Varangian Chronicles: The Acolyte

Prologue

Oleg knew he might get killed that day. He had made peace with the danger he regularly faced serving in the Varangian guard, but it was still on his mind every time he went into action. What concerned him most were his wife and son and the possibility of their future without a husband and father.

A captain barking orders to his men drew Oleg’s attention back to the present. He gazed at the activities going on around him. This was not the time to be distracted.

The makeshift camp was a beehive of activity, with men coming and going, busying themselves with the preparations for the attack. Looking down the mountainous trail that led to their position, Oleg could see battalions of cavalry, archers and infantry approaching in staggered trail formation. The five hundred men around him represented only the lead element of the Roman army.

The men already in the camp had started a number of small fires that flickered against the cold, enticing them to delay their duties for a few brief seconds to warm themselves. One peasant even risked taking the time to prepare himself a meal. Oleg’s attention was drawn to the audacious cook as he received a verbal lashing from his liege. Oleg felt sorry for the foot soldiers. It was a long hard march through difficult terrain that brought them to their current location and he knew that the men were tired and hungry.

In the background, the waters of the Charzanes River softly whispered as it snaked over the smooth round river pebbles. Although icy cold, the march had left man and beast desperate for a drink. A line was already forming along the stream.

Towards the center of the encampment, a large soiled white tent was already pitched. It was circular with the wooden center pole flying the Roman Empire’s flag. A lantern cast the shadows of the occupants against the tent, the rise and fall of their voices emphasized by their gestures. It was clear that the tent contained a heated debate.

Oleg joined the group of men waiting outside. They were the royal bodyguard known as Varangians - elite warriors whose main purpose was to protect the emperor. Oleg was respectfully acknowledged with the greeting reserved for the second in command - also known as the ‘acolyte’.

The Varangians had thick beards without exception and were all dressed for battle. Some wore Byzantium scale armor, others chain mail coats. Their weapon of choice was the battle-axe and most names engraved on them. One read “Preacher of Pain” and another “Leg Biter”, names that were proudly chosen by their owners. Their skins were weathered and in their eyes you could see they were battle-hardened. Their muscular arms were littered with a variety of tattoos. Around one neck hung a small replica of Thor’s hammer, evidence of their Viking heritage, while another wore a necklace with an assortment of personal items taken from defeated enemies.

Oleg’s icy blue eyes revealed no emotion and his red-brown beard covered most of his face. Like the others, he was in full battle dress. He wore a chain mail shirt, with a sturdy leather belt around his waist, his scramasax hanging from its sheath. His right shoulder was well protected under a piece of armor that was skillfully fashioned it to fit the contours of his body while still allowing free movement of his attacking arm. His round shield was flung over his shoulder. It had an intimidating conical spike in the middle Oleg had recently fitted to give it some offensive capability. He carried his battle-axe where he went, except for leather straps he fashioned to his saddle. He devised this patent himself so as to ensure stability when riding at high speed and so that he could easily withdraw his weapon when necessary. On his head he wore a metallic helmet with a nose guard and a mail curtain hanging down the back of his neck. Unlike most of his comrades he did not wear ankle boots, but a more scarce variation, stopping just below his knees. His hands were resting on the grip of his axe that came up to his waist.

To his left stood Arktos, a long time friend and comrade. At six foot six he towered over his companions. His penetrating dark blue eyes and the fair hair that flowed out from underneath his helmet contributed to his rugged handsomeness. This together with his quiet demeanor made him a favorite amongst the ladies. The broadsword hanging across his back was another feature that distinguished him from the group.

Together the two men had faced many a foe in days gone by and their relationship was tempered in the furnace of life in the guard.

The group buzzed with conversation and sporadic blusterous laughter.

They would go into battle soon. Robert Guiscard, Duke of Lombardy, son of Tancred, had grown zealous with greed and was determined to expand his kingdom at the cost of the Roman Empire. With Robert having led a vast army of intruders into Roman territory, the Emperor was on a warpath to cleanse his land. The village of Dyrrachium was under siege and the first priority was to provide much anticipated relief.

Having heard of the Roman army’s approach, Robert relented his siege to prepare for battle, and the garrison of Dyrrachium was free to join their liberators for the attack that would soon come.
Now the various battalion leaders were inside, discussing strategy and planning for the battle. The Varangians waiting outside were eager to find out what role they would play when the time came. The tent flapped open and Nabites stepped out.

He was a short barrel chested man. His shoulder plates were covered with black bear fur, and he wore thick leather straps around his wrists. He had a spark in his eyes that betrayed his sharp-witted mind, and from his swift movements and muscular arms one could tell he had no trouble swinging his axe in battle. With determination in his eyes he looked at his men.
“Listen men”, he bellowed. ”The emperor has decided we will lead the army into battle under the cover of darkness in a few hours.” Whispers of surprise went around the circle.

“The Franks are fierce in battle, and he feels they should best taste our steel before getting carried away in their arrogance.” A few chuckles came from the group.

His eyes went around the circle scanning every face, looking for signs of despair, finding none. “There is one thing,” he said looking at Oleg. “Oleg, I want you and Arktos to pick twenty men and guard the emperor.”

Oleg started to speak, but Nabites cut him off, “You are my most trusted comrade, and I could not rely on anyone else to protect the emperor as I could you. I need to be in the frontline with the men. Can I lay this most important assignment on your shoulders my friend?” he asked with a hint of anxiety in his voice.

After a few moments of hesitation Oleg agreed. “Of course; we will protect the emperor.”
“Death to the Franks!” Nabites roared!
“Death to the Franks!” the group echoed.

With the plans for the upcoming attack finalized, Oleg excused himself from the group. He collected two arms full of greenery from the riverbanks to present to his most prized possession – his warhorse.

As he dropped it in front of her, she sniffed at it and reluctantly had a taste. Chewing a handful of the green blades, she shook her head back and forth - a strange habit Oleg did not understand. It looked as if she approved, taking a bigger helping the second time. Oleg could still remember they day he bought her in Constantinople. The man that sold her to him said she was fit for a king and so called her Rex, meaning “King”. She was his war-horse, and one of the best to ride in this army. With affection he stroked her neck, smiling in the darkness.

“I hope tonight’s’ meal is satisfactory, your majesty?” She looked at him quizzically, still chewing.
“Please inform your humble servant if there be any other needs.” He ran his hand down the bridge of her nose and she pulled her head away puffing annoyed. He knew that irritated her, but he could not resist tempting her patience now and again.

Satisfied that she was looked after, Oleg sat down on a nearby boulder. Taking a small rectangular stone from his pouch, he commenced sharpening his axe – a ritual he had compulsively practiced since his youth. He always took some time alone, away from the men before a battle to order his thoughts.

He considered the events that took place in the last few hours - the preparations for the attack. A wrinkle of concern formed in his brow. The battle would be a real test of this army’s ability, especially of the Varangians, since they would be the lead element. The Franks were brave and vicious warriors and only a fool would welcome a battle with them. He was afraid not many would make it back. He wanted to be there with them - not because he had a death wish, but because he wanted to be at their sides when they faced what could become one of the worst battles anyone could hope to survive. His thoughts returned to his wife and son. ‘Yes’, he thought to himself, maybe it was better that he and Arktos would be in the rear, guarding the emperor. He wondered if thinking like this made him a coward. He was not sure, but he knew he had no problem with dying if his duty required it of him. He would not fail his leader, he would not fail his emperor, and that was all he could expect of himself wasn’t it?

Satisfied his weapon needed no further attention he retired. It would not be a long rest, he knew, but he would soon need every bit of reserve he could spare. He pulled his tunic - with the Guard’s colors embroidered on, over him and with his right hand touching the handle of his axe he closed his eyes. By dawn it would probably all be over…for better or worse.

Moonlight still provided ample light as men scurried about preparing for their departure. The garrison of Dyrrachium along with other detachments had already set out to encircle Robert Guiscard. They were to attack from the rear as the main element assaulted from the front, surprising the enemy in their tents and hopefully overwhelming them.

Oleg got dressed, having gotten up after a few hours of restless sleep; adrenaline was already coursing through his veins. He put on his armor and carefully went over each part of his equipment again. He was ready. He started inspecting the troops. They were also prepared to set out and after Nabites finalized some details with the emperor he rode out along the column and commanded the Varangians to move out.

Formations of different detachments started off. There was strict noise discipline. In hushed tones commanders passed on instructions as the infantry marched and the archers and cavalry followed. The distance to the enemy camp was over two hours of hard marching, but with adrenaline pumping the men made good time.

Oleg rode on Emperor Alexius right hand side and Arktos on the left. Twenty handpicked, battle hardened men followed in formation. Even though Oleg trusted these men with his life, he was restless. Having been a veteran of many battles, he was used to the excitement and anxiety that haunted one before the fight, but this was an uneasy feeling he was not familiar with.

