Multiple authors story - write one paragraph each

[Rodion Romanovich]

56
Two days of food supply meant either we'd have to lure the enemy to attack, or we would have to attempt to sally. The huns had lost most of their infantry auxiliaries in the pursuit, before crushing the roman main army. But their cavalry was at full strength. There was no way of outranging their bows, which meant a sally would be suicide - the enemy would just keep their distance and rain their deadly salvoes over us. Making a trap inside the city would be the only option.

I wondered who had opened the gates last time. There must have been a traitor among us, maybe he was still here. Then we could, for once, use treachery among us to an advantage. I quickly assembled the men and explained my plan to them. We needed to let the enemy cavalry inside, but slow them down, and once inside rain our own, shorter ranged arrows, over them.

In the coming hours, waggons were put in side alleys, ready to quickly be rolled forward and create barricades for the tatar cavalry. Our archers quietly sneaked up on the walls, but remained lying, hidden from the enemy's view. Our cavalrymen stepped off their horses and armed themselves with long spears, forming something that resembled a phalanx, and they too remained hidden in side alleys. A man positioned himself next to the chains used for raising the gate. And I positioned myself close to the walls, alone. Then we raised the gates.

At first the huns stayed back. Then, a few of them carefully approached the walls. Looking inside, they must have seen empty streets, just like last time. We waited. Not until after several minutes, did I from my hidden position see movement in the tatar camp. Several of the tatars bowed before a small man with more horrible face than any of the others, and pointed towards the walls. Less than a minute later, the attack had already begun, with perfect formations and full speed towards the gates. It was by then I started to realize what an effective leader this man, that I would later learn went by the name of Attila, was.

I let them storm inside the gates. Like last time, they wanted to assemble a large force just inside the gates before beginning their charge up the alleys. Raising the horn in my hand, I prepared to give the signal. Then, suddenly, lack of discipline got the better of one of the archers, who couldn't resist firing into the tatar formation inside the gates. Only about a thousand tatars had been trapped so far - it was not enough, not enough at all. But now that the ambush was detected, I had no other option than make the signal, and let the slaughter begin. The gates closed behind the cavalrymen, and the next moment barricades, spearmen, and volleys of arrows from the walls begun their work on the trapped tatars. It was more of a slaughter than a battle. Only about a handful of the tatars agreed to surrender. The tatars had lost their entire force, while we had lost some 50 archers and 15 spearmen, with another 50 of each being lightly wounded. Even despite these figures, I was far from satisfied. The trap was consumed, and we were back where we started. One thousand men was just a fraction of the hunnic force. The only advantage we had, was the the huns didn't know we had such a shortage of supplies, and that the huns were possibly looking for a way of resupplying themselves, which would force them to take the city quickly.

[Franconicus]

57

While my men were still celebrating our victory the Huns prepared their next strike. Attila was not a man who would take a defeat easily, even if it was just a minor one.

When night fell we saw fires all around. Then the Huns started to bombard our town with fire balls. Normally we would have ordered the citizens to take care about the fire. However, there were no citizens left. Soon the town was burning.

Then the Tartars started to assault the town. They came from all sides. We were not enough to even occupy all sections. Their first wave opened the barricades, that had closed the holes in the walls. The next wave simply broke through the walls and opened the gates.

According to our plan the officers tried to retreat to the barricades at the centre. However, the path was blocked by the fire and they were either killed by the Huns or died in the flames.

I also tried the reach the centre of the town, decided to fight until the bitter end. I had no illution about my chances. Somehow I reached the centre, but I realized that I was alone and that I was surrounded by the flames. It was so hot and the smoke took my breath away. I prayed to my goods: "Odin, Thor, hear me! Did you save me from the cold in the steppe just to see me die from fire? Help me!"

There was no reply and I realized I had to find a way to save myself. I ran through the streets until the fire forced me to turn around. I ran to the other end, the same. I was trapped. Then I saw a house, quite big and solid made of stone. O entered it and I saw it was a temple. There was a strange statue of a man at a cross. Propably it was the god. Although I was in a hurry I wondered who would pray to a god that looked so weak.

