"Seek not the false prophