DIVINE [HVITSERK RAGNARSSON]

16: THE BATTLE HORN

CHAPTER 16 — 'THE BATTLE HORN'

Hvitserk Ragnarsson wandered through the camp, finishing off groaning Saxons and looting what he could find from the ground or inside tents. The scout that informed Ragnar's sons rushed towards him suddenly, a worried look clouding his complexion. Hvitserk frowned at him, waiting for him to explain his worry.
"Their army was much bigger than this, Lord." He used his axe to signal to the bodies that littered the mud. "Half of them are not here."

As the scout spoke, the sound of a war horn rang out loud and clear, it's tune coming from somewhere that can't have been far from where they were. Hvitserk froze - his conversation with the scout now becoming more understandable - and looked to his left to see Ubbe.
"That's our battle horn." He said to Ubbe, his eyes widening. He looked back towards the scout. "I think we know where the other half are."
"What's going on, Hvitserk?" Ubbe said as the sound of the battle horn ceased and Hvitserk began rushing back to his horse.
"Asta knew to blow the battle horn if anything happened." His voice heightened as their men began moving back towards horses, making for the camp almost instantly.
"Gods..." Ubbe muttered as the brothers turned their horses and began galloping back to camp.

"We've been tricked." Ivar sneered at the ransacked camp as their horses came over the horizon. "Tricked! How could we let those filthy Saxons manipulate us!" His voiced yelled out as they bought their horses to a complete stop. Hvitserk ignored him completely, his eyes darting madly around the collapsed tents. The camp was in complete ruins - the tents ripped to shreds and furniture, food and drinking horns strewn messily all over the ground. Bodies and blood littered the ground and the men grimaced as they looked upon it. There were no survivors; not here anyway.

"No, no, no." Hvitserk muttered from between his lips as he jumped from his horse immediately and ran towards the middle of the camp.
"Hvitserk—
"NO!" Hvitserk cried out, ignoring Ubbe's attempt to speak. "Asta!" He yelled, his head looking around the camp even though a feeling in his chest was forcing him to understand that the girl was not here alive.
"Hvitserk." Ubbbe's voice sounded pained as it spoke out into the morbid air. Hvitserk turned to look at his brother, who had picked up a blood-stained weapon from amidst the mud. He walked towards Ubbe and looked at the sword. Asta's sword. The very same sword that Hvitserk had gifted her all those weeks ago. He took in the weapon and turned his head slightly, his lip quivering and his eyes forcing themselves to hold back tears.