength. With each new man that they lost, the walls closed in on them, and it became harder and harder to deal with the stragglers that made it their way.

Soon, it was not one man that made it past, but two. Just like with the goblins, a lone enemy was that much easier to deal with than a group of them. With each new Yarmdon added, their strength grew, as they covered for each other\'s weaknesses, and Beam had to take more and more risks to deal with them.

It puzzled Beam. It felt like he\'d killed so many. It felt like his blade hadn\'t stopped swinging, and yet there seemed to be no end to the number of enemies that came his way. That Yarmdon leader had not yet even sent in another wave.

Beam brushed an arrow aside as they came streaming overhead, but now there was an axe coming down towards his shoulder, and then another being swung down at his knee. Beam had thought the Yarmdon undisciplined, he\'d thought their group fighting to be lacking. But there was a wolfishness to the way they worked together.

On sheer animal instinct, they seemed to know where to strike, how to follow each other up, just enough so that it weakened him.