The Hallowed Bastion was a mighty fortress just off the coast of the island called Hel. It was an ancient place that had seen many battles in the past, and was a strategic position in the sea between Valkenheim and Ashfeld for both organizing raids and defending Viking territory. For many Vikings the towering walls and intricately carved idols of the Hallowed Bastion were the last familiar comfort they saw before sailing off for distant lands, or the first glimpse of home to greet them upon their return.
It was also said that the fortress was the final resting place of a once great Viking warrior, who had since passed into legend among the sagas by defending the fort against both attacking Knights and Samurai forces.
As the tale went, this hero slew many and remained standing as his enemies turned and ran before his might, winning the day and becoming a hero to all who sought glory in battle. What the warriors name was had been lost to history, but the tomb that was meant to hold his body and mythic sword remained housed in a temple built within the fort's walls. It was guarded both day and night by a lone guardian, who would watch over the tomb until his death in return for entrance into Valhalla for his service. The legend shrouded the Hallowed Bastion in mystery and legend, making it a place of reverence and importance to all of Valkenheim's many clans.
In truth no one knew who lay inside the guarded tomb, and the life of this unknown hero was mot likely much less glorious. It was a wonder to guess how Samurai may have ever made it so far west to attack the fortress, but it could certainly be seen how years of attacks from encroaching Knight legions had taken its toll. The old fort was certainly in need of a touch up.
While some parts of the outer walls seemed sturdy and defensible, there were also towers with chunks of stone missing and gaping holes made from Ashfeld catapults in their structure. The fortress felt worn down, and seemed to be in a constant state of repair and disrepair as a result. There was trench beneath the front gate and along the outer wall that allowed troops to move under an enemy's advance, with fortifications lining the main path to the gate to create a field of death where arrows could be fired down upon enemy forces.
A small garrison of warriors remained within the fort's walls and acted as caretakers, though their means were clearly limited. Any additional defenders came from the continuous stream of different clans who sailed through between raids into Ashfeld, with the fort acting as a port to re-supply and maintain their longships.
Such was the case now, as Herleif's fleet pulled into the harbor near the fort under the shroud of dusk. The shoreline was choked full of longships of various sizes, all moored at the docks or tied together in the shallow water, some bearing the golden wings of Erik's Sea Eagle clan upon their sails, and other's the blindfolded skulls of Ivar's Headhunters.
The clatter and commotion of warriors sitting around with nothing to do but drink and fight each other echoed through the air all the way up the hill within the fortress walls. Herleif was eager to be among them, and finally have his much desired meeting face to face with Erik Golden-Shield.
Once the Salt Boar was secure at the docks, Herleif set his warriors to unloading any necessary supplies for their stay and then began to make his way up the hill towards the front gate. Flanked on one side by Gunnar and Ragnar, and with Ragna and Helge on the other, Herleif was able to walk with his head held high being surrounded by such heroic company. Behind them walked the stoic and tall Skuld, giving off an even more formidable presence to their little band.
Warriors wearing clan colors of Erik's gold and Ivar's red roamed along the path from the docks to the fort's gate, standing on guard or organizing provisions and supplies for the raid. Many gave their passing group a curious look, or moved out of the way to give them room on the path. Fewer offered them any kind of greeting as they walked by, but that suited Herleif just fine. He knew that he would not feel settled until he discovered what this gathering of warriors and ships was really all about, and pressed on without delay or any care for the dozens of glowering looks that passed by.
Passing through the large wooden doors of the main gate and into the courtyard beyond, Herleif was amazed to see even more of Erik and Ivar's warriors filling the fort within. Drinking, laughing, feasting and fighting, they all mingled together like family as they reveled comfortably in the protection the Bastion offered them before sailing into enemy waters. This was the last bit of home any of them would enjoy for weeks, months even or possibly years to come, and so they held nothing back in their enjoyment of life and the moment while war and Valhalla loomed on the horizon.
Herleif hoped that things wouldn't come to that, but he was prepared to devote all of his strength to this raid so long as it proved fruitful for everyone involved.
"Quite the turn out, looks like," Gunnar grinned, looking around at the warriors gathered on the ramparts that stretched along to their left, and those camped in front of the great temple on their right. "It does a Viking proud to see so many gathered and ready to take on the tins."
Ragnar laughed and jumped up to hook his arm around Gunnar's neck, dragging him down and slapping the Raider's belly with an open palm. "Ha! They're all here to make sure you don't end up stabbed through your gut with Ashfeld swords!" he laughed, jumping away again before Gunnar could retaliate.
Herleif was rather impressed as well. It was certainly a mighty force that had been gathered here, and with his own warriors included he was sure that they would have the power to accomplish whatever it was that Erik had in mind for this raid. Even if they somehow failed in the end, which was a thought he did not wish to entertain, a fighting force as large as this would certainly become a tale for the ages even in defeat.