Emperor Alexius looked confident enough though. His dark eyes stared into the distance and his narrow face was stern. He was a young leader, and rather plain looking; probably in his mid twenties Oleg estimated. Young for a task such as was now before him, but that did not dilute the steadfastness of Oleg’s commitment toward his emperor. His Varangians heritage - his oath - demanded it of him.

Shortly before the turn of the second hour after setting out, a scout approached.
“The camp is in sight my lord, beyond that hill. We have encountered no sentries on our earlier sweep of the area. The front elements have stopped and await your instruction. We have also received word from the garrison of Dyrrachium. They are in place and ready to attack following your lead my lord.”
“Show me” Alexius demanded.

The Emperor and his guard followed the scout. As they reached the hilltop, Oleg could see the camp stretching out in the darkness before them. Vacant tents stood with their flaps blowing in the wind. Black patches marked fireplaces, long dead. The camp was quiet and seemed empty.

“This could be a trap my Lord,” Oleg said with a calm urgency.
“Indeed it can be,” the emperor replied. “Have the front lines pull back some few hundred meters. Have the detachments of Porphyrogenitus’s men sweep our left and right flanks…and fire some flaming arrows into those tents. No need to ride straight into a trap. If there is anybody in them, they will come out soon enough.”

Within minutes the flaming arrows tore through the sky, impaling their burning cargo into the tents. The burning tents filled the night with an orange hue. There was nobody. The camp was indeed empty.


Chirping birds announced their prospects for the new day. It was still dark but the forest was starting to stir. An hour had passed since the scouts and trackers set out looking for the enemy, while the rest of the army had set up a perimeter and waited. Some of the officers argued possibilities of where the enemy could be, while others took the time to have a quick meal or a bit of rest.

Oleg could feel the tiredness slowly take hold of his body. The effects of the adrenaline had worn off some time ago. He was slowly drifting off, crouching against a tree, when the sound of an approaching rider awoke him.



“Sir”, the rider addressed the Emperor as he came thundering in. “The trackers have determined where the trail leads. It looks like Robert is at the ruins of Theodore’s chapel. Two scouts have gone to verify their location, but we are certain they are in that vicinity.”
“All right!” the Emperor started. “Mobilize your men. We depart in the same formations as last night. Nabites, you take the front…and be awake; battle awaits us.”
The men hurried to their horses. As the officers set off, each to his detachment, Nabites walked over to Oleg.

“Once more we march into battle my friend”, he said as he slapped Oleg’s padded shoulder.
“Are the men ready?” he continued, knowing his question was needless – knowing his long-time comrade never faltered in his duties.

“They are ready” Oleg said. Nabites stopped and turned to Oleg.
“You know the Franks are merciless – they outnumber us and their vigor matches our own on the battlefield” Nabites said, searching Oleg’s face.
“You sound like an old man my friend” Oleg replied jokingly. He lifted shield into view.
“On this their attack will break like waves on the harbor wall in Constantinople. And on this” he continued lifting his axe into view, “their skulls will crack like chicken bones I feed to my dogs.”

Nabites laughed, taking courage in his friend’s words. He would never admit it, but he knew that Oleg was the better leader. He commanded respect from the men, and even from his leader.

“May Thor’s hammer smite the enemy on your behalf”, Nabites said as they parted ways.
“And may your axe soon be drunk with the enemies blood,” Oleg replied, reciprocating the customary blessing.

The men mounted their horses and Oleg watched as the Varangians moved out. The first signs of dawn were starting to show on the horizon as a new day was in the making.

The soft thunder of the distant ocean reminded Oleg of the impending violence. A thin mist was floating in over land, but he could still clearly see thousands of men stretched out to the left, right and in front of their party. They were ordered in blocks of phalanxes, but despite the military precision and discipline, anxiety was visible on the men’s faces. Where there were build-ups and anti-climaxes before, everybody knew this time would be different. Reports had already arrived that the position of Roberts’s army was confirmed. Oleg’s palms were wet with a cold sweat as he maneuvered his horse to keep in formation.

It was like a veil drawn over one’s eyes he thought to himself. This feeling that possessed you before battle. Although a perfectly beautiful day was unfolding around them, everything seemed different - as if seen through blue glass. The birds would chirp carelessly, and the breeze would blow, but there was nothing ordinary about this day.

His thoughts were interrupted as shouts went up from the eastern side. A small group of fast moving cavalry attacked the flank. One could only guess that they were trying to break a group off to follow them into an ambush. The commander on that side, Nicephorus Synadenus, was not so easily tempted though and after the element attacked and retreated nobody followed. Some single arrows were the only pursuers.

The element of surprise was lost, but it was too late too turn back now. The march continued, but the enemy was obviously aware of their approach. As they moved to the top of a small ridge, a large open valley stretched before them with foliage sprouting toward the middle, partially concealed in the fog. On the opposite slope, amongst the trees and bushes they could see the men and horses of Roberts’s army, waiting. The men halted.

The first to react was the emperor waving for his advisors and officers to assemble. Men came galloping from different ends of the lines.

“How did this happen”, the emperor demanded, barely able to control the anger in his voice.
“I was under the impression they were quite some distance away!”
“Yes most excellent emperor,” an officer attempted, “It seems our scouts have either been killed or captured, and the enemy has used the opportunity to move up at great speed.”

The emperor glared at him, not saying anything. After a few moments he spoke, seemingly more calm.
”Nabites, at my word you move out, but do not charge until I give the signal. We will draw them out with your approach. Then I want you to allow the archers passage, and we will shower them with arrows. After the archers had their turn I will give the signal and you will charge, going past the archers allowing them to pull back.”

The emperor hesitated a moment seemingly considering his options.
“With the center column engaged Constantine will flank the left with his battalion and Alexander the right as the formation is set out, while Antiochus and Taticius will enforce the attack of Nabites. Any questions…?”
“Move out”, the emperor barked after a brief interval.

The officers set off to their various positions while their men waited anxiously. Within minutes the signal was given to advance.

The front line started to move down into the valley, eyes fixed on the enemy. Line upon line moved forward and before long the front was close to the green patch in the middle. As the line drew closer, Nabites noticed a glint from a bush and realized they were camouflaged troops.

Men from the advancing line’s eyes widened with surprise as the enemy jumped up, shedding the branches and bushes used for their concealment. Within second the lines clashed and a violent battle ensued. The attack was well planned and perfectly executed but the Varangians were not dismayed. They moved surely and swiftly.

The surprise attack struck down a few horses, but the soldiers on foot were still making themselves count. One spun around, and with his axe struck an oncoming soldier, cracking open his breastplate. Another dodged the blade of a sword and with the handle of his axe jabbed at the attacker’s knee. The wooden grip connected with a painful crack as the knee gave way at an unnatural angle, and with the attacker demobilized, delivered a fatal blow, already searching for the next target.

Nabites was also on foot, his horse killed. An opponent closed in on him and as he did, Nabites brought up his axe with both hands, smashing the flat head of his weapon under his adversary’s chin. As the man was knocked back, the axe came down again in a slicing blur to end the conflict.


Within minutes it was evident the skillful Varangians had outclassed their attackers. At first one, then a few more, and eventually the whole line of ambushers turned and ran. A roar went up from the emperor’s army, but the victory was short lived as a second wave of attack descended on the front line.

From where he stood Oleg could see the second wave moving in. They were cavalry and charged in at full speed. Before Nabites and his men could fully recover from the first attack, the second wave hit them with a loud clash that echoed across the valley.

Chaos had completely broken out. Every man was fighting for his life. From the valley’s top Oleg watched. The situation his comrades were in alarmed him. The conflict’s confusion had drawn them away from the main body of the army and now their flanks were exposed. To his side he could see Taticius waiting for the emperor’s command to attack.
“My lord, they need reinforcements. Their flanks are exposed”, Oleg blurted out, trying to remain calm.
“They have advanced too far. We cannon risk our reserves to protect their flanks.”
“But my lord,” Oleg started.
“We cannot risk the outcome of this war to save those men! If we engage now, the two flanking battalions will not be in place and our whole strategy will be compromised.” the emperor hissed.

Olegs’ attention turned to the battlefield again. For every Varangian there were now three Franks. He could see Nabites by the colors of his tunic. He was still on foot, but then struck a knight from his horse and mounted the animal. Was he regaining control of this impossible situation? His vigor and determination made Oleg want to charge down. There was still hope. Then as Nabites was exchanging blows with an opponent to his right, a mace smashed into the back of his neck.

