Introduction

No one knew then that a warrior could transcend time. He was set in their memories. His voice was fixed in the wind. The blood of his victims lay in the foundation of stone. This warrior was deemed a hero to his nation, a conqueror of his enemies and a man who coveted eternal glory more than anything else. This glory also walked hand in hand with his doom. History is his name alone.

Remember him.

Chapter 1

A light breeze blew in the air and swept the sand along the shore. The chariot of Apollo was nearly touching the horizon. However, there was one thing that obscured the beautiful scenery: a fleet of a thousand ships sent only for one reason—to retrieve the wife of Menelaus, King of Sparta, or otherwise kill all who stands in the way. Helen of Sparta, under the influence of the goddess, Aphrodite, fell in love with Paris, son of King Priam, and stole away with him to Troy.

The war began 8 years ago. It was still raging when a group of Greek soldiers, led by the mighty Achilles, decided to sack the Temple of Apollo to disgrace the Trojans since the god of light was Troy's object of worship. Unfortunately for a young priestess, she chose the wrong time to be praying in the shady sanctuary.

Loud wails could be heard down the short hall. Briseis, niece of King Priam, was jolted out of her peace. She whipped her head around to see the temple's caretaker's throat being slit. Before she could protest or call for help, a strong hand wrapped around her mouth.

"Quiet, girl! Or you'll be next!" the man behind her threatened.

Briseis had no choice but to oblige since she was gagged by her captor's hand. He dragged her to a corner, tied her arms and legs with ropes, which were conveniently placed nearby, and stuffed her mouth with a piece of cloth. Much to her horror, she had to watch every killing the Greeks wreaked upon the servants in the temple.

Finally, out of the private room where the priest of Apollo resided, a warrior with a tall, strong stature and gold, shoulder-length hair pulled an old man along by his feet. The soldier dropped his hold after towing the priest to the middle of the floor. He called to a nearby comrade to hand him his spear. Taking it, without a blink of guilt, he drove the spear into the heart of the old man.

Briseis shrieked in her pain of loss and disgust. Although the cloth muffled the noise she made, this caught the warrior's attention.

"Who is she?" he asked his comrades but looked pointed at the girl.

"She's one of the priestesses that serves here in this temple. However, she's the only one we've found," one of the men explained. The blond warrior nodded to Briseis's captor to relieve her of the stuffed cloth.

Once free of the gag, Briseis shouted, "You evil, vile, excuse of a man! Apollo will have his way with you!"

Slowly, taking every step dramatically, the target of her words walked towards her. Looking down at her arrogantly, he scoffed, "Brave of you to swipe at me like that, or very foolish." He waited for her response, but she didn't give him that satisfaction. "You don't know who am I, do you?"

"You're just another one of them Greek dogs who jumps at a chance to carry out any of Agamemnon's orders." Briseis spat.

Anger flitted in the warrior's eyes. He raised his hand and brought it down hard on her face. Briseis's lip split, and a trickle of blood slipped down her mouth. Tears of pain welled up in her eyes. Soon, a red print formed on her left cheek. "Take her," he ordered two of the men standing closest to her. "I might find her useful." He glanced back one last time, scowled, and walked out of the temple into the fast approaching dusk.

Unable to resist, Briseis was hoisted to her feet and taken away from her sacred chantry. Outside, she scanned the aftermath before her of the day's tragedy. Bodies were scattered over the shore of Troy. The Trojan soldiers were retreating back to their city while the Greeks trudged back to their tents set up on the beach. Many of them stayed behind to collect the corpses and total the death toll. Looking sadly back at her city, Briseis knew she wouldn't be able to be within those strong, protective walls again for a long while.

They pushed her through the flap of the tent, tripping, since her feet were still tied. Strapping her to the pole of the tent, the two soldiers left her in her own predicament. She took in her new home and found it to be quite furnished. The bed, to her right, was made from very think layers of fur and blankets. To her left was a large, wooden trunk. In front of her were a table, a badly carved wooden chair, and the entrance to the tent. On the table were a bowl of fruit and a basin. Looking above her, she noticed the hole through which she could see the sky. Clearly, she was sitting where the fire should be made.

Sighing, she began to try to wiggle out of her bindings. It was futile. All she did was scrape the skin around her wrists off, making her position even more agonizing. "Curse you, Agamemnon! I'm sorry your brother wasn't good enough to keep his wife in his own bed! Maybe one of your dogs could help you out!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. Hoping perhaps the king could actually hear her.

"My, my, coming from a priestess," commented a voice.

Briseis's head snapped up as she realized she wasn't the only audience to her little vent of frustration. She glared up at the man who'd slapped her previously.

He smirked at her and crouched down next to her. She leaned as far away from him as her tied arms made available. This only made it more amusing for him as he undid the rope's knots. Once free, Briseis jumped to her feet and backed into a corner.

"Are you afraid of me?" he raised his brow.

She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't even past the warrior's lower lip. "Should I be?" she said in a calm tone. Licking her lips, she tasted the blood he had spilt. Briseis saw the man's eyes twinkle as she gave her answer in the form of a rhetorical question.

Taking off his armour and revealing his toned torso, he said, "You are the only Trojan who can say that."