A group of men sat around a campfire, some trying to warm their frozen hands against the fire. A few bones were laying around, proof of their recent meal. Most of them were still hungry though, and a few had taken some old self-made provisions out of their backpacks and were gnawing on the hard bread.

A man like the others, with rudimentary equipment at best, walked back from the bushes while buckling his belt. He sat down on a rock and took a look around the group, watching the excited soldiers talk.

He and his friends had volunteered, against their parents’ wishes when a herald had come to the village looking for young able-bodied men. The neighbouring dukedom had invaded, and they were assembled to push them out of their lands, René thought with excitement.

“You’ll see, I’m gonna take the duke of Tashen’s head!” Brian exclaimed with triumph. “I’ll take his horse, his armour, his sword, and return as a hero!” He stood up and menacingly shook his fist in the air, as the others laughed.

“Unless, you trip over your spear, and you fall flat on your face in the mud!” René said, provoking another explosion of laughs.

“That does sound more like Brian.” Jacques remarked pensively. Their fun was rudely interrupted by the sergeant’s hoarse voice.

“Fools. You have no idea what you volunteered to.” He said, staring into the fire. He had a full beard with strips of grey, and he was the best armoured amongst them, thanks to his chainmail and helm.

Francis approached him, trying to stare him down. “Somebody sounds scared? Are you scared, old man?” He asked with a mocking tone.

“Get the hell out of my face, greenhorn.” The old man said with a hoarse but commanding voice. Francis reluctantly obeyed, after a few seconds more of staring. The guy outranked him, after all.

As his friends broke out in another conversation, René instead sat down next to the old man.

“If war is so bad, then why are you still here?” He asked curiously.

“Good question, lad.” The sergeant said. “I’m here, to make sure you all survive the first battle. An impossible task, it would seem.” The last line was said with utter bitterness, sending shivers down his spine.

“Yeah... Okay...” René said awkwardly, and retook his place among his friends under the sergeant’s harsh gaze.

A hand slammed in his back, surprising him. René saw Francis’ blond and smiling face.

“Why the long face, brother?” He said with his loud voice. René thought he was way too familiar with everybody he knew, but he was also very protective of them. Francis would never leave a friend in a pinch.

“You think it was a good idea to volunteer?” René asked with uncertainty.

“What? Don’t tell me the old man got to you?” Francis said, giving the sergeant a long look.

“No, of course not. But maybe we should have obeyed our parents...” René continued.

“Bah. They will be more than happy when we come back as heroes, with treasures and loot.”

René forced a smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“As always.” Francis smiled wryly.

They went back to their tents one by one, wanting to get some rest before the march would continue the next day.

René slept in the same tent as Jacques, the calmest among them, which didn’t say a lot however. He and Jacques had been close friends forever, closer than the others even. He was usually reliable and self-confident, and wouldn’t refuse a challenge. They sometimes chased girls together, though the options at their village had always been quite limited.

“This is a chance to widen our horizons, Jacques.” René muttered.

“What?” his old friend asked incomprehensively.

“Think about it, we get to go around, see so many new people.”

Jacques pulled himself up on his elbows. “I still don’t get what you’re talking about.”

“Girls.”

“Oh. Yeah. I heard there were girls following the army, you just have to pay a coin or too, and you can get a go at them.” Jacques said, lying back down.

“Really? How does that work?” René said with renewed interest.

“With a coin. In other words, it’s out of our reach.” Jacques retorted.

“You’re right. We gotta kill some Tasheners first.”

“Go to sleep.” Jacques turned his back on him, trying to fall asleep. René lied pondering for a few more moments, and then he too closed his eyes.

 ___________________________________________________

René held a sword, shining in the light of the sun. Hordes of enemies came charging his way, screaming at the top of their lungs. At his side, his friends stood tall and proud, each wielding massive armours and swords like his.

He felt the anticipation of the upcoming clash course through him like a fire, and then he lounged forward, closely followed by his brothers in arms in a spear tip formation. They clawed their way through the enemies, and René felt a rush of power and joy, fighting beside his friends. Taking a look behind him, he saw women in masses, all watching them, though mostly him, with awe and admiration. Then suddenly, he heard an unnatural scream, louder and more pitching than the rest. Many followed soon after, with the sound of hooves and grunts.

Then he began violently shaking.

“Wake up! Wake up!” Drowsily opening his eyes, he saw Jacques leaned in over him, with a panicked face and throwing quick looks to the opening of the tent. “They’re here! They’re here!” He repeated, throwing another frightened glance to the opening of the tent.

“Who?” René said with a frown, and then sat up. Then he suddenly heard the screams again, coming from outside. His eyes widened. “The Tasheners? They’re here?” He said with a little and frightened voice.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you!” Jacques hissed. “Should we go outside?”

“Our spears are outside!” He whispered back. “And the others!”

Jacques nodded, took a quick breath and then went outside, and René followed him. A terrifying scene received them outside. They saw dead bodies, blood, guts, arrows stuck in both ground and flesh. René didn’t dare to look at the corpses, for fear of recognising one of his friends.

Jacques was the first to come over the shock. “Grab a spear!” He yelled, and stumbled over to the spears stationed next to the tent. Suddenly, they heard hooves galloping through the night. René saw the faceless rider emerging in the light of a torch, fully clad in steel and blood.

He was headed for Jacques, who looked tetanised, but still managed to point his spear at him. For a single moment, René thought that the horse would be impaled on the spear, but his hopes were quickly crushed. The spear was simply brushed aside by the horse’s armour, and the rider smashed Jacques’ head in with a mace.

René looked in horror at his friend’s head which was now only a mass of blood and flesh and fragments of bones.

As the rider now turned towards him, René suddenly came back to his senses and began running in the opposite direction. He saw a group of soldiers not far away, and began shouting to them. Then desperation hit him when he saw their menacing faces, and foreign colours.

He turned around, and a saw a mace swinging at his head. He tried to jump out of the way, but he wasn’t quick enough, and the mace violently ripped his skin off, scratching his skull.

He fell down, his head ringing. He saw the knight dismount through a blur, and desperately tried to crawl away, while he heard the heavy and metallic footsteps slowly approach. A sword was drawn. The footsteps still approached, without haste.

He looked back into the expressionless metallic helmet. He thought of his friends, family, sister. His first love. He thought of his own stupidity, how he should have listened to his parents.

Then the sword fell.