He stopped and turned to the twins and Helge. "You three go and find the quartermaster in charge. Most likely its going to be one of Erik's men. Make sure they give us a proper place to set camp for our stay. Just because we are the last to arrive does not mean we will be sleeping in the boats."
"By your command, Jarl," Ragna grinned alongside Helge, while Ragnar nodded his head like a dog eager for the praise of its master. "Only the finest views the Bastion has to offer for us. Not to close to the latrines either."
"That is what I like to hear," Herleif grinned back. He turned to Gunnar and Skuld next as the twins and Helge went on their way. "You two stay with me. Time we found the Golden Jarl and have an honest conversation."
He wanted Gunnar by his side when meeting with Erik, and he figured that if Skuld was going to continue her routine of silent intimidation then she might as well do so to his benefit. It never hurt to have a little extra help standing at your back when meeting with someone who not only held the odds against you, but could buy them as well. Together the three of them made their way further into the fort towards the inner gate, but they didn't make it very far before a call rang out from the ramparts above.
"Jarl Herleif, you Warlord bastard! Finally decided to come add your shield to the others? Took you long enough to get here!"
Herleif stopped and looked up, spotting a grinning Berserker in a fine golden face plate leaning over the railing of a rotund tower. He craned his neck back and shouted, "That you, Magnus Erikson? And whats more, you have grown a beard! Finally figured out how to be a real man?"
Magnus laughed again from above, then pointed down at Herleif. "Stay right there! I'm coming to you!" He ducked back from the railing and out of sight, but a moment later Herleif and the others spotted him sliding down a long ladder to the ground. He quickly jogged his way over to them, arms out wide and wearing a grin beneath the light layer of blonde hair growing on his face. "Welcome, Herleif! Welcome! It is good that you are here."
"Magnus," Herleif said, giving the Berserker a more pleasant greeting as they embraced. "Last time I saw you, you were still a small boy clutching at your mother's skirt. Look how you have grown! Is this to be your first raid then?" Stepping back, he looked the young man up and down, seeing how he had changed over the years.
"It is! I have promised my father that I will take many lives once we get to Ashfeld to make both him and the gods proud. I have heard the Allfather's mighty voice call out to me, and my spirit burns with a fury for battle and blood!" Magnus seemed to beam with pride for the attention. His shirt and trousers were cut from fine yellow cloth, with decorative patterns of golden thread sewn in. There was a wolf's skin around his waist held up by a golden belt, and even his face plate gleamed like a Jarl's treasure hoard. Just at a glance it was obvious that everything he wore was expensive and made of the finest craftsmanship, though none of it bore any scars or blemishes from battle. It was armor fit for a prince, and surely paid for with his own weight in gold.
All Herleif could see was a young man wanting to play at being a hero, but perhaps he was just being a cynical old man. No doubt he had looked just as foolhardy when he had been young and eager to fight. For so many young warriors it seemed that the only way to prove their worth was to rush headlong at death and come out the other side, and it was only then that they realized how stupid that notion was, if they were lucky enough to survive.
He put a hand on Magnus' shoulder and smiled. "That is good. I will be eager to see you in action, and honored to fight by your side. Of course you remember my brother Gunnar from his stay at your father's hall, and this tall stone of a woman is called Skuld." Magnus eagerly clapped hands with Gunnar in greeting, and offered to do the same with Skuld. She simply stared at him until he pulled his hand away, and Herleif gave a small chuckle. "I am looking for your father. Do you know where he is?"
Magnus nodded quickly, but whether it was just youthful energy or the frenzy of an up and coming Berserker warrior was impossible to tell. "He and Ivar sit under the great stone sword in the back of the fortress. Come, I will take you to him," he grinned, turning to lead the small party further into the great fort.
Herleif gave Gunnar a look, knowing they would have the truth of this whole venture soon, then followed after Magnus as he took them on through the fortress' inner gate and back to the rear courtyard. Here there were no large buildings, only a constructed platform atop a low mound to the right, and to the left a rising hill on which stood tall sacred trilithon stones, a place where sacrifices might be carried out to the gods beneath the open sky in return for good fortune on raids.
Magnus led them on further towards the back of the yard, past two stone tombs to a set of steps that led up to a large and open area. There, rising up from a decorated altar, towered a great stone sword that stretched up into the sky. Many were gathered here, all reveling and feasting together. Where before it had been the lower cast of warriors, the spear men and swordsmen for the shield wall, camped from both armies, here was where the captains and mighty heroes readied themselves for the journey to come.
All around Warlords and Raiders were toasting each other's tales of glory and battle with horns of mead and ale. Berserkers wrestled together in tightly knit circles of both wild men and women, while onlookers whooped and hollered for even more spectacle. There were proud looking Highlanders with their fine mustaches and patterned kilts, carrying their great claymores over their shoulders like damsels being carried off to their far away lands. Up on the hill of standing stones, a group of Shaman were pulling an ox along by a rope, their hands and mouths already bloody from the sacrifices that had made that day. There were even a few Valkyries standing out among the crowd, silently on guard over this old and sacred place.