His lifeless body fell limp from the horse. In the wink of an eye all hope was lost. Here and there single warriors were still fighting bravely, desperate to keep the hordes at bay. But it was too late. Like wolves the Franks overwhelmed them one at a time. The invincible Varangians were defeated.

Oleg watched in amazement as a tear of powerless agony ran down his cheek.
The partial victory had encouraged Robert’s army, who was now pouring into the valley. The two flanking battalions were in place, and with the emperor satisfied that Robert had no more reserves to throw into the battle, he signaled Taticius to engage.
“Charge!”

The battle cry was like a trigger, sending thousands of screaming men both on foot and on horse pouring down the valley. Volleys of arrows were released into the air. Dark clouds arched across the sky as the bowmen used their weapons again and again to heap up scores of wounded on the battlefield.

From their positions the emperor and his guards watched as the battle evolved. On the opposite hill a similar party could be seen under the tree line. Behind them four horses appeared dragging what looked like a strange wagon.

Oleg saw it first and then the emperor. Soon the whole group was trying to see what the contraption was. Slowly moving out from underneath the trees, the group recognized the device.

Before anyone could say anything the siege engine launched its first boulder. Their eyes followed it as it arched across the valley and plunged a tunnel into the Roman army’s rear echelons. Rows of corpses piled up on the sides of the tunnel of destruction, with men scurrying to get back in formation.

Amazement filled the emperor’s eyes when a second siege engine pulled into view, a few feet from the first one. With the same devastation it unleashed its payload into the emperor’s army. Men in the vicinity of the impact zone were starting to panic, but the battalion commanders fought on with courage.

A third siege engine appeared. The emperor could not believe his eyes. These devices usually used for sieges, taking hours or even days to assemble and impossible to move at speed, was deployed against him with deadly efficiency, and was laying waste to his army.

Still the battle raged on, but where there seemed to be an equal opportunity for both armies before, the odds were now less favorable for the Romans.

The lines were wearing thin in the areas where the boulders had plowed into the soldiers.
“Rider, take this message to Constantine; tell him to move any of his phalanxes he can spare to fill up those week spots”, the emperor screamed pointing to the valley’s eastern side.
At once the rider sped off. He raced across the valley’s edge at full speed.

Meanwhile the siege engines were still chewing away at the Roman lines, in some places leaving precious few defenders. The situation was becoming critical.
Oleg could see men from Constantine’s left flank move in to supplement the weak areas, but within minutes it was clear the left flank was in trouble and shortly after, the left flank started to fall. The enemy was now starting to close in on the main column from two sides. Some infantry-men started to panic and flee.

Suddenly Oleg noticed something from the corner of his eye, drawing his attention from the main battle. Sprinting from foliage to their left, a group of mounted knights charged their party with long lances, obviously in an attempt to kill the emperor. Oleg’s response was immediate.

“Arktos, you four delay that group” he yelled at the top of his voice. “Eymund you protect our left; Karl you the right, we will lead the emperor out. Go!”

At once the group split into four parts, one racing towards the approaching knights, and the other three charging away towards the escape route Oleg had mapped out in his mind throughout their approach.

Arktos’ group closed in on the oncoming knights in seconds. The knight in the front lowered his lance at Arktos’s torso, but the latter flicked it out of his way with his sword and struck the man from his horse. The second and third opponents were more successful and both impaled the Varangians they were aiming for.

That left three men in Arktos’ party against four Franks. The three defenders fought bravely. Arktos blocked a blow with his shield and swung back with his sword to knock the opponent’s sword from his hand. He had no time to finish the job, but was already defending himself from the second attack.

His two comrades were working their axes and, against the odds, started to drive the Franks back. The sword less knight reached for his saddlebag and withdrew a crossbow. It was already loaded and taking aim, he shot at Arktos. The arrow flew straight and true to imbed itself in Arktos’s shoulder. He fell from his horse with the enemy closing in for the kill.

Adrenalin pumping through their veins, Oleg and the rest of the group made their escape. From the front Oleg could see two groups of riders, each between six to eight men, trying to encircle them, attempting to close their way of escape.

Without a word Eymund and Karl’s units broke formation charging out to engage the attackers, one to the left and one to the right. Oleg looked to his rear, making sure the emperor was still behind him. He knew their lives were in the balance, but the only thing he could think about was getting the emperor out alive. To his left and right he could see his men engage the enemy, and urged Rex on, knowing the delay they would create could only last a few precious moments.

They shot past the two groups, fighting it out on either side. It was now only the emperor, Oleg and four of his men racing through a corridor in the bushes and trees.

