The sound of a horn echoed through the air as the first longship pulled away from the conquered fort and sailed down river. More horns soon joined the first, as men and women of different clans raced to their boats to begin the last leg of their voyage to Lake Eitrivatnen. Shields lined the ship's sides, and swords, spears and axes were all stowed away and made ready for the attack as the warriors took up their oars. Only the harbor lay between them and their goal of the fiery Mount Ignis, along with an army of zealous Knights ready to lay down their lives in defense of their holy volcano.
To the fierce warriors of Valkenheim the strength of the Divine Pyre meant nothing. For generations their clans had gone to war against the Knights of Ashfeld, and some of the older veterans had even survived the Great Famine and the War of the Wolf against the Blackstone warlord Apollyon. They knew what strength the Knights possessed, and they knew that with the gods on their side that they could break it.
Odin, Thor, Freya and Tyr, all of them were watching now as the Vikings set sail for war, and those warriors that the gods found worthy would receive their strength and aid in the coming battle.
Herleif stood at the prow of the Salt Boar, breathing in the sweet smell of the wind as it blew off the water, and watched as Ivar's ships got underway ahead of his own. The last of his warriors were just now boarding their ships and soon they would be ready to set sail. The boat was being loaded with weapons, provisions and cargo, everything they would need to attack the harbor and hold it as they pressed on to the volcano afterwards.
He felt jittery, on edge, like he was caught in the path of a coming a storm with no hope of finding shelter. Stretching out his fingers then curling them in tight, he yearned to feel the grip of his sword and the weight of his shield in hand, wielding them both against his enemy in pitched combat. He reminded himself of his virtues as a Warlord and a Jarl.
Strength, honor, power and temperance, all things necessary to lead his people into battle and to victory.
If the gods were willing he would be there to celebrate with them in the end, or he would feast in the golden hall with his ancestors until the day when Ragnarok was finally at hand. Both were fitting fates to meet, but in the depths of his heart he truly hoped it was the former outcome that would be his reward.
Further down the ship's deck, Gunnar was leading Priscilla and nine other Knights of the Lion Flame Legion up the gangplank and down through the rows of benches where Bilrost Vikings were taking up their oars.
After the attacks against the river forts there were a few benches left empty, the Vikings who had occupied them now feasting in Valhalla with the gods and kin. It was up to the Knights to take up their positions and do their duty, to see that the longship made it to the harbor with all speed; a task that the remaining Vikings found to be near sacrilege, but kept their mouths shut and simply exhibited their displeasure with dark glares and whispered curses under their breath as the Knights passed by.
Gunnar divvied up the Knights into pairs, pointing out rowing benches to take as they walked down the length of the boat.
"These are truly strange and exciting times, my friends. Strange and exciting times! Knights taking up the oars of a Viking dragon ship? Never in our history has any skald ever sung of such tales, and perhaps after today they will never do so again," he said heartily, slapping a Warden so hard on the back that the impact sent the Knight tumbling down onto his bench with a sharp grunt.
"But to take up the oar of a true dragon is no small thing! For once in your miserable, clanking lives you will learn if you are truly stronger then all that pathetic armor you wear. To see if you have the true power of a Viking in your meager bodies, to be a part of something greater then your insignificant selves! To hear the pounding drums and feel the rhythm of the oars pumping like the very beating of your cowardly hearts! You are no longer just fragile and weak whelps, but now one with the vessel, one with the dragon. One with us all! Vikings to the end!" As his words rang out, the other Bilrost warriors chiming in with their own roar of approval, stamping their feet on the deck as they held tight to their oars.
"We know how to work as a unit," Priscilla chided as she looked up at the giant Raider, arms crossed against her chest. She had a piece of white and red cloth torn from her tabard and wrapped around her neck, giving her the look of someone ready for the snowy heights of Valkenheim's mountains rather then the warm lowlands of Ashfeld. "It is a rather unavoidable outcome of fighting and sinking dragon ships just like this one for years on end. An unfortunate circumstance of having a castle with a coastal view."
Gunnar looked down at the much smaller Peacekeeper for a moment, then slowly knelt down to her height, addressing her as if she were a young child.
"Well in that case, welcome to the other side," he smiled under his beard. "I guess that you already know what to expect then as we approach the harbor then. Arrows raining down on our heads long before we've reached the shore. Catapults obliterating the boat next to yours. Ballistas striking through a ships hull to sink her. Traps laying in wait, unseen beneath the water to rip your boat apart. The screams of your comrades just before they slip beneath the waves, sinking down in Ran's cold embrace to never see the shinning sun again. You'll all be brave though, I'm sure. Never once will you stop pulling at the sea with your oar, even as your bench mate lies dead at your feet, choking on his own blood with an arrow through his neck. No, not you. Not when you've seen it all before."
Priscilla stood her ground as she and Gunnar stared each other down. He had that same cocky grin on his face that he always seemed to have whenever he addressed her, and she twitched her fingers to make a grab for her dagger and slice the corner of his lips just a bit wider. Thankfully though Coal stepped up and put a hand on her shoulder, distracting her and Gunnar both from their staring contest.