The air was filled with music and laughter, and all appeared to be happy and at ease as they ate and drank with the stars shining above their heads. There were some faces that Herleif recognized as old warriors he had fought with before, and many more that he did not.
Passing through the crowd he caught sight of a group of dark haired dancing girls dressed in fine silks of dazzling colors. They swayed to the music with silver rings jingling upon their wrists and ankles, and wore golden collars around their necks. From the look of them they all appeared to be from the Myre, most likely taken on a raid and sold across Valkenheim until they ended up here. One of them, a pale young woman who had bright floral tattoos stretching over her shoulders, met his gaze and gave him a playful smile with a wave of her hand to come closer. He returned the smile, and gave her a wink, but pressed on as Magnus led the way.
Bounding up the stone steps, Magnus spoke out in a loud voice. "Father! Look who has finally arrived! May I present Jarl Herleif Bjornson of clan Tundra Tusk, his brother Gunnar the Bear, and Skuld of the Valkyries."
Herleif glanced up at the stone sword above him as he stepped forward, marveling at its height like a weapon belonging to a jötunn, then looked down at the men gathered beneath it. There were three ornate chairs arranged arranged together beneath the sword, with roaring braziers lighting the platform from behind. One of the chairs sat empty, meant for him, while the other two were already occupied.
On the right slouched low in his chair sat Ivar the Red, black bearded and grim faced, with three short horns lining the brow of his open faced helm. A Warlord of violent renown, he was the Jarl of the ferocious Headhunter clan from Thurshamrar, the hold just south of Herleif's own. His armor of fur and studded leather was colored red as if stained by unwashed blood, and from his belt hung three human skulls marked with runes of power, as was his clan's custom. Upon his lap sat a barely clothed slave girl, who's hip he stroked idly as he watched Herleif and his company approach with open suspicion. Even by Viking standards the tales of Ivar's desire for blood and slaughter was considered barbaric, and his reputation for such was well known all across Valkenheim.
One figure stood rather then sit. He was a tall and broad shouldered old man, a white haired Highlander from distant shores. What his clan name was Herleif had never learned, and he knew only that this man had come into his master's service through ancient oaths. Simply called Old Wolf by those who had cause to speak to him, he was a powerful and imposing figure adorned with a golden eagle upon his battle crown, and stood with his shining claymore ever at the ready to protect his master. Which brought Herleif's attention to the last man before him.
There could be no mistaking the blonde bearded Warlord who occupied the center seat before the blazing fires. Everything about him, from the fine quality of his armor to the ease with which he sat before such a host of mighty warriors, spoke of wealth and power. Gold lined the mask of his helmet, and he wore a shirt of golden chainmail rings to cover his arms. His thick leather cuirass was clean and well kept, intricately engraved with the symbol of and eagle and inlaid with golden studs that glimmered in the firelight. An ornament of shining golden wings sat upon his brow, giving him a majestic and regal look as well as imposing, and it indeed did look much like a crown placed his head. Leaning against his seat was the tell-tale golden shield, with four circles of protective runes and four finely crafted skulls fashioned upon it's surface. He was the Jarl of Sea Eagle clan, but over the years his growing wealth and influence had earned him a more apt title of the Golden Jarl.
Erik Golden-Shield stood up from his seat and smiled brightly, holding his arms out wide as he approached.
"Herleif, my old friend! Welcome!" he exclaimed. His jovial greeting was welcoming and kind, his voice meant to put those around him at ease despite all the wealth that he openly put on display. No doubt it was all as carefully crafted as the many golden ornaments he wore. Clapping his hands down on Herleif's shoulders, he gave his fellow Warlord a friendly shake. "What took you so long? I was beginning to fear that Gunnar had failed to deliver my message, or worse, that you had refused to come," he chuckled.
Herleif smiled and shook his head. "No, no. Gunnar delivered your invitation to me just fine. I was just so surprised by it that it took me a while to come back to my senses," he said, clapping a hand on Erik's arm.
Erik laughed again, shook a finger in Herleif's face. "It is good that you did! Now that you are here we can finally talk. We have much to discuss, and I am eager to leave this place and get underway. But first, we drink!" He slapped Herleif's shoulder once more and then waved a hand to a nearby thrall. "Bring horns of mead for everyone here! We must make a toast now that we are all gathered. Gunnar, so good to see you again my boy! I knew I could trust you to carry my message. You must have a silver tongue to get your brother away from his hall and that lovely wife of his. Welcome!"
Gunnar grinned as he clapped hands with the Golden Jarl. "All ideas and invitations sound good over a few cups of ale. It is why so many flock to your hall and seek your leadership, and your hospitality."
