He ignored the questioning looks of his soldiers, and instead focused his gaze on the commanders that were observing him from a distance. Or at least, he knew that blonde man was a commander. He knew nought of the boy. How old was that boy, anyway? He looked far too young for the battlefield. Jok found himself frowning at the thought.
A terrible feeling of wrongness. He moved with his men.
Beam returned to the fort, just in time to see the Yarmdon begin to move, heading South.
Strangely, the Stormfront men were less surprised that they were attacking from the South than the Yarmdon themselves were. In their eyes, it was the logical thing to do, the more effective way to stage an attack.
Despite thinking it logical, it did not stop them from looking particularly grim as it happened. The fortifications were the same pretty much the whole way around the encampment by now, since the building work had been completed to the North as well.
There was a trench for the Yarmdon to overcome, as well as their wall of stakes. But there were no bodies for them to hide behind, if the enemy decided to attack with their arrows again.
"Prepare to move," Tolsey gave the order. He didn't want to move his men yet, lest he leave the East undermanned. Already, he knew, they'd be spreading their men thinly. By attacking in more places, the numbers of the Yarmdon were better utilised, as was their overwhelming strength.
Tolsey couldn't bring all his men with him to match Jok. He had to leave enough behind, so that there wouldn't be a gaping hole for men from Gorm's group to attack through.
Relentlessly, Jok moved his men into position. He took them right towards the middle of the Eastern wall. Now, if they glanced over to their left, they could make out the houses of the village rather clearly. It would only take a short run, and they could enter the village and burn it to the ground.
That was certainly an option Jok had considered, but as of yet, he saw no value in it. He wanted to end the battle as soon as possible – and that meant dealing with the threat, rather than simply avoiding it.
The goal was to free up Gorm, after all, for that man's strength was the only hope that had of dealing with the danger that Jok felt. Though now, as the moments passed, he was finding it harder to trust that sense of danger. He began to doubt whether it had just been but a brief moment of madness.
But every time his eyes settled on that boy from across the battlefield, the feeling returned, and he trusted it, committing to his orders.
He could see torches within the village, and a gathering of what he could only assume were the villagers. He couldn't make out bodies, but he could guess their number. He ignored them for now. If they were foolish enough to make a move, he knew he could fill the lot of them with arrows before they even halved the distance between them.
Gorm noted the movement on the opposite side of the battle with a grunt. If Jok could see him, he would have been surprised by the man's lack of reaction. He'd always assumed this was an uncrossable line for the giant, that to take his honour away, you would be asking for the end of his blade. In fact, he had seen such a violent impulse acted out more than once.
But now, with Kursak's death, Jok's movements only caused him to smirk.
"You've gone and got him fired up now," Gorm said to Lombard. His opponent was still hanging on, much to Gorm's irritation. He seemed to be able to take just enough weight from each of his blows that he would be able to survive him. He even seemed used to fighting opponents stronger than him.
Of course, Lombard did not understand a word that the man was saying. His face was calm and expressionless, even as the Yarmdon men forced his own back. At this rate, he knew, it would not be long before their defensive line was breached.
His men were similarly holding on for now, just as he was, but their fire was beginning to die as tiredness took over. It took two Yarmdon soldiers to hold an entire squadron of them in place – and as the gap widened, and more and more soldiers streamed in, that was proving to be a fatal disadvantage.
Lombard watched it all with a coolness that matched the temperature of the air. That look made Gorm wary. He could see the man's eyes darting about to evaluate the battle. He could guess the conclusions that he was coming to – and yet he stood there, unphased, as though this was all part of his master plan.
That was what Gorm didn't like. Indeed, he loved fighting tricky opponents, but the best part was always crushing them. He hated their traps, their cunning. He hated this one more than all the rest. To think that he could have staged a trap that got someone as promising as Kursak killed. The very thought brought the anger back, and lent power to his blow.
His axe came at Lombard from the side. With a grunt, the Captain managed to push it off, angling it towards the snow, trying to get its edge stood in the frozen ground. But Gorm was far too strong for such attempts. He brushed off that foreign momentum, and turned his axe back around for another attack. This one came just as quickly as the last, fuelled by anger.
"IT WAS A PROMISING BOY YOU KILLED!" Gorm said, his words rising into a shout, lending his axe extra weight. "HE'D ALREADY CLAIMED THE SOULS OF THREE BLESSED WARRIORS. WHAT MANNER OF BEAST DID YOU SET UPON HIM, HM?"
The fury was in his eyes now. They'd widened to the point that it looked as though they might fall out. His beard bristled with every word, and spittle went flying.
Under the vicious onslaught, it was all Lombard could do to hold his place, and yet he did so calmly, as calmly as ever, even as sweat mounted upon his brow. That calmness inspired Gorm to greater haste. He'd stopped laughing at the small man's tricks the second that Kursak was slain. He could feel it now, the presence of that third commander, the one that they'd kept hidden.