"Just show us to our seats already, big man. We'll get the job done, you can count on that," the Conqueror said firmly. He had his own red and white scarf folded around his neck, just as the rest of the Lion Flame Knights did to set them apart in the coming battle.
Gunnar glanced up at Coal, stood and smiled at him before waving his hand towards the back of the ship. "Right this way then, my lord and lady. I have a special spot picked out just for the both of you."
He took them to one of the last benches on the right side of the ship, which remained empty behind two Berserkers sitting closely together; a woman with the sides of her head shaved and a man with a braided mustache and beard. They looked up at the approaching Knights with cruel eyes glinting behind their metal faceplates, like hungry wolves snarling at intruders in their territory. Gunnar stopped next to them and gestured towards the empty bench, waiting for Priscilla and Coal to take a seat.
They never broke eye contact as Priscilla and Coal each sat down, frowning over their shoulders at their new rowing mates. Priscilla and Coal stared right back, sitting up straight and on guard for any sudden movement from the two wild warriors.
Gunnar chuckled to himself, cradling his great axe in his arms and rather enjoying the tense situation that was of his own making. "All settled in? Good. Perhaps some introductions then," he grinned, slapping his hand down on the male Berserker's shoulder.
"These two filthy animals are Ragnar and Ragna. Now, their just about everything you'd expect out of two mad as fuck, bloodthirsty, Odin-blessed warriors, but all you really need to know if you're going to be spending the voyage with them is that one hates cock and loves quim, and the other very much likes both. That, and they've both come here to spill the blood of as many pathetic Knights as they can, but I'm sure you have already guessed that by now. I'll go ahead and leave it to you to figure out which is which."
With that said he took a step closer to Priscilla and Coal, using his greater height to lean over the both of them as he stuck a finger in their faces. "Remember, don't fucking falter. We row as one, or we die as one. Simple as that," he growled, glancing over at the twin Berserkers as if the message was for them as well. He gave the Knights one last hard look before giving them some parting words as he turned away. "Try not to kill each other before we get there. We're all in this together now."
Priscilla watched the big Raider walk away up the deck of the ship, then turned back to the two Berserkers in front of her.
The woman, Ragna she supposed, was looking her up and down with just the barest hint of a grin across her lips. Ragnar on the other hand was baring all his teeth in a unnerving smile that could have been easily been mistaken for a primal snarl. He looked excitedly between Priscilla and Coal, as if he couldn't decide which one he wanted to sink his teeth into first.
"I'm the one who likes both," Ragnar said proudly as he tapped his hand against his chest, evidently eager to share the news. He looked at them both expectantly for some sort of answer, to which Priscilla averted her gaze out towards the river and the silent Conqueror simply took his shield and placed it firmly between his legs before taking hold of the oar in front of him. Ragnar's smile quickly faded in disappointment, and Ragna laughed at her brother's misfortune.
Priscilla silently reminded herself that all of this would be worth it in the end. Just a bit more work and then both she and Ashfeld would be free of these heathens. Until then though, it was going to be a long trip to the harbor.
Back at the prow, Herleif worked his jaw and then spit over the railing into the river. He had watched enough ships sail off now, and was ready to get underway.
"We have wasted enough time dawdling about!" he roared over the clatter of warriors stowing weapons and lining the side of the ship with their shields. "Prepare to cast off! Anyone not on board can watch their chance for Valhalla sail away without them!"
He turned and looked over the deck, watching warriors scramble to their rowing benches and picking up their oars. Gunnar was walking towards him up the deck, axe resting over one shoulder as he came to take his spot next to his brother. Helge was seated next to the mast at the center of the ship, looking over scattered finger bones as she conversed with the voices that only she could hear in her head. At the rear of the ship Ragnar and Ragna were rocking back and forth on their bench together, already snarling as they worked themselves up into a frenzy for the journey and fight ahead of them. Gods help whoever had to sit next to them during the trip down river.
Even Skuld had taken a seat on a bench and picked up the oar of a fallen warrior, prepared to aid the living in her effort to serve the dead. The man sitting next to her looked her up and down nervously, wondering if being so close to a Valkyrie before battle was a good omen or a bad one. Which ever it was Skuld paid the man no mind, but rather looked up at Herleif and caught him with her piercing blue eyes.
He nodded at her. She nodded back, and he knew that he had her confidence. It was time to go. Time to meet whatever fate the Norns had set out for them that day, and to sail without fear as the All Father watched over them.
"Today Odin blesses us all! We sail now for the lake of darkness, to meet an enemy that as fierce in their heathen beliefs as we are in our own," he shouted, throwing his hands up into the air. "They believe that their volcano has the power to end us all! Us and the gods! I tell you now, it has been left to us to prove them wrong! I say we give thanks for this great and generous gift! Give thanks by slaughtering every last one of these bastards and turning the waters of Eitrivatnen red with their blood! Today we show our enemy that the tale of Jafnhar's Bane holds no sway over us, and that not even their fiery god can protect them from our wrath!"
A chorus of cheers rang up down the deck of the ship. His words had even encouraged a few of the Knights on board to add their voices in support.
Gunnar thumped the bottom of his axe on the wooden deck three times to urge the crew on. "Do you fear death?" he shouted loudly, lifting his axe into the air.
The crew shouted back with a clear and resounding, "No!"