"It is as I have always said, what the Knights and the Samurai give to me I am happy to give to all of you!" Erik grinned. Then he turned towards Skuld and gave her a once over. "A Valkyrie, eh? A most valiant hero. And who might you be here for then?"
Herleif gave Skuld a sideways glance and decided to answer for her, figuring it would just save time for everyone. "This is Skuld. She fights for my wife's father, Ander Ottarson, lost to the wilderness years ago," he said solemnly, but was sure to keep a note of pride in his voice.
The corner of Erik's lip twitched as he gave a sharp 'tsk', and a shake of his head. "Shame about what happened to that man. A damn shame. But such is the fate of so many. I am honored to have you fighting by our side, and feel the warmth of the god's power in your presence, my fair Lady," he said to Skuld with a small bow of his head. Herleif wondered if such tender words would work on someone who looked like they could fell lesser men with her cold stare alone, but Skuld gave a polite bow in return.
It seemed that Erik really did have a way of putting those around him at ease, and even Herleif had to admit that he was taken with the man's friendly introduction. Nevertheless he still remained wary for now. He could remember a time when a younger, less formidable Erik began solidifying his power in Valkenheim through cunning strategy and brutal action against Vikings, Knights and Samurai alike. Though Erik gleamed of gold, Herleif knew that Erik was not afraid of a little splash of red when it was necessary.
The thrall returned with horns of mead for everyone, and Magnus took them and began to quickly hand them out. He served his father first, and then Ivar who remained seated and silent, with Herleif, Gunnar and Skuld all following. Skuld shook her head in refusal of the drink, and for a moment Herleif wondered when she ever took the time to remove her helmet in private so that she could eat and drink. Obviously she must have her ways, but for now she was just as much a mystery to him as when she had first arrived at his hall.
Thankfully her refusal sparked no offense to Erik, who barely seemed to notice as he raised his horn into the air. "To the gods, to honor and a chest full of treasure to bring home! Soon we will be raiding into Ashfeld, and we will make those whoresons wish that they had never been born. Skål!"
As the Golden Jarl gave his toast, Herleif noticed Ivar staring at him as he lounged in his seat, eyes glinting from beneath his horned helmet. There was a small grin curved at the corner of his lips, silent and judging. Herleif betrayed no emotion as he looked back, but felt hairs bristle on the back of his neck and his stomach tighten as he looked at the man who had attacked his lands just this past winter.
"Skål!" repeated Magnus and Gunnar together, raising up their own horns before tipping them back along with Erik, drinking with loud and eager gulps. Herleif remained silent, as did Ivar, their horns remaining full in their hands as they stared at each other from across the gathering.
This time Erik did not miss the offense, and he looked curiously between his two fellow Jarls. "It is good mead, my friends, made from the sweetest honey in all of Valkenheim. It would be a shame to waste it, and a poor way to start off this venture together. Refusing good mead is a slight that even the gods would be hard pressed to forgive."
Herleif flicked his eyes over to Erik before looking back at Ivar, a silent battle of wills brewing between them. "Forgive me Erik, I mean no offense, though I cannot speak for Ivar here. It is not the quality of your mead that I have issue with, but rather the company with whom I am meant to drink in." That earned a small breath of laughter from Ivar, his smirk growing just a hint bigger.
Erik's slowly nodded his head as he sighed. "I am aware of the slight that Ivar has made against you and your hold, Herleif," he said as he turned and headed back to his seat. He sat down in a huff and pointed over at the smirking Warlord beside him. "He and I have discussed the matter at length before your arrival, and Ivar has assured me that he is willing to give up a portion of his spoils from this raid to make up for the blood shed on your lands. The wergild for your people will be paid, and all will be well. I see no reason why we cannot drink together as friends now. No, as brothers even. After all, are we not to have each other's best interests in mind going forward into enemy lands?" he argued.
Old Wolf came to stand behind his master's seat, eyes gleaming sharply under the golden eagle that perched over his brow. It was clear to all present that an argument was brewing among the Jarls, and an argument with Erik was an argument with the old Highlander, his hands tightening ever so slightly around the grip of his sword.
"So blood is spilled on my lands and you two make deals behind my back? Am I just to take your word on it then?" Herleif asked, giving voice to his growing frustration as he eyed both Erik and his looming champion.
Erik tensed up in his seat, his eyes turning cold. "My word is golden, Herleif. You would do well not to question it."
Herleif looked back to Ivar, that infuriating grin looking like a target that was just begging for his blade. "No amount of gold or silver is going to bring back the lives lost during that attack. It is not a question of payment, but of trust. How can you expect me to go raiding with this man... this dog, when he has openly attacked my hold and my people. When Gunnar first told me of your invitation I had half a mind to refuse it outright!"
