A/N: Hello! Another chapter, and another quick authors note. I'm becoming quite chatty with these things. Just wanted to say that I wote a small holday themed prequal to this story called Jòl in which I explore some themes of family between Herleif and Gunnar. I very much enjoyed writing it and hope you give it a read! I did want to note that I made one addition to this story as a result of what I came up with, that being in chapter 26 I addedd an extra bit about the Thor's amulet necklace that Gunnar wears, as it plays an important part in the prequal that does tie into current events. Just a little fyi for the sake of continuity! For now our adventure continues. Enjoy!
By noon the next day, the warriors of Bilrost finally arrived at the foot of Mount Ignis. Accompanied by the remnants of the Lion Flame Legion and escorted by a contingent of Sea Eagle spear men, the long column of armored bodies and glinting steel slowed their march as the volcano loomed large and imposing before them, a thin trail of smoke rising up from its peak. The mountain itself seemed to stand like a monolith raised to the god said to inhabit it, but its real power was known only in the tales of the days when Heathmoor tore itself apart and fire was spewed up into the sky.
For now though it lay silent, still and serene but for the rebel legion of cultists that had made it their home. Now the volcano held an all together different legacy to those who looked upon its mighty slopes, but one steeped in no less blood or terror.
Dust choked the air as the warriors marched on the road, nearly blotting out the sun as it beat down upon their heads. The day was hot, the terrain dry and arid as their boots trampled over the dirt and dry patches of grass. The mountains that separated the lands of Ashfeld from the swamps of the Myre lay before them, stretching on in either direction like the jagged spine of some great serpent slumbering beneath the earth. All that lay behind them now was a long trail of footprints and corpses.
Cresting a ridge, the marching column slowed to a crawl when at long last their destination came into view. Finally, after hundreds of leagues traveled by ship and by foot, through trials of combat and blood, victory and loss, they could finally look upon the home of their enemy nestled against the mountain side, and the Viking horde that already surrounded it.
Marcelo stepped up onto a rise overlooking the open plain before him, and removed his helmet to better take in the sight. Tall towers capped with great flags and banners bearing a golden phoenix rose up along the volcano's side, having been built into the very rock they rose from as if formed by nature itself. The city was vast, spreading out to encompass nearly an entire slope, but there was only one road leading to a single gate at the center of its great outer wall. A wall that stood before them as a last defense for madness against a savage force that sought not to set right the wrongs that had been committed upon this land, but for their own barbaric greed that could never be quelled.
Clutching his helmet beneath one arm, Marcelo sighed and ran a hand over his hair, already dreading what cruelty and pain would be brought about by these two opposing forces, and what part he would play in it. It was his duty to see justice done, to see the taint of the Divine Pyre wiped clean from the face of Heathmoor forever, but he could not help but wish that none of this had ever come to pass to begin with. But then if it hadn't, he would never have learned that not all monsters dwell only in the north.
"We've finally made it," he said softly, knowing that he could trust in his faith and those fighting by his side to see this through now. "The Walled City."
Ragnar stepped up beside him, followed by Ragna and Helge on his other side. "Aye, the Walled City," Ragnar echoed, squinting through the haze of dust and heat at the gathered forces of Ivar's Headhunters and Erik's overwhelming number of Sea Eagle warriors camped between them and the city beyond. "Kind of a stupid name, isn't it?"
"What?" Marcelo piped up, rather surprised by the question.
Ragnar looked at him and shrugged. "Don't you think? Not very creative, as far as names go. I mean every city has walls. What makes this one so special?"
"Are they the biggest walls of any city in Ashfeld?" asked Helge next.
"They don't look so big," Ragna sneered, looking less than impressed with what she saw. "Men often exaggerate over what they like to call big, but you would do better not to believe it."
Helge seemed to contemplate that for a moment while Marcelo sighed again. "No, surely Beaufort Stronghold boasts the largest walls in all of Ashfeld, but-"
"Are you exaggerating that?" Helge cut in.
Marcelo blinked at her in confusion. "What? No, I-"
"Were these walls made by dwarves?" Ragnar pondered.
"Dwarves? No my friend, I am afraid that dwarves don't actually-"
"They don't have dwarves in Ashfeld, idiot," Ragna growled, "Why would they ever want to live in such a horrible and hot place like this?"
"Now I'll have you know Ashfeld is full of wonderful locations and beautiful sights. It is not all just one inhospitable desert as you northerners tend to believe," Marcelo said quickly, feeling an odd but overwhelming sense to defend his homeland even as Ragnar slowly nodded in understanding at his sister's words.