Herleif stepped closer to Gunnar and threw an arm around his brother's shoulders, thumping his fist against his own armored chest. "What do you welcome?"
"Valhalla!" the crew answered uproariously.
"What do you welcome!?"
"VALHALLA!"
Herleif roared into the air along with Gunnar next to him. "Cast off!"
The sound of a horn sounded clearly out into the air once again, and the full longship was pushed away from the dock and drifted further into the river. Oars splashed into the water, and the sail was hoisted to achieve all speed as the dragon ship pulled away from the dock. More of Herleif's ships followed suit soon after, until the river was choked full of longships sailing off to do battle upon the lake.
Boom Boom Boom Boom
Drums beat out the steady rhythm of the oars, taking the ships down river until gentle waters gave way to rolling waves. The Viking fleet had sailed through the night, and now as the rising sun slowly brightened the sky to the sight of the vast and open Lake Eitrivatnen.
Whatever dark reputation the lake had for the warriors of Valkenheim seemed to vanish as the longships pushed their way through the choppy water. Taking the fight to the Divine Pyre was a second chance to right past wrongs and claim the glories of taking Eitrivatnen harbor after the failure of Jarl Jafnhar years ago. There was a sense of eager fury hanging over the fleet as the Viking warriors readied themselves for the chance to put their weapons to use against their enemies.
When the sight of Ashfeld triremes appeared upon the horizon a cheer went up among the Viking sailors, along with the sound of horns signaling to take begin the attack. The phoenix wreathed in flame was clear to see upon the trireme's sails as they sailed forth to inflict what damage they could against the Viking horde before they could ever reach the harbor.
"Light up the boar," Herleif ordered to one of his warriors, waving his hand up towards the boar's head at the prow of the ship.
Lighting a torch, the warrior climbed up to the beasts head and tipped the flickering flames it into the metal grate in it's mouth and setting it alight. The great hog skull breathed fire once again, giving new life to its threatening visage. More ships did the same, until the fleet was a line of flame spewing beasts rushing towards their enemy.
Boom Boom Boom Boom
Herleif squinted at the approaching enemy, watching as the vessels grew larger with every passing drum beat. They were larger than most of the longships in the fleet with the exception of the dragon ships themselves, but that wasn't what had caught his attention. He looked from one ship to another, frowning in confusion.
"Ten? Ten ships? This is all they send against us?"
"Perhaps they are holding the rest in reserve? Closer to the harbor?" Gunnar asked, gazing out over his brother's shoulder. The actual harbor still remained far off out of sight beyond the horizon. Lake Eitrivatnen was the largest lake in all of Ashfeld, and the eastern shore was still a ways off. Gunnar grinned and slapped Herleif on the back. "What a waste... ten ships against our might? Hardly seems worth the effort. We'll make quick work of these and move onto the rest."
"Right," Herleif said grimly, but truthfully he had his doubts. So few ships going against their fleet was of course suicide, a move that even a Viking eager to enter Valhalla would consider pointless.
What was the Divine Pyre trying to achieve by sailing against them out on the lake instead of waiting at the docks in greater numbers? Was this just a desperate attempt to try and thin them out before they reached the shore? If so, he would make sure they sorely regretted this insult of an ill conceived plan.
One trireme moved out in front of the rest, cutting through the water straight for the Viking fleet. Along with Herleif's dragon ship, two smaller and sleek snekkja advanced to surround the enemy and box them in. More longships followed close behind, ensuring that the enemy would be completely surrounded even if it managed to slip past Herleif. He eyed the enemy a bit longer, then turned and called out to the drummer at the mast.
"Double speed! Run up on them fast, port side! Close them in and swamp the deck! Anyone not rowing grab shields and provide cover from arrows!"
Boom-boom Boom-boom Boom-boom Boom-boom
The Salt Boar's speed increased, pushed through the water by Bilrost warriors pulling at the oars and wind filling the sails. Turning to the right, Herleif's dragon ship moved to come up on the enemy's stern, letting smaller longships move in for the attack on the left.
One was out in front of the rest, leading the charge as the Salt Boar followed behind. With hooks and rope it would slide up next to the enemy vessel and lash them together, allowing the battle ready Vikings to swarm the enemy deck and cut the Pyre Knights down to the last man. Even now the oars of the leading longship were being drawn in, rushing at the Pyre before they could try and turn away.
Yet Herleif watched on as the trireme kept its course, neither turning or trying to slow down as the longships approached. It was like watching a rabbit willingly leap into the jaws of a hungry wolf, which was an oddly disturbing thought, even if he was the wolf.
"They are fucking mad, these zealots," he laughed to Gunnar, believing that the Pyre Knights aboard must surely be insane to the point of throwing their lives away in a hopeless attack. Tilting his head up, he called out over the wind and drew his sword from its sheath, lifting it into the air. "Draw weapons and prepare for boarding! Hooks and ropes at the ready!"
"Oars! Prepare to pull in!" Gunnar shouted after, stepping down from the prow to join those gathered on the deck. Warriors rushed to carry out their Jarl's orders, readying their shields for incoming arrows and handing out weapons.
Kneeling at the ship's mast, Helge quickly rattled finger bones in her hands before throwing them to the deck, stooping over them to see what signs they revealed.