Now Erik frowned, his good mood completely gone. "Thankfully, and to the credit of your brother, he was able to dissuade you of making such a foolish and poor decision," he said grimly, staring at Herleif with growing annoyance.
As unnerving as it was to stare down two of the most powerful Jarls in all of Valkenheim, Herleif refused to back down, directing all of his frustration towards Erik now for orchestrating this meeting in the first place. That was until Ivar finally spoke.
"They were just stretching their legs," Ivar said casually, his sly grin giving way to a yellow toothed smile in his black beard.
Herleif's attention shot back to Ivar with renewed fury, eyes narrowing to slits as he struggled to control himself. "What was that?" he hissed.
The ease with which Ivar addressed him was offensive. Aside from whatever plan Erik had for this raid, part of Herleif's reason for coming here was to confront the Jarl who had come uninvited into his lands and claim justice for those killed. Seeing Ivar lounging in his chair, stroking a slave girl's hip without a care to worry him, one would think that it was all just a big joke. Ivar had earned his by-name 'the Red' years ago while laying waste to a Knight citadel and leaving no survivors, but he had never done anything to dissuade his neighbors and other Vikings from using the moniker as well. Erik spoke of coming together to fight against the Knights, but staring at that spiteful grin Herleif was feeling less than forgiving.
"They were just stretching their legs, those men," Ivar went on, "They were bored. Stuck inside for too long and wanting to get out a bit before winter. Their blood got hot and their bellies were empty, so they decided to do something about it. I didn't know what they were going to do. They were from a small village, and I have many in my hold. They acted on their own, I had no part in it." Raising his hands, he held his fingers apart as if showing off his lack of responsibility. "They were just men getting a bit of exercise. Can't fault them for that."
Herleif's blood boiled in his veins, his teeth grinding as he snarled. "You can't fault-?! My people died for this insolence!" he roared, taking a step towards Ivar before Gunnar got in his way to stop him. Deep down he knew that Ivar was only baiting him, but the anger had been bubbling so long within him that he couldn't help but let it all out now.
"It was winter. Bad things happen in winter. This is the way of things, we all know it," Ivar said with a lazy shrug. The slave girl sat quietly upon his lap, one hand rubbing across his chest as she watched the drama unfold with a keen interest.
Erik leaned forward in his chair, knuckles turning white as he gripped his drinking horn tightly. "That is enough, Ivar! This should have never happened in the first place. You should have known what those men were planning."
"I say he did know!" Herleif shouted next, throwing his horn of mead to the ground and pointing an accusing finger at Ivar over his brother's shoulder. "That was no rabble of hungry farmers, they were seasoned warriors to the man! They fought hard, and died hard as well! I say this was all done on your order!" Once again he recalled the slaying of Sitvek Stone-Breaker, dying in the snow. That Ivar could just shrug off such death now made him want to rip the bastard's head off.
"Where is your proof?" Ivar demanded, looking none to bothered in his seat. Turning down his own horn, he turned to Erik as the mead splashed across the stone floor. "Erik this is pointless. I cannot sail with this man. He will not listen to reason."
Erik looked down at the spilled mead as it wet the stones and soaked into the dirt, then glared up between Ivar and Herleif angrily.
"That was expensive mead you both just wasted. Now on top of everything else you give insult to me as well? To Helheim with the both of you! I will not stand to have this raid fall apart before it has even begun. I will have this matter between you two settled now!" he snapped, slamming his fist on the arm of his chair. "Gunnar, let your brother go. If he will not accept the blood-price in gold and silver then he will take it in blood directly. Ivar, I will hear no refusal from you on this either. I brought you both here aid me, not wage your own battles at my expense. You will settle this score now and you'll do it as warriors! Bloody yourselves and bring this feud to and end!"
Herleif handed his sword and shield over to Gunnar without hesitation, then pushed past him to step forward and wait for Ivar to meet him. His blood was up now, and he flexed his fingers before closing them into tight fists, bringing them up and ready for a fight.
Ivar let out a long sigh as if just getting up from his seat was an inconvenience. Patting the slave girl's thigh, he stood up as she slipped away, walking with no true urgency until he took up his position and mirrored Herleif's stance. They stared at each other silently for a brief moment, each sizing the other up as they waited for the command to begin.
"Does the name Sitvek Stone-Breaker mean anything to you?" Herleif growled under his breath so that only Ivar could hear.
"Should it?" Ivar asked, the calm expression never leaving his face.
Herleif gave a little nod of his head. "It will."
Erik raised his hand into the air. "Fight with honor before the gods until the blood-price is paid," he called out. Then he chopped his hand down through the air, shouting, "Begin!"
Herleif instantly jabbed with his right fist, slamming it into Ivar's arm as he blocked the blow. Ivar countered, but Herleif stepped aside and thrust forward with his head. The headbutt hit nothing but air as Ivar dodged, backing away to get himself some room. The first few strikes had been made in only a handful of seconds as the two Warlords stared each other down, circling like snarling wolves.