I looked around and saw that I was save - at least for the moment. The walls would stand the fire. I saw that the altar was hollow and I hided myself inside.

[Rodion Romanovich]

58
I waited for an entire day inside that altar. The footsteps of the tatars, and their gargling voices could be heard outside for half a day, before everything got silent again. I waited another day, refusing to leave the hiding spot, even if my entire body was aching worse than any battle wounds could have made it do. I cursed the undisciplined archers who had put me in this situation, and caused the death of our entire garrison, for in return killing little more than 3000 men out of Attila's hundred thousand. Not until three days had passed since the battle, did I move out of my hiding spot. I could barely walk on my stiff legs, but the wound in my side miraculously felt better - it wasn't going to kill me, as I had thought. When I got outside I could barely keep the tears back - almost the entire city was burnt to the ground, little else than the house I had been hiding in was left. There were bodies everywhere, eyes picked out by carrion birds, clothes soaked with blood stains, and faces burnt beyond recognition. The horizon was crimson from the setting sun, but the sky above was colored in black and grey, covered by the silhouettes of schreeching crows and vultures. Apart from their noise, and the sounds of a few still glowing pieces of wood, the place was silent, eerie. I had never seen a battlefield like this before. What I had once thought was a matter of honor, now seemed absurd, disgusting. As I went for the gates the silence was broken. One of the bodies was talking to me. I turned around quickly and reached for my axe. It wasn't a corpse, but the body was so badly damaged and oddly shaped that I didn't understand how it could be alive. But yet, it spoke. I leaned forward to hear what it said.

[Franconicus]

59

Chapter 6: ORDEAL

I looked at that face, but I had to turn my face because I could not stand the look. I heard the words - an endless tream - but I did not understand a single one. However, I understood their meaning - they were words of pain and desperation.

I looked at his clothes. He was not a Roman. Not a Hun either. I assumed he was an Allani, who had joined the Hun army. I forced myself to look at the face, again. Disgust and horror made my body shiver. However I realized that this man was neither deformed by combat wounds nor by torture. The wounds came from the inside. He had lumps all over, scarlet ones, some bleeding. I had to turn my face again. The man, I call it man, was still screaming. I understood his request. I took my axe and liberated him from his pain without looking at him again.

I left his corpus behind. Noone could have buried all the dead bodies in the town. I only hoped that another creature would take care of them.

Without a thought I followed the traces of the Huns. After a while I met a horse and could speed up.

I passed areas complety destroyed by the Barbarians. Only very few people seemed to have survived. Those who had run away when they saw me. My company were the unburried deads.

Although I hurried I could not get closer to the Huns. They were very fast, as usually. Ghosts ride fast, my mother used to say.

I folloewd the Huns for weeks. They crossed the Alps and I saw thatthey were heading for the centre of the world. And it looked like the world would loose that centre soon. However, then I saw something else. First only a few, three or four, then more and more and at last douzend of them. Dead Huns. Not killed by combat. They had they same faces as the man I killed when I left the town.

[Rodion Romanovich]

60
Disease, I thought. I wondered why I hadn't gotten the disease yet, having followed the huns for days so recklessly, without realizing what a danger it meant. Odin had decided to protect me, like he had protected me from both ice and fire, he now protected me against the muddy earth, from which diseases spring. I rode for three days more, before the landscape changed again. I was getting close to the great river that divides Gallia Cisalpina, and the ground had changed from forest and hills to vast open lands, something that looked strange and unusual for a man who had grown up in the dense forests of the north. The entire landscape was like an infinite sand bank of the type that lies next to the rivers also to the north, but to the north they were seldom wider than an axe blade. For hours, I rode through this desert, through this land where only meagre, twisted plants could grow, covered in layers of grey dust. My only company was my horse, and I suspected the horse had once been ridden by one of the huns, because it sometimes had an empty look in it's eyes, sometimes fire sparkling through them, with slow, proud movements of the neck, but aggressive, quick steps with the feet. Even though I couldn't call out the demons of this creature completely like the tatars could, I was able to make it run faster than any other horse I had ever ridden. Suddenly, I had a feeling of being followed. As the sun set before the third night in this unforgiving, dry desert, I decided not to light a fire to sleep by. Instead, I tied the horse to a dry, thorny bush and then sneaked away from the place as quietly as I could, grabbing my axe tightly, and watching the place where the horse lied, and where any follower would expect me to be, from a safe distance. At first I didn't see anything, but then a skinny figure, that reminded me of a skeleton, appeared next to the horse. It sneaked away as quickly as it had appeared. I slept little that night, and when I woke up in my hiding spot, it was already day. There were no traces of any followers, and I quickly took the horse and continued my pursuit of the huns.