"Fire on the lake... Jafnar's Bane... a lake of fire..." she uttered over and over again, teeth bared as the voices chattered endlessly in her head. Fire. Blood. Death. Over and over and over they howled at her. "Shhh...shhh. We will give you blood, I swear it. Patience...flame and blood. Fire... such chilling fire. Just wait...wait..."
Herleif paid her no mind as he stood firmly at the prow of his boat, sword and shield in hand. This was not the time for cryptic questions and answers from the realms beyond Midgard. This was a time of steel. The leading snekkja was nearly to the trireme now, bringing in its own port side oars to come in close and begin the attack. Time seemed to slow down, and Herleif snarled in frustration at having to catch up. He was ready to fight, ready to kill.
"Prepare for battle my drengir! Victory or Valhalla!" he shouted, hearing the cheers and beating of weapons against shields thundering behind him.
Priscilla gritted her teeth as she looked over her shoulder towards the Pyre ship drawing closer. Her arms and back were burning from all of the rowing, but that wasn't what concerned her the most at the moment. She eyed the front of the approaching trireme, noting the three bronze figureheads in the shape of large eagles looming out into the air from the prow. One eagle faced out straight, while the other two were angled outwards on either side of the first. Together they screamed with open beaks, crying out in silent fury against their foes.
Even from the rear of the ship she could see what lay within those open beaks, and it chilled her blood in her veins.
In the morning light she caught the glint of of metal tubes stretching out from withing the eagle's throats, tubes that were surely attached to something inside the hull behind the figurehead. Her heart dropped into her stomach, and for the first time since taking on this insane mission wondered if she had made a mistaking for taking it at all.
Coal turned to look at her as they worked the oar together. "No ships out of dry dock, that was what you said," he growled at her, glaring through his helmet. "They wouldn't be ready yet, you said. Well it looks like they were able to work well ahead of fucking schedule!"
"The weapon might still not be ready! Could be that there are just archers and a few warriors on board, that is all," Priscilla hissed back, even if she didn't quite believe the words herself. The report of the weapon given to them by Beaufort intelligence had been pretty clear as how the weapon would be fitted for use. The closer they got to those eagles, the more desperate she began to feel.
"Looks pretty ready to me!" Coal exclaimed as he took a glance of his own over his shoulder. "That ship isn't even trying to be evasive. It's coming straight for us!" He waited for a moment for Priscilla to answer back with another quip, but when she didn't he groaned in frustration. "Priscilla, we have to do something!"
"Turn. Turn the boat, dammit," she cursed under her breath, hating herself for choosing a Jarl's flagship to sail on out of the entire fleet.
Ragna turned her head over her shoulder and flashed an angry snarl at the both of them. "Shut up and row, you dogs! A dragon ship has no room for cowards!"
Ragnar tipped his head back and let out a ridiculous wolf howl into the air as he stomped his feet on the deck. "Aaawooooh! Victory or Valhalla! Victory or Valhalla!"
Coal and Priscilla rowed on in grim silence for a moment longer, until the Conqueror turned and shoved his shoulder against her in frustration. "Priscilla! This is suicide!"
Together they took another glance back up the ship, watching in horror as the taller trireme was looming above them closer than ever now. Soon it would be on them, those screaming eagles soaring above all their heads and bringing death with them.
"Dammit!" Priscilla cursed, jumping up off of her bench and taking off up the deck. There was nothing left to do but try and convince a group of Vikings not to do the one thing they all lived for. "Stop! Turn the ship!" she screamed as loud as she could, desperate to make her voice heard over the beating drums, crashing waves and roaring wind. Her heart was pounding desperately in her chest, a cold fear gripping her as they sailed closer and closer towards death. "Quick! For the love of God, turn the fucking ship!"
Herleif turned as he heard a woman shouting over the wind. He frowned, first wondering who would dare give orders on his longship, and then spotted Priscilla running down the deck and waving her arms in the air. For a moment he couldn't quite catch what she was saying over all the noise, but the desperation and fear in her voice was quite clear. Gunnar stepped up to block the Peacekeeper's path, raising his axe as if expecting some sort of treachery to finally be revealed from their Knight allies.
"Get back to your bench! We row as one!" Gunnar roared at her. His warning did nothing to stop her though, and she ran right up on him and grabbed the haft of his axe as he pushed it in front of her.
"Herleif, turn the ship!" she shouted at him, trying to slip past the Raider. Gunnar dipped and weaved with her, making sure to keep her at bay and away from the Jarl. Priscilla fought against him, craning her neck to glance at Herleif over Gunnar's shoulder. "If you keep going then we all die!"
Bones clattered upon the deck as Helge threw them again. Somewhere nearby she heard shouting, a voice crying out in fear. The voices were louder though. They were angry, hateful. They screamed of pain, doom and death, shouting louder and louder until it felt like her skull would crack. She looked at the bones, saw the message laid out before her, and suddenly the voices vanished. All was silent again, and she could finally hear what it was that the person was shouting with such distress.
"Do as she says!" Helge screamed as she jumped up to her feet, rushing over to the port side and grabbing hold of an oar already being handled by two warriors. She pulled furiously along with them, looking up at Herleif with wide terror filled eyes. "Fire on the lake! Turn!"
Herleif looked back, stunned as the Shaman echoed the plea of this mad Peacekeeper. What did they know? What terror was about to befall them before they could strike at their enemy? He looked back at the oncoming ship and suddenly he knew. The Pyre Knights weren't making a mistake by rushing in head long against their fleet. That had been their plan all along.
Over the pounding of drums and crashing of oars through the waves, there was a low rumble that rose up into the air from the trireme's prow. As they sailed closer to the enemy, Herleif could hear the Knights aboard shouting to each other with sharp urgency. He could see the tops of their black helmets as they moved about like ants at the front of the ship, working at something just out of sight behind the eagle's outstretched neck. The low rumbling grew louder and louder still, soon turning into a sharp hiss that emanated from the eagle's throats.
"Raise shields!" someone shouted just as the telltale whistle of arrows filled the air, death raining down on them from above. Arrow heads thunked into sturdy shields, soon followed by the cry of those not able to protect themselves quickly enough.
Herleif hefted his shield above both himself and Gunnar just in time, feeling two arrows slam into it's broad surface from above. For a moment he thought that the hissing he had heard had just been the arrows falling from the sky, but even after the first volley he could still hear the sound of it clear in the air. He waited under his shield for more arrows to fall, but none came. What did come next though was a weapon so great and terrible that no shield or armor had any hope of standing against it.
The sharp hiss grew into a deafening roar just as a torrent of fire erupted out from all three of the eagles. The bright flash of flame arced through the air, making the flaming dragon mouths look like small candles flickering in the wind by comparison. It circled out in front of the trireme, creating a ring of death to burn anything in it's path.
Too late did the first Viking longship realize what was happening, and even as the call went up to steer out of the way there was nothing to be done as it was engulfed. In seconds the entire vessel was overcome by fire, and the terrible cries of those on board were drowned out by the roar of flame that still flashed through the air.
"By the gods!" Herleif shouted, squeezing his eyes shut as he was momentarily blinded by the bright flash that had taken him by surprise.
Even then he could still feel the heat biting at his face, the sheer power of blast shuddering through the air. When he opened his eyes again everything before him was burning, and the longship that had been set ablaze was already sinking into the lake. Somehow even the water surrounding the doomed ship had become a sea of flames, as if an evil magic was allowing the weapon to forego the laws of nature in a need to destroy anything it touched. The inferno danced upon rolling waves, jumping upwards like greedy hands around the longship to pull it down out of sight.
Herleif watched helplessly as his warriors tried to escape a painful death by jumping into lake, only to leap overboard into more danger. They died screaming in agony, trying to their best to swim in searing water before they eventually sank beneath the waves by the weight of their armor to drown.
The Pyre crashed right through the burning wreckage without pause, splintering the snekkja's mast beneath it's bow. Crying bronze eagles passed through black smoke like hungry demons seeking their next meal, but soon the scorching flare from the eagle's mouth died away, seemingly spent. Herleif could already see and hear Knights working at the trireme's prow to ready their weapon for another attack.
Gunnar threw himself at the railing and stared open mouthed at the carnage left in the wake of the enemy's attack. The Divine Pyre had destroyed a longship in mere moments, wielding an fiery power more destructive then any in the realm of Muspelheim.
"Odin save us! What evil power is this?" he shouted, knuckles white as he gripped the ship's edge, "Flames on the water? Not even a fire-flask has that kind of power!" He looked over to Herleif, eyes wide with shock at what he had just witnessed. "Is this the power of the volcano? It can't be!"
Herleif gritted his teeth, gripping his shield tight in his hand as he stared back at the enemy. It was was coming straight for them now. The other longship that had been sailing along with Herleif had already fallen back, turning wide to escape the fiery destruction of the Pyre ship. Glowing hot liquid seemed to drip from the open beaks of the eagles, and the air before them still shimmered with the heat of their terrible breath. Already the low rumble and rising hiss was once again beginning to fill the air.
"It matters not what it was! The power of gods or some evil seiðr, we press on!" he roared as he jumped down from his spot at the prow and raced down the deck and along the rowing benches with all haste. He slapped the backs of every warrior he passed by, shouting at them, encouraging them to put all of their heart and strength into rowing through the burning waters. "Hard to port! To port! Row! Show these bastards no fear! We take the harbor, we press on! Row!" The drummer at the mast once again picked up the beat of the oars, faster then ever now to escape the scorching threat bearing down on them with each passing moment.
Boom-boom Boom-boom Boom-boom Boom-boom
The air sparked with the hiss of death, and again a glowing gout of flame erupted into the air from the eagle's throats. More bright embers arched into the air and fell like molten rain, setting the lake ablaze and turning it into a sea of glowing flames. The lake of darkness it seemed had become a lake of light, bright and terrible to behold, brought on by the Divine Pyre's true might.
Coal ducked as the arc of bright flame hissed through the air. The blaze was no where near his head, but that much fire had a way of making a person fearful no matter how close it was. He had seen that the figurehead of the trireme had been shaped to look like bronze eagles, but the overwhelming rush of the weapon igniting sounded more like the bone chilling roar of some beast risen from the pits of Hell. He gripped the oar in his hands tightly, barely able to hold onto it against the rushing water as he sat on the bench.