Eager cries of support and spiteful jeers rose up from the guards and warriors standing around watching, but Herleif ignored them and focused on nothing but Ivar. Everything else faded away, the shouting voice of his brother, the shouts from Ivar's men, Magnus' gleeful howl and Erik's judgmental stare as he watched them both like gems to be weighed and measured for his hoard. None of it mattered now. Nothing existed beyond his need to collect his blood-price form Ivar's flesh.
"Come on then," he snarled, beckoning Ivar closer with a pump of his arms.
Perhaps Ivar did not want to be thought of as a coward, or maybe he just wanted this fight over with as quick as possible, but he cautiously approached with his fists raised. Herleif made a wide jab to the right, but feinted and punched straight ahead. The feint worked, and he felt his fist connect with Ivar's ribs, causing the Warlord to groan as Herleif jabbed forward again with all his strength. The first hit gave him enough of an opening to connect his other fist with Ivar's jaw, striking him while he was winded. Herleif had landed the first two blows, but still there was no blood.
Though dazed, Ivar recovered quickly. He charged at Herleif with an angry roar, grappling him and trying to force him to the ground. Herleif managed to stay on his feet, but caught Ivar's fist across his left cheek. White spots flashed in his eyes, and he quickly blinked them away so that he could block the next punch coming at him. He pushed Ivar back, but kept close to press with his own attack. Again he jabbed for Ivar's ribs, missing once, twice, but landing the third blow. Ivar winced, but grabbed hold of Herleif's arm under his own, keeping it pinned just long enough to throw back his head and bringing it crashing down against Herleif's face.
If Herleif had not been wearing his helmet then his nose would have undoubtedly been crushed beneath the force of the blow. Thankfully he was able to stay standing and keep his wits about him, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. Through eye watering pain he felt hot blood flowing through his mustache and could taste metal in his mouth.
Ivar spotted the dripping red and smiled. "Look how he bleeds for his people! You're a stubborn bastard Herleif, I'll give you that," he laughed.
Herleif grunted, then hocked pooling blood in his mouth and spit it on the ground. "To Hel with you, Ivar," he spat, feeling that there was no other point to be made. Ivar laughed again, then stepped forward as they both took up their positions again.
Springing forward, Ivar side stepped and tried to grapple at Herleif again. Herleif blocked and pushed him away, striking quickly with his fists for a one two punch to Ivar's face. His knuckles came away red, slick with blood from Ivar's lips. From the foggy look in his eye it was clear that the black bearded Warlord was dazed, so Herleif attacked again. He struck at Ivar's jaw, but the hit seemed to jolt the man out of his trance instead of take him down. Ivar dodged the next punch and hurled himself at Herleif, tackling him head long and sending them both tumbling to the ground.
Herleif hit the stone floor hard, making him groan sharply as Ivar landed on top of him. He barely had a moment to orient himself to his new perspective of the world around him before the punches started to rain down from above. Ivar's fists connected with his jaw at least twice before he was able to bring up his arms to defend himself. He could feel Ivar clawing at his wrists, trying to pull his arms out of the way to keep pummeling into submission. Right then Herleif gave a twist of his hips, throwing all of his weight into the motion to try and dislodge Ivar from on top of him.
Ivar's foot must have slipped on the dirty stones as he tried to brace himself, because he suddenly lurched to the side and Herleif felt himself become free. He rolled with the momentum, toppling Ivar over and sliding upward so that their positions were reversed. Ivar roared with anger, immediately trying to counter by reaching up and grabbing for Herleif's arms once again, but to no avail. Herleif pushed past Ivar's flailing defense, managing to grab the Warlord by his collar and slamming his closed fist into Ivar's face. The man's head lulled on his shoulders, throwing his hands up in a desperate attempt to push Herleif away, only to receive another blow just as devastating as the first. Blood splattered from between Ivar's lips and sprayed onto the stones as his head smacked against the ground.
Herleif continued to strike his fists into Ivar's face again and again and again. "Bastard! Sitvek died for you! He died for nothing!" he yelled, feeling only numbing pain as he turned his knuckles red with Ivar's blood, "You will pay for his death and all the rest!"
"Enough!" Erik roared as he sprung up his seat. His booming voice echoed out over the crowed, bringing everyone to attention even if they were no where near the fight. "The blood-price has been paid! Separate them before the man is dead!"
The music stopped playing, and everyone turned to look at the golden Jarl as he stood tall and bright. All except for Herleif, who continued to beat Ivar into the ground as if it were his sole purpose in life. At once Gunnar and Skuld stepped in to grab Herleif off of Ivar, pulling him away even as he fought against them to get free.
"No! I will see him dead! This is but a pittance of what he owes!" Herleif cried through clenched teeth as he was pulled him away.