Foam was streaming from Rex’s mouth as she raced on. Faster, he urged her, checking to see if his party was keeping up. The forest was a green blur flying by on either side.

Oleg started to slack down, waving the others by. He assumed the rear position to make sure they were not being followed. Nobody was behind them. Still he slacked off, not trusting their good fortune. Nothing…Then to his dismay, he could see one, and then more men dodging past the bushes some distance behind him. “Damn it” he cursed and urged Rex to speed up. Racing up to the group he called to his men to turn. As one they responded, Oleg waving the emperor on. They charged back to meet the relentless pursuers.

The gap between the two groups closed in a few short moments and as they approached, Oleg reached for a short handled axe that resembled a smaller version of his main weapon from a pouch beneath his saddle. With blinding speed he flung the weapon to skewer the front-rider’s chest, leaving seven men on their horses. Everyone behind Oleg had their weapons at the ready and as soon as the two parties merged, the fight was on.

Oleg noticed the enemy knights wearing good quality armor, evidence of their position and probably of their fighting skill. Their eyes were aflame, and they screamed curses as their swords challenged the Varangian shields with ferocious blows.

As another sword crashed into Oleg’s shield, he jabbed the head of his axe into the opponent’s ribs. Grabbing his fractured ribcage the man fell from his horse, his face cringed with pain. The falling man kicked Rex in the face, and as she recoiled, she threw Oleg from her back. He fell over backwards, landing flat on his face.

Quickly rolling around he prepared to defend himself, but to his relief one of his own men was standing over him, beating back the enemy. He reached for his axe and jumped to his feet. He could see four Franks on the ground, and two of his own men. That left three of them against four Franks. The odds had improved, somewhat. His two partners attacked again in a berserk rage.

Two Franks were left facing Oleg. The one to his left barked out an order to the other in French. He was obviously the leader, giving his subordinate a command, and as the soldier followed orders and started to ride, Oleg realized his mission was to pursue the emperor.

He could not allow that, and drawing his axe back, he hurled it with both arms and all his strength. With a spectacular whoosh it flew through the air to imbed itself in the rider, the sheer force of the impact violently knocking the departing soldier off his horse, killing him before he hit the ground.

Oleg turned around to face the leader. The man was approaching him with a broad sword in his right hand, and a short sword in his left, and he looked especially angry at what Oleg had just done. With nothing at his disposal but his shield, Oleg drew his scarmasax, and waited for the attack.

In the background he could hear the other men still fighting it out. The two men started to circle each other, closely watching the other, waiting for an opportunity to attack. Suddenly the Frank swept his broadsword low to catch Oleg’s’ legs, trying to get an opening for his short sword as Oleg jumped. Jumping up however, Oleg was careful to keep his shield in position to protect his torso. Upon landing, his counter attack was instantaneous, striking the man with his right fist holding his scarmasax.

The powerful blow sent the Frank stumbling back, spitting out a couple of bloody teeth. Without allowing any recovery time, Oleg leapt forward, slamming the edge of his shield into the man’s thorax. The blow was deadly, and Oleg watched the man managed a few anxious gurgles before dying.

Oleg turned around, finding to his surprise that nobody was left standing. Faint movement from one of the men on the ground was the only sign of life. It was Rurik. Oleg bent down next to him, searching for the wound.

“Oleg…Oleg, are they dead?” he wheezed.
Then Oleg saw the gash in his side under the torn armor. It was deep, and from the wheezing he could tell it had pierced his lung.

“Yes Rurik, they are all dead.”
“Where’s my horse”, Rurik asked.
Oleg looked up to see his mount a few feet away.
“It’s over there”, he said, looking back into the glazy stare of a dead man. He had seen it many times before, but the cold realization that dawned on him was as unpleasant as the first time.

For a moment he just sat there, hoping in vain he was wrong about Rurik. Again he could hear the birds chirping carelessly, the breeze softly blowing like any other day. Softly he laid Rurik's head down, and stood up.

He felt very alone. Alone and empty. He knew he could do nothing more. It was over. He stood there for a few more minutes, before being able to gather his thoughts.

Making sure there were no other survivors, he collected a few personal items he could return in memory of his fallen brothers. He was weary from the battle, and from everything that had happened in the last few hours. Most of his friends were dead. The battle was lost.
Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he mounted Rex. In a distance he could hear the cries of a victorious army. He was going home. Home to the only family he had left…