Just when he thought the lake might wrench the oar from his grip, Priscilla jumped down next to him and helped take up the burden of pivoting the ship away from the shooting flames. They both let out a strained cry as they pulled with all of their strength, along with every other poor soul struggling with an oar in their hands.
"Dammit! I told you this was a bad idea!" he shouted at Priscilla next to him, unable to keep himself from voicing his anger about this fool mission. "Did you see that!? How do we fight that? We're going to die here sailing on a fucking Viking ship because of you!"
"Yes I fucking saw it, and we will live as long as you keep rowing! Now shut up and fucking pull!" Priscilla shouted back, pumping her arms as fast as she could like it was up to her alone to keep the boat moving.
Coal groaned beneath his helmet as the air around them grew hot like the sun with another burst of flame. "This is madness! I thought you said the weapon wouldn't be ready yet?"
"I said with any luck!" Priscilla snapped. "Clearly between the two of us we have no fucking luck at all!"
"You didn't know that from the beginning!?" Coal shouted, leaning back on the bench to bring the oar up before pushing it down into the water again. "We're sailing with Vikings against fanatics that stole our home! I'm a God damn conscripted convict, you fool! What makes you think we had any luck to start with!?"
"Just shut up and row!" she yelled, kicking at his foot to get him to focus.
The Salt Boar's hull groaned like a beast in pain as it cut a sharp turn in the water with the Divine Pyre closed in. Burning waves splashed up against the bow as fire fell from above, making the warriors towards the front of the ship of cry out in pain and fear as they jumped up from their benches. Coal looked and caught sight of the tall Valkyrie standing up from her seat and rushing down the rows to urge the warriors to remain and take up their oars once the ship was clear of the on coming trireme. A midst all the chaos she seemed astoundingly calm, something that Coal himself could not manage. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled at the oar, willing himself to just ignore the heat and the noise and focus solely on getting clear of danger.
Coal felt like his body was already burning from working the oar as hard as he could, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins gave him the extra strength he needed to keep working through the fear and pain. It was like he was sailing through a harrowing fevered dream, and he didn't know which part of this situation was the most insane; having a bunch of volcano worshiping cultists from his own country rain fire down upon his head, or listening to the two Berserkers in front of him whoop and laugh their way through it all. Regardless of which one it was there was one thing that Coal was very much certain of.
He really should have just stayed in prison.
Glowing death was all that Herleif could see before him now. The blaze had come so close to the ship that he had feared the wooden hull would start to burn simply from the heat alone, but somehow they had made it out of the way just in time. Warriors gritted their teeth and roared as their oars churned in the waves with no drum beat to guide them, pulling the longship on a path clear of the Pyre's attack and on to clear water.
Then with a great splash the other line of oars dove back into the water, adding even more power and speed to pull away as quickly as possible from the passing trireme. Fire swept through the air, landing harmlessly upon the water that still foamed in the wake of the longship. A shout of excitement rose up among the warriors, along with sighs of relief and cries of thanks to the gods for seeing them through this disaster.
Herleif knew that his warriors truly had themselves to thank for surviving the Pyre's attack. The gods might indeed be with them now, but it was by the strength of their backs and the determination of their will that they had successfully escaped. He wanted to congratulate them, to celebrate in this small victory that they had earned, but he knew that the danger was far from over, let alone the fight for the harbor itself.
"Do not falter! Keep those shields raised high!" he shouted down the deck. His warriors heeded the order just in time, as yet more arrows fell down from above to slam into upturned shields. Another volley followed after, but soon the Salt Boar pulled far enough away to be out of range of the Pyre's archers.
Herleif lowered his own shield, and waved to the drummer at the mast to keep the beat going. "Keep up the pace, and hold onto your courage! This fight is not over yet! The harbor still awaits us!
Boom Boom Boom Boom
There was another resounding roar that erupted through the air, and Herleif knew before he even turned to look that the eagles had spouted fire once again. He turned, spotting a flaming longship crashing into another as it failed to escape the spray of glowing embers coming at it. Even as his other vessels sailed safely on he could hear the screams of warriors burning alive, unable to save themselves from the fire even in the water beneath them.
It was as if the lake had been set ablaze by the very power of Mount Ignis. Black smoke billowed up into the sky as the Divine Pyre sailed on, unrivaled with its terrible weapon. But not even great and devastating power such as the Pyre's magic weapon can last long against overwhelming numbers. The Viking fleet was closing in, and the further the Divine Pyre sailed against the longships the less room it had to maneuver through the waves.
Like Odin charging upon his swift and mighty steed Sleipnir, one of the Bilrost longships came rushing in from the side against the enemy. It slid straight through the flames dancing upon the water and came at the trireme with all speed, ramming into it broadside with a bone shaking crash. Everything seemed to go quiet for a moment as all eyes turned watched the enemy boat rock from the impact, tilting to the side as its hull buckled under the longship's reinforced bow.
As if the longships themselves were being worked up into a battle frenzy, another came careening in to land a second blow against the triremes keel. Already knocked dangerously off balance, the enemy ship rolled and slammed onto its starboard side. The large hull groaned as it capsized, its great masts and sails crashing into the water and sending white spray into the air.