Opposite them Magnus and some of Ivar's men came to scoop him up off the ground, dragging him back to place him in his seat. The Warlord's face was covered in blood that spilled from his lips and nose, his head rolling on his shoulders as he was propped up against the back of his chair.
"That's enough Herleif," Gunnar hissed at his brother, "The fight is over. I'd say you've won good and plenty by now."
Herleif felt anything but calmed by Gunnar's words, wrenching himself away from his brother and the Valkyrie. "What do you know of it? Were you there? You did not witness the needless slaughter of fellow Vikings!" he shouted, giving Gunnar a hard shove.
"Enough of this bickering!" Erik yelled, marching right up to Herleif and grabbing him by the collar of his armor, "I have said that the blood-price is paid, and it will be so. Death is a fate that awaits us all. It is the hope of any of us that it will come with steel clutched in our hands. What has happened in your lands has happened a hundred times before, and it will happen a hundred times again! We are Vikings! We fight, we die, and that is how we live."
Herleif slapped Erik's hands away and stepped back, pointing around him towards Ivar who remained limp in his chair. "I will have nothing short of this man's head for what he has done. For the crimes he has committed against my people and his own!"
Erik's eyes flashed angrily from beneath his helmet. With a look like that it was easy to understand that he was a man used to having things his way without question. "I will not have my plans undone before they have even begun. I asked both you and Ivar here because I need you by my side for what we are about to do, Herleif. I need both of you, alive and working together. Working with me!" he said sharply, slapping a hand on his chest.
It was the moment that Herleif had been waiting for, perhaps even more so than his chance to confront Ivar. Panting hard, he looked straight into Erik's eyes and grinned. "So you admit that this is more then just a simple raid. That you want my men for something more." All of his worry and hesitation towards Erik's invitation seemed justified in that moment, but the growing shadow over Erik's face gave him little reason to feel pleased for long.
"Yes, I need your men, and your ships," Erik growled, voice low and threatening, "and perhaps that is all I need, if you insist on making things difficult."
Herleif's grin faded away. Stepping in closer he squared up against the Golden Jarl, trying to ignore the pain stinging across his body and face to focus on matching Erik's growing aggression. "Is that a threat?"
"I am making you an offer. I suggest that you at least hear me out before you decide to take any rash action here."
With a wave of his hand Erik signaled for Old Wolf who lifted his claymore up over one shoulder and stepped forward, as well as a dozen of Erik's warriors, all of them with hands upon the hilts of their weapons and grim looks upon their faces.
Herleif didn't have to think hard to realize that he, Gunnar and Skuld were impossibly outnumbered. Even if his own forces were here with him now, Erik had the most men present in the entire fortress, not that any of Ivar's Headhunter warriors would feel inclined to help.
Licking his bloody lips, Herleif gave a little nod as he chuckled to himself softly. In a way this was a mess of his own making. As much as he might like to blame Erik for playing him with half truths, or Ivar for sparking an anger in him that he could hardly control, deep down he knew that he only had himself to blame. The true reason of why he had come here was actually quite simple. He was curious. He wanted to know what it was that Erik had up his sleeve, and what role he might play in it. It was his goal to see his home and his people kept safe and secure, but it was in his heart to live and fight as a Viking.
"Alright," he said, his grin returning to his lips, "Alright, I will hear you out. But whatever you have planned Erik, it better be worth a song my son's grandsons will be singing for years to come."
Erik opened his mouth and looked as if he had more to say, but he never got the chance as a sharp coughing and hacking rang up behind him. Looking over Erik's shoulder to see what was the cause of such a horrid noise, Herleif spotted Ivar spitting up blood as he struggled to sit up.
"Let'im c-come..." he grunted with flecks of red spraying from his lips, squinting at Herleif with one eye, the other already swollen shut. He tried to stand, pushing himself up with a groan. Magnus moved to get him to sit again, but Ivar rudely shoved him away. The man wavered in the air, then leaned forward to spit a dark sticky glob of phlegm and blood onto the ground.
Watching Ivar struggle his way up onto his feet, Herleif supposed that he hadn't earned a by-name like 'the Red' without being too stubborn to just lay down and die. He stared in disbelief as Ivar found his footing, lifted his balled fists and shuffled forward with every intention of continuing the fight.
"I'm... not down yet... pig fucker," Ivar spat.
Erik took one look at Ivar's beaten face and hung his head with a groan. "Fenrir take me, why is nothing I try to do ever easy? Right, we shall put an end to this nonsense once and for all. Herleif, if you will not take the blood-price as it is paid then blood will bind you and Ivar in another way."
Herleif wasn't sure he liked what Erik was getting at, but the sight of those armed men surrounding the area around the stone sword made him think twice before questioning Erik further. The Golden Jarl looked between Herleif and Ivar, lifting his chin as he declared their fate in a loud voice for all to hear.
