A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Why did they think the way they did? Why did they not have that same urge to grasp things that he did? Why were they so content to merely roll over and die? Greeves was a merchant, but even without gold, his outcome would have been the same. From the second he chose to kill his master, he'd known what he was.

Fate gave him a weapon, and Greeves plunged it into whatever flesh was available.

"Have you never caught a fox before?" Greeves said. "Even those of you that can't hunt, you've surely snagged a rabbit before, haven't you? Damn, even I have. This commander is just another rabbit, just another sack of flesh. Get close, and duck to the ground, and drive your blade through his back. If you ain't got that in you, then you ain't a man."

Greeves' underlings licked their lips at that. It was finally their turn to shine. A type of battling that even they could thrive in. "So whatcha sayin boss, is we just gotta hide n' wait, and take the man out? How much you paying for that?"

The merchant didn't hesitate. "50 gold coins. You bring me that man's head, and it's all yours."

The man went quiet. So too did the other criminals. Money spoke, after all. A single gold coin was a handsome amount, an amount that they'd be pleased to commit any crime for. Fifty? Fifty was something else entirely.

That was a decade's worth of work, perhaps even more. It was life-changing.

Every time they murdered and robbed, they were putting their lives on the line. This here was no different. Of course, they'd be doing it under the heat of battle, but they lived their lives in that heat, under the constant threat of being caught. If they could choose their own point of attack, their own way of attack, they couldn't imagine themselves losing to anyone.

The same went for the hunters amongst the crowd.

"Just hunting, then?" A man said. He had a feminine-sounding voice, Greeves thought he could match it to a face. The face of a man that was usually rather cowardly, especially in business. But even he believed that he could land a single shot. Being told to do things on their terms, it spoke to the hunters. They were not battlefield fighters, after all, they were long-grass predators.

"Aye, just hunting," Greeves reassured him. "Hunt him, or flee and die. It's up to you. But ya can do either on your own terms. The time for group fighting has passed. Skulk in the shadows, and look for the opportunity to attack.

Even worthless trash can manage that much."

"I'm going to run…" The girl from earlier said. Greeves recognized that pathetic voice. He heard hope in it. He gave a savage grin in the dark.

"You will go alone then, and you'll die. It's several days to the next village. You definitely ain't making it that far, are you?" He said.

It was something they'd all known already. The only way to get to the next village safely would be to pack enough food and water for the journey, and get there as a group. But none of them were fit enough to make that journey faster than an army of Yarmdon – especially not women and children, those that truly needed to be doing the running in the first place.

He couldn't see any faces amongst the crowd, but he could sense that their mind was made up. That hunter from earlier spoke up.

"Anyone want to group with me? We'll have a better chance shooting a well-timed barrage together," he said.

With that first asking came many more. Just because they weren't fighting as a single unit didn't mean that it wasn't an option to form little groups. Greeves himself had that very same intention. He turned to his band of underlings – or to where he thought they stood – and gave the order.

"Let's get going then," he said.

He had to fight to keep the nervousness out of his voice. In truth, now, he found himself feeling far worse than he had on that initial charge. Back then, he'd relied on the boy to keep him safe from harm, he was sure that if he simply stuck to him, then he'd get through the battle unscathed.

Now he didn't know what to rely on. The very premise of their battle attack was individual might, or at least, the might of small groups of individuals. All of those targeting the same target with the same intensity, but with different plans of attack, for they weren't operating together.

If it was individual might that they had to rely on, then he trusted his men far more than himself. If they were to really get into the thick of the fighting, then he was quite sure he wouldn't be putting himself on the front lines.

He heard groups begin to shuffle outwards after them. He couldn't see them anymore, but he could guess where they were headed. Some groups kept their backs to the houses as they advanced forth, others left the village entirely, heading towards the snow-covered long grass, taking the long way around towards their enemy, and all the while, the Yarmdon carefully advanced forth.

WOOOOOOOOSH!

Another house went up in flame, as Jok's men set fire to it. He led them from the centre. He'd moved forward once they'd entered the village, so that half his army was behind him, and half in front, with a good amount on the sides. He was wary of an attack from the rear. With all this darkness, it screamed predatory intent. He was well aware of what he would do in their situation.

But he had a strategy of his own. Explore stories on m,v l'e-NovelBin.net

'If I make it to the village centre, I win,' he told himself. His plan was just that. March forth towards the village centre, burning everything that he came in contact with along the way. He estimated that by the time he'd gotten there, there would be enough light and enough ground covered for him and his men to safely hold on to their victory.