"Even if you don't know what to do, just guess, damn it. We're not just going to stand here, are we, and take all the arrows that they have to offer us?" Greeves pressed.
"We'll retreat for now then," Beam said half-heartedly. His mind still didn't want to function. And even as it did, he had no experience commanding so many men to draw from. Especially not against an enemy of the Yarmdon ilk.
Greeves seized on that eagerly. Despite seeming to realize that Beam had no idea what he was doing, Greeves eagerly echoed his words.
"FORM UP! RETREAT FOR NOW!" He shouted. "SAVE YOUR STRENGTH UNTIL WE GET INTO RANGE!"
His shouts came with the strength of a proper sergeant. His own men listened to him first – they'd survived that first charge with ease. There were eager smiles on their faces, as once again they praised themselves for trusting in Greeves' judgement – if it was a battle that the merchant himself was willing to fight in, then that could only be because they had significant odds of victory.
Like a cup with a hole in, the villagers slowly began to fall back together. Their movements were once again accented by fear, as they showed their back to the enemy, and felt that familiar prey circuit kick up, reminding them that they were weak.
Such was the danger in giving the retreat order to undisciplined men. It flagged their morale. They knew nothing about strategic retreats, and any retreat at all, by their mind, could only be because they were at a disadvantage. Too many retreats of that sort, and they'd be in no condition to fight again.
Jok watched as the villagers began their retreat. They headed closer to the village, towards the tail end of the fort. He could see no advantage in that position – no advantage that was greater than the one they already had, just standing upon open ground.
He shrugged his shoulders, and gave the order for his own men to press slowly forward, keeping them pinned down with the threat of arrow fire.
Then he moved the rest of his infantry forward with them, to keep them safe and in range, should anything happen. Not that he expected it would. From what he'd seen, it was an order given in haste. He hadn't even seen the boy give the command. He had his doubts that he was even a commander at all, for he had not led a single man in the entirety of their battling.
Beam moved with the rest of the villagers after giving the call to retreat. Without even turning around, he could already hear the Yarmdon following them at a slow march, relentlessly pinning them into place. If they went any further up ahead, then they'd be in amongst the houses.
It was along such a line of thought, that Beam hit his first pocket of inspiration. He was no leader, and indeed, he wasn't feeling that the gloves of a leader fit him at all. His mind was barely conscious. It was taking all his effort just to move his body. He saw things, and then it would take him several seconds before he could process what those things were.
But seeing those houses, that kicked into gear an instinct that had been ticking over since the battle had begun. A sense for the things around him. A sense that made use of everything that it could. From falling bodies to spraying blood – and now the walls of houses.
Greeves, Nila and Loriel flanked him as they jogged. He voiced his plans to them.
"We fight them amongst the houses, make their bows useless," Beam said in a raspy voice.
Nila found herself smiling in relief. "That sounds like a good idea to me."
Greeves grinned as well, whilst Loriel watched on with a satisfied smile. "Aye, glad to see you're waking up a bit."
"Continue on to the village!" Greeves shouted to the rest of the villagers, as they streamed their way across the snowy plains, stomping down that long grass, in their muddy boots and clothing.
There were a few heads that turned at that, violently, as though to protest the decision. Unconsciously, everyone in the village had thought the same thing – protect the houses. It didn't make sense to lead the fighting towards them, where they might be burned and damaged as a result of the fighting.
But as soon as they went to protest the decision, they realized that that very thought was illogical. Though they'd tried to defend their property, and though they'd known what an inconvenience it would be if what they had was broken, it was still far easier to replace than a lost life, a complete and utter slaughter.
They turned to question the decision, but no words of questioning came out. Instead, their eyes settled on the boy, whom they presumed had given the order. He'd said no word to them yet. He wasn't leading them like they expected a leader to. He was more enigmatic now than he was in normal village life – covered from head to toe in blood.
Not only that, they'd finally seen up close just how he fought. They'd been too intoxicated with their own victories to truly take it in, but they'd still seen it nonetheless, and they'd felt it, the raw power of which he was capable.
A handful of the shrewder types had even deduced that he was why the Yarmdon wall had crumbled so easily. They'd taken note of his attack that had come from the side, and the momentum he'd lent them in doing so.
They looked, they questioned, but for now, they obeyed. They ran on until their feet passed the first of the houses. The houses were denser towards the centre of the village. Just the few houses on the outskirts wouldn't have enough cover for them all.
Jok watched, and he felt his eyebrow twitch.
"Shit," he cursed. Accidentally, merely on instinct, Beam had played the best move he could.
In different circumstances, it wouldn't have been as effective. At the start of the battle, had the soldiers merely lined the streets like Beam intended to, then Gorm and his men would have merely burned the houses down.