"You will use the blood that you have already shed here to swear brotherhood to each other from this night forward. You will be blood brothers, and your bond will be that of kin. There will be no more feuds between you or your families after this, and we will all find the peace that we need to move this raid forward. Now swear it!"
Ivar dropped his fists and stared with his one good eye at Erik like he was the one with the ugly beaten face. "Erik... you can't be serious..."
"Oh I am very serious, Ivar. So serious that if you two do not set aside your pride right now and swear to each other for peace, then my next command will see all of your blood spilled out onto the stones!" Erik snarled, "Do you wish to test me?"
It seemed that there was no other option. Erik, much like the gold that he so coveted, could have a wicked hold on those around him. There was no doubt in Herleif's mind that at a single command from Erik would have every warrior eager for coin and recognition would jump to do his bidding.
Herleif looked over his shoulder at Gunnar, who seemed rather uncomfortable with how the situation had unfolded so far. No doubt he felt torn between supporting either him or Erik, between his older brother and the man who had fed his hopes for glory with so many tales of battle and victory. Herleif didn't blame him, this matter was beyond any of their control now.
Lifting his fingers to his lips, Herleif coated them with slick blood, then rubbed it into the palm of his hand. He stepped forward and held out his hand towards Ivar, red palm glinting in the firelight around them as he waited for the other Warlord to take it. Ivar looked at Herleif for a moment before his gaze turned to the number of Erik's warriors surrounding them. He just stood there, leaving the yard quiet as all looked on. Herleif was actually beginning to wonder if Ivar was truly about to refuse Erik's command, and began to think on how hard it would be for he and his men to fight there way out of the fortress and back to their ships.
Then without warning, Ivar spat blood into his hand and slapped it into Herleif's. Blood stuck to blood as they gripped each other's hands, and Herleif met Ivar's unflinching gaze even though the man was a ruin to look at. He felt no less hate for the man in that moment then when he had first arrived, but for now their feud was at an end, as dictated by ancient by law. A sacred pact sealed before all present and the gods above. They were to honor each other and stand shoulder to shoulder together against whatever struggles the future might hold. It was only a weak and greedy man that broke a pact like this, and Herleif would be damned before he would ever be labeled in such a way against a dog like Ivar the Red.
"Brothers," he said, squeezing Ivar's bloody slick hand within his own.
Ivar squeezed back like he was trying to crush bone into powder. "Brothers."
"Allfather be praised! Now we can all rest easy," Erik cried out, throwing his hands up into the air once the pact was made. At his words Old Wolf and the men surrounding them eased back, hands falling away from their weapon as Erik continued, although Old Wolf looked to wear a disappointed frown under his beard as he looked on. "You will forgive me if I do not offer up anymore mead. I am pleased that we have all been able to get past this issue, but a waste of good mead will be a sting felt for a long time yet. Besides, we have plans to discuss and we have already wasted half the evening with your little brawl."
Herleif sighed through his nose, ignoring the sting of pain and trying not to dwell on how Erik continued to belittle the grievance he felt had been done against his people. He held Ivar's hand for just a moment longer, then pulled it away and gave his back to the man. "Well I for one am very interested in what you have to say. What is this grand scheme that you have in mind, exactly?" he asked Erik as he walked back to Gunnar and Skuld, doing his best to wipe some of the drying blood from his palm.
A sly grin spread across Erik's lips beneath his blonde beard. "Ah, it is a fine scheme indeed, and quite the tale to tell as well. I can promise you that nothing of its like has ever been carried out before. But I feel that I alone cannot tell it all."
Walking forward towards the stone steps, he patted Herleif on the shoulder as he passed by, acting as if they hadn't all been ready to kill each other just a moment ago. "Everyone follow me. There are some people that I would like you all to meet." With that he descended down the steps with Magnus and Old Wolf following behind.
Herleif looked to Gunnar to see if he had any clue as to who Erik might be referring to, but his brother just shrugged his broad shoulders. "This whole fucking thing has been a surprise to me," he said, speaking quietly, "Herleif, if I had known Ivar would end up as your blood brother..." his voice trailed away and he looked ashamed.
"Think nothing of it," smiled Herleif, patting his brother's arm, "If I can handle having an ass like you as a brother all these years, then I can surely deal with a man who wants nothing to do with me. At least this way he is sure to keep his distance for awhile." That seemed to earn a sheepish grin from Gunnar, which was all Herleif could ask for given the circumstances. "Come on, lets go see who these mysterious guests of Erik's are and finally find out what this plan of his is really all about."
Turning to follow Erik down the steps, Herleif felt the shiver of eyes watching him. He looked over his shoulder to see Ivar still standing where he had been when they had shaken hands and become sworn blood brothers. He glared back at Herleif silently, his one good eye burning full of a terrible hate.