Melos

Melos

Melos stared over the field. From his position on the hill he could see as much of the future battlefield as his sight allowed him: his comrades not blocking the view as he was positioned at the front of the formation to take the brunt of any cavalry charge. An ocean of green lay before him disturbed only by occasional muddy brown islands. A good field for war despite the recent rains that had arrived with the spring.
"Ready?" The voice of Henry, a veteran soldier, pierced his thoughts. Melos turned to face the voice and smiled.
"Of course." After a month of campaigning together Henry still thought him incompetent. He had never heard him ask anyone else whether they had checked their equipment or told them to mind their step when they were travelling through woodland. Still he didn't mind. It was good to have a companion, especially one as hardened as Henry.
He studied the soldier for a moment. Despite his age and clearly waning body he still dwarfed Melos in size and strength: a compliment to Henry, as Melos didn't lack physically. Even though he had a natural prowess for battle Henry's mind hadn't suffered for it; as sharp as any he'd ever known. Melos smiled, he'd miss him.
He let his vision wander back to the field but this time he gazed further, sighting the army of Fenna. Instantly he remembered his hatred of the enemy. He remembered why it was he had joined Varrock's army a month ago. His fist tightened. Varrock's forces were superior to Fenna's in everyway; number, equipment and arguably leadership. His lips twitched into a smirk at the thought of Duke Varrock, the army's commander.
The Duke had done much to embed hatred of Fenna into his warriors. Rumors flew carelessly of barbaric rituals such as human sacrifice to pagan gods. Melos knew these weren't true for he was originally from Fenna himself. His background hadn't been well received among the ranks, but other than one argument which had broken into a fistfight the other soldiers now tolerated him. As long as he swore to the King and the Duke they suffered him.
Melos moved out of file and walked back toward the Duke. Henry gave him a glance but didn't call after him. A few other acquaintances stared as he walked further from his place but still no one questioned him. Maybe it might work.
The Duke of Varrock was shouting uplifting phrases and his infantry were lapping them up. They truly had faith in him. They may even be lost without him. Or so Melos hoped as he muscled past the Duke's retinue. The Duke stared at him and seemed about to ask what this soldier was doing.
At that moment Melos struck in an efficient stab at the Duke's neck. The pike cleaved deep. He let it linger a moment and then withdrew his weapon. A crimson river flowed down the haft of the spear and onto his hand. Or maybe that was his own blood on his hand, spewing from the gash the sword that had just sliced him had left. He didn't turn to see his killer. It didn't matter. Maybe today would be the day Varrock was defeated. Maybe Fenna, his beloved homeland, would survive.

..Nevermind..