[GiantMonkeyMan]

61

I rode the horse up a tall hill to try and catch a glance of the Huns. The wind blew the horses mane wildly and i noticed my own unruley hair snatched by a gust of howling wind. I had never experienced anything so bitter and harsh, yet unbreakable and undefeatable as this bitter wind that swept the empty plains, perfect for the horses of the Huns to graze. In the deep wooded valeys of the north, where infantry rule, we stood a fighting chance against the Tartar horde. But in the empty expanse... cavalry would rule the day. In the distance I saw it; a long, snaking trail of horses and men. My own horse snorted yearningly when it's own keen eyes spotted it's people.

[Franconicus]

62

The Huns had stopped their march and camped near a town called Mantua. Although the hordes were still marauding the whole area it did not look like they were marching to Rome soon. They looked like they were waiting for something.

After two weeks there was a small caravan coming on the road from Rome. There were only 20 men, all mounted with the expection of a carriage. They had a lot of crosses and banners but, as far as I could see, not any weapon. Of course I knew the banner at the front; it was the sign of Leo, the leader of the Christs in Rome.

I set on my horse and tried to reach them before the Huns would catch them.

[Franconicus]

65

For a moment I thought I could stand the fight, the fight against a superior numbers of Huns. After two seconds I was forced to return to reality again. In the wink of an eye the Huns had reloaded and fired another volley while my horse was still standing. I bowed, trying to give them a small target. However, they did not shoot at me, they targeted my horse and several arrows clapped into its breast.
The next things happened very slow. My horse bowed low until its head finally touched the ground. I tried desperatly to cling to it. However, I finally slipped forward, very slow but inevitable. I tumbled over the head of the dying creature and sat on the ground.

When I raised my head again. I was surrounded by the Huns and their horses. Of course the had reloaded and were ready to shoot. I gave up. Nothing would save me, not any of my Gods could rescue me. I was at the mercy of the Hun's, a word - that I was sure of - they had never heard in their lifes and that they were not able to understand. Tears were in my eyes, not tears of pain or fear. It was anger that wettened my eyes, anger that this was the end, the end after all this struggling from the steppe of the east until the plains of Italy.

Just when I thought my life was over something happaned. Something odd and strange. I had closed my eyes, so that I had not to face the Huns when I was dying. I waited for the impact of the arrows. Nothing! I waited longer. Still nothing. I opened my eyes and looked at the huns. They were still where they had been before. However, they did not care about me, they looked at something that was behind my back. Obviously something that confused them and distracted them from killing me.

Slowly, not to attract their attantion, I turned around. I had expected to something like a Roman legion, or a bear or even Thor brandishing his hammer. Something so strong that it could impress even Huns. What I saw was nothing like that. It was so weak, so meek and so modest that it looked unreal and in a strange sense - scaring.

A man had left the coach. A single man, small, skinny - obviously no a warrior. He wore an artless robe. He looked so poor. And yet there was something special about that man, something that caused the Huns to surcease their victim. There was a kind of aura - I say aura because I do not know any word that would descibe it better - an aura that surrounded him. He slowly stepped forward. The Huns did not moove. They just stared at the phantom.

Five steps in front of me the man stopped and raised his arms.