A cheer of victory came up from the surrounding fleet, Herleif's ship included, but it soon became evident that just because the trireme was doomed to sink did not mean that the danger was over just yet. Even as Pyre Knights fell from the deck and sank beneath the waves, burning death continued to erupt from the eagle's mouth. It soared into the air like some kind of hellish death scream as the vessel went down and spread over the water like a blanket of death, forcing incoming longships to quickly alter their course and sail around lest they be swallowed up by the infernal heat. The two longships that had crashed into the enemy were now desperately trying to get themselves dislodged from its hull, pushing at its exposed underbelly with their oars to escape the fire spreading around them.
The first ship to hit the trireme was able to get itself free and start rowing away from the danger to safer waters, but the other was not so lucky. The warriors aboard struggled for too long to separate themselves from the doomed vessel, and when they finally were able to pull away from the sinking boat it was only to row back into the flames which had by then surrounded it, setting the ship alight in just a few moments and sending it's crew into a panic. While one half burned, the warriors on board began to jump from the other end, taking their chances in the choppy waves and trying to swim to the nearest longship to be rescued.
Few made it. More slipped beneath the lake and never came up again.
In moments the trireme was nearly beneath the water. Only the bow remained above the surface now, with those three terrible eagles belching what smoke and embers they could until the very end. If there were any Pyre Knights that had somehow survived there would be no hope for them now, surrounded by enemy ships and a inferno of their own making.
As the eagles finally fell beneath the waves, the water boiled and began to steam as the strange weapon was extinguished and the heated bronze rapidly cooled. Finally the Pyre vessel was gone.
There were still more enemy ships sailing out against the fleet though. Herleif looked out across the water and saw smoke rising up among the fleet. He could hear the roaring of fire, and the crashing of ships unseen among all the smoke. The rest of the Divine Pyre cut their way into the fleet, but the Viking longships still sailed on to meet them.
Without warning the world suddenly shook as a great explosion erupted out among the ships, scattering wood, water and bodies alike. A thick cloud of dark smoke billowed up into the sky, and a great swath of the lake was set alight along with any craft unfortunate enough to be caught in the explosion's wake.
Even though it was a fair distance off, Herleif still ducked upon the deck as the shock wave sent his ship rocking upon the lake. Had the Pyre Knights done something wrong with readying one of their weapons, or did a Viking longships have the misfortune of striking the trireme in just the wrong spot to set off the explosion?
Judging by the sight of more and more black smoke rising up into the sky, he could only guess that each of the Divine Pyre's ships had this terrible weapon at their disposal. Looking out across the water he tried his best to spot any sign of the enemy among his allies, but with so much thick smoke filling the air he could only spot two triremes that were still sailing through the Viking fleet, spewing forth flames from their prows. Each left burning wreckage in its wake, but there were still many more longships to contend with. Against those odds the triremes wouldn't last long, even with the power of their holy volcano on their side.
"That was too close," Coal said, rowing a bit easier now as the longship sailed on, putting the burning lake behind them. The ship rolled over the waves with ease now, but the smell of burning timber and smoke was still heavy on the wind.
Priscilla rolled her head on her shoulders, trying to work out the kinks in her neck after working the oar for so long. "It is not over yet. Stay close to me once we reach the harbor. It would do us no good to be separated by anymore tricks."
Coal gave a gruff laugh that echoed from underneath his helm. "Not so trusting in your channels of intelligence anymore? Can't say I blame you after that little fiasco. Next time you make contact with Beaufort you should tell the Lord Warden to go stick her head in a fire and see how much he likes being roasted."
"Be quiet," Priscilla snapped. She glanced up at the two Berserkers in front of them, but the savage twins didn't seem to have heard or cared what Coal had so carelessly let slip. "Just keep your head down and keep your wits about you. There is no telling what the Pyre may have in store for us now."
Coal shrugged his big shoulders. "I'm not worried. Once I get dry land under my feet and my flail swinging I'll be fine. I just think that these Pyre bastards aren't the only ones we need to be concerned about as far as this little mission of ours goes. Was this really the best plan the legion commanders could come up with? "
Priscilla glanced back over the waves at the hundreds of longships full of Viking warriors sailing with them. Soon they would be crowding the narrow streets of the harbor as they brought the sword to their enemies, washing the cobblestones red with blood.
"Apparently so. We are getting close now. Be ready."
The hazy shapes of buildings and towers could be seen now on the horizon, bringing a smile to Herleif's lips. There was also the shape of another vessel appearing out of the harbor all by itself, but the threat of more seiðr flames seemed less demoralizing now that their goal was finally in reach. They had made it. Through fire and smoke they had arrived at the harbor. Eitrivatnen was theirs for the taking.
Herleif directed his crew towards the southeast, leading his portion of the fleet behind him to the barracks where they would make their landing. The lone trireme seemed to be sailing straight for the center of the fleet, meaning that it would be Erik's problem to deal with while Herleif focused his forces on their part of the attack.
He could see the Pyre ship spouting fire now at the approaching longships, but by this point the Viking sailors had learned to steer clear of the front of the vessel, maneuvering quickly around to its sides or stern to make their attack. Even with such a power at the enemy's disposal there was nothing one ship could do to stand against such an enormous fleet. For as devastating as the Divine Pyre's weapon was they had seemed woefully ill prepared to use it. Ten ships were all that had been spotted sailing on the water, leaving the rest still unaccounted for.
Now was not the time to worry about where the other triremes might be lurking though. It was clear now sailing across the lake to the docks of the harbor that that their path was clear, and Herleif had learned long ago to cherish what few gifts the gods sometimes gave during battle. His warriors could now row unencumbered from the threat of enemy attack, but as they got closer to the city he could see Pyre Knights rushing to take up defensive positions along the docks and waterside markets, ready to make the Vikings fight for every bit of ground from the moment they set foot off of their ships.
"Bring down the sail! Ready your weapons and prepare to bring in the oars!" Herleif shouted, unable to keep a grin from his lips even after sailing through actual fire upon the lake just to get to this point. He gripped his sword tightly, feeling it's familiar weight in his hand as he banged the flat of the blade against the metal shield boss. "Remember that the gods already know who will live and who will die in glorious battle upon these shores! So fight hard! Fight well! Fight without fear! Give the rest of us a death worthy of remembering you by in songs and sagas! We live knowing that Valhalla awaits us when we clash steel with our foes here today, and every Knight pisses himself in fear that they will wake up in Hell after our blades pierce their weak hearts!"
A cheer went up as warriors scrambled to carry out his orders, bringing down the sail and setting out weapons for those still working the oars. Herleif swiped his sword up into the air and looked over towards the harbor and the army of purple and black warriors that awaited them there. He shouted out loud and clear, letting his voice be carried on the wind so that his enemies might hear him just as well as his crew.
"Victory or Valhalla!"
"VICTORY OR VALHALL!" echoed the warriors behind him, a cry that was picked up by the ships following behind in the Salt Boar's wake.
Gunnar thumped the butt of his axe against the deck, taking up a position on the starboard side as it approached the docks of the harbor. "Form the shield wall as soon as we make landing! Hold the line, and give no ground!"
They were coming up on a market place near the barracks, next to a large gate sitting in the water nearby. The gate blocked off what looked to be a large craft behind it. One of the missing Pyre ships, as yet unprepared to set sail and bring fiery death to it's enemies? Herleif could hear the shouts of the Pyre Knights as they readied themselves for the attack.
An entire raiding fleet was coming right at them upon the rushing waves, a sight to scare any man into running in fear, but these were all zealots and fanatics too caught up in their own delusional beliefs just to break without a fight. He could see Lawbringers and Wardens towering above their troops as they shouted orders, and sturdy Conquerors filling in the gaps in the lines with their shields.
The distance was closing now, so close to the moment of crashing steel and breaking shields. Just a bit longer now before the carnage would begin. The world seemed to go quiet, like the calm just before Thor began striking his mighty hammer upon his anvil to strike out the lighting in the sky. Out of the water rose up great wooden spikes, meant to spear and catch the enemy ships before they could reach the docks, but the Salt Boar was too sleek and quick, sailing around them and leading the way for the others to do the same.
"Oars in!" Herleif shouted when he knew the time was right, taking up his position at the prow to jump ship as the boat glided along the water towards the dock.
There was a harsh clattering of wood as all the oars were brought in from both sides, letting momentum carry them the rest of the way. Ragnar and Ragna snarled as they both threw down their oar and jumped up from their bench, drawing their twin axes from their belts as they quickly made their way up the deck. Helge joined them, curved knife and hatchet at the ready as she gave her enemies a wicked and bloodthirsty grin. Skuld came to stand shoulder to shoulder with Gunnar, spear already leveled at the enemy as they came closer to the dock with each passing moment.
Priscilla gathered her Knights behind the Bilrost warriors, ready to provide support or fill in any gaps in the line as they made their initial attack.
"Steady. Steady men," she said quietly just to her Knight as she took up a position behind Coal with his protective shield and flail. "Remember, we are sworn Knights of Ashfeld, and we will reclaim what is ours."
Herleif gritted his teeth, lifting his shield up in front of him and holding his sword at the ready as the tense moments seemed to slow down to a crawl. He stared over his shield at a single Warden that was prepared and ready on the dock, longsword in hand, purple and black armor gleaming in the sunlight. He would be Herleif's first target, his first kill once they had made their landing. Herleif glared at the single Knight, as if it was him alone that he had traveled all this way to kill.
A row of dinghies were tied to the dock as the Salt Boar sailed up. All were crushed beneath the ships bow, splintering to pieces as the longship scraped up against the dock. Wooden boards shifted underneath the Pyre Knights feet as the dock was shaken by the force of the impact, putting the enemy off balance long enough for the Vikings to make their move
Herleif didn't think, didn't hesitate. He jumped forward from the boat as soon as it touched the dock, shield held firm and sword raised as he lunged at the swaying Warden. Sharp metal swung through the air, followed quickly by a gout of red blood and a gurgled scream from the falling Knight.
Landing on his feet upon the dock, he shouted at the top of his lungs to his warriors with all the hate and fury he could muster within his heart and raised his bloodstained sword into the air.
"Attack! Attack! For the glory of Valkenheim, for the Allfather! Attack!"