"Are they magic walls?" asked Helge next.
"Not that I am aware of. I hardly see how-"
"Are they evil?" Ragna asked.
"How could stone walls possibly be-"
"Did a jötunn build these walls?" Ragnar questioned again.
"If I just said that dwarves didn't build them why would you think that-" Marcelo cut himself off this time, squeezing his helmet tight as he took in a deep breath and sighed yet again. "Look, if you just listen I will gladly tell you all why we call it the Walled City."
Ragnar, Ragna and Helge all stared at him with their mouths shut, falling into silence as their comrades continued to march pass them. "Well, don't keep us waiting," Helge said with an impatient frown.
Marcelo fought down the urge to try and toss the three of them over the ridge all at once and continued. "Just like your own people after the Cataclysm, we here in Ashfeld needed to start anew. New settlements, new towns, new cities. The remnants of the Old Empire were gone, swallowed up by the earth as it shook and cracked. Or, in this case, was buried under a sea of ash and mud as the volcano erupted, leaving it forgotten for centuries."
He gestured out at the distant city, seeing all of the flags waving upon the towers and the banners that hung from the balconies and walls. He could see the little glinting dots of armored figures upon the ramparts moving about, and could feel the tension in the air as the Vikings closed in to cut of any chance of escape from the mountain. It was like the city was a living, breathing beast, awoken from hibernation only to be cornered by a snarling predator before it was finally killed once and for all.
"As we reclaimed these lands and began to form our new society upon the wreckage of the old, a single tower was discovered here on the slope of the volcano, rising up alone out of the ashen ground. It took years, and an army of academics, archaeologists and excavators all working together to unearth the city that lay underneath, but eventually it was freed from it's natural grave. A city frozen in time as the world seemingly ended around it. Preserved perfectly in death, with the bones of those who had inhabited it still trapped inside."
Ragnar squinted at him in the sun and dust. "I didn't know that there was anything that existed from before the Cataclysm. Our lands were ravaged by fire and ice, driving us even further north, and there was certainly very little that survived for when we returned. Very little besides the sagas of our ancestors to give us guidance."
"We had even less than that here," Marcelo said. "We dug it from the earth, cleared it of the dead and gave them proper burials before bringing the city back with new life. It was made to be just like any other city in Ashfeld, a stronghold against our enemies. Even still we knew next to nothing of who had dwelled here before us. Any record of the city seemed to have been lost in the Cataclysm, and for years there were only rumors of its existence before it was finally rediscovered. No name, no history. It was as if it had been wiped not only from the face of Heathmoor, but from time itself. And so for that reason, to honor the memory of all those who had lost their lives here, the city was given no true name after it was unearthed. Its memory is lost to the abyss, and now only the Walled City remains."
He looked upwards towards the volcano's peak, gazing at the smoke that billowed from the fiery pit within. "And now it is the home of an enemy risen up from within our own ranks. Taken and given a new purpose to fulfill their twisted ideology. Yet after everything that has happened here, seeing a buried city brought back from the dead under the shadow of the very thing that killed it, is it any wonder that these fools actually believe that there is more to this place than just stone and dirt."
They all stood frowning down at the Walled City, silently contemplating what horrors it had endured in the past and what it violence it would soon witness. Then Ragna leaned forward and spit onto the ground. "It's still a stupid fucking name," she growled, while Ragnar and Helge nodded in agreement.
Marcelo took a long breath and held it for even longer before he sighed, but no one else seemed to notice.
Unbothered by the dour history lesson, Ragnar looked about and smiled as he spotted Gunnar walking by with the column of warriors. "Hey Gunnar!" he shouted over the tramp of marching feet, waving a hand in the air for his comrades attention. "Want to hear why this city has such a stupid name? I'll give you a hint, the walls were not made by dwarves or jötunn!"
Gunnar barely gave a glance over in their direction as he passed, giving a sour sneer before shouldering his axe and walking on without a word. Ragnar frowned as he watched him go, the wind dropping from his sails at being so blatantly ignored. "What's his problem?"
"I would never dare claim to know the mind of a northerner," Marcelo said, taking care not to use the word 'savage' in present company. "Yours is a brooding and bleak lot, as harsh as the cold mountains you hail from."
