The battle finally ended,the air was still thick with the stench of blood, sweat, and death . Men moved like through the camp, gathering the defeated, that was still alive, and binding them in rough ropes. Alpheo watched as twenty-five of Arkawatt's men, some still trembling from the clash, were disarmed and stripped of their weapons. Their swords, shields, and gleaming armor were tossed aside, quickly claimed by Alpheo's own soldiers. Horses, once the pride of Arkawatt's cavalry, were taken, their reins handed to mercenaries who now stood taller, outfitted in the spoils of war.
The prisoners, their faces etched with defeat and exhaustion, stood in a silent line as their hands were bound tightly behind their backs. Some stared at the ground, others gazed out in disbelief at the sight of the man they were meant to protect, as if the body of their prince was still in front of them . The rest of the men wounded , at least those belonging to Arkawatt were killed on the spot.