"We are not all so cold as you say," Helge said with a grin, and she suddenly reached out and gave Marcelo's rear a grab beneath his tabard, making him drop his helmet and jump forward right into Ragnar while she laughed. "Some of us know how to stay good and warm together on a frigid night, of that I promise."
Marcelo blushed as he stared back at the smaller woman, both from the horribly inappropriate touch he had received but also the feeling of Ragnar's arm wrapped around his middle from catching him. He gave the grinning Berserker a sideways glance, and tried not to think about how strong that hand felt as it kept him balanced and close. "I- I will just have to take your word for it then, my lady," he sputtered quickly.
Helge's dark brows rose up high on her head. "My lady? If anyone else had called me anything so fucking ridiculous I would split them open from groin to chin," she began, drawing out her curved knife and thrusting it down between Marcelo's legs, making him tense up and press himself tighter Ragnar's embrace. Then just as quickly as she had come at him her motion slowed, and she instead lightly traced the glinting edge of the blade up from the inside of his thigh to his navel, as gentle as running a finger over the body of a lover. "But coming from you, I don't really mind. In fact..." she leaned in close, keeping the point of her knife pressed against him as she gazed up at him with her lips parted ever so slightly, "...I think would like to hear more."
"More?" Marcelo squeaked, feeling a shiver run from the tip of her blade and through his whole body.
Ragna came up behind Helge and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, her gaze somewhat less threatening than usual, but strangely held a hungry glint in her eye beneath that horned face plate she wore. "As if he would ever be so lucky," she purred, a long stretch from the harsh biting tone she usually spoke to him with.
The hand around his middle suddenly tightened, making Marcelo jump. "I don't know," said Ragnar softly, his breath hot against the back of Marcelo's neck as he turned to look at him. "I think he could be."
Marcelo felt his face grow hot, and it was not because of the bright and sunny day. He stared at Ragnar for a moment longer, then back to the two devilish women who had him pinned in. "I..." he began, then felt such a prickling over his skin that he could not bear to stand still a moment longer. Wiggling his way free of Ragnar's comforting embrace and Helge's threatening but somehow teasing knife, and stumbled free with a desperate breath. "Y-you heathens know nothing of proper manners and decorum..." he stammered as he kicked up dust, wiping away at his tabard where he had been held even as it continued to get dirty. "Why I spend any time with the three of you at all is beyond me, lest my soul be damned to the fiery pit."
"Stay longer, and we will give you some reasons to play with fire," Helge smiled, running her tongue along her teeth as she twisted the point of her knife into her finger. Behind her Ragnar and Ragna each looked him over with their own mischievous grins, and Helge easily leaned back against them on instinct.
Marcelo looked between the three of them, feeling his mouth go dry. He licked his lips, then instantly regretted it as their eyes all seemed to light up at once. "Stop it," he said quickly, bending down just to snatch up his helmet before taking another step back. "Cease this heathen witchery you seek to cast and leave me be."
"Witchery?" Helge said, her smile turning into a childish pout. "You make it sound so wicked. But I'm sure deep down good little Knights like you love a little wickedness every now and then. Enjoy a little savagery. Just a small taste of what you know you shouldn't want..." Her smile returned, and she lifted her knife to her lips and sensually ran her tongue along the blunt edge while she held her eyes on him.
Marcelo swallowed hard, his eyes going wide. "I..." he began, but he wasn't even sure what he was trying to say as the sound of his voice died in his throat. In one quick motion he gripped his helmet and slid it onto his head, if only to hide his blushing face from his three relentless tormentors. "I must go and pray," he said, feeling all the more fool for saying it, especially with how Ragnar snickered and Ragna rolled her eyes. Helge still stared at him though with that same intense look, a look of longing and desire, and he stared back totally entranced by her wicked spell. "Y-yes...I must go and pray. We are at war, remember? Best not take any chances." He shifted in the direction that the column was marching to the Viking encampment, then realized that his legion was following behind in the other direction, and so he turned back to face down three hungry wolf grins once again. "I think we could all do for a good prayer."
"No," Ragna said instantly, shaking her head even as she smiled.
"Right. Of course not." Marcelo spun around on his heel and marched back down the line to the safety of his own Knights as fast as he could.
Helge let her blade drop as she rested against her lovers and sighed. "I like him," she said looking up at them after a moment.
"I do too," Ragnar smiled back with a wink.
Ragna shrugged. "Eh, he's alright." Then she reached down and snatched Helge's knife from her hand, waving it at her in a scolding manner. "Stop licking sharp things. It's weird, and the last time you did it your tongue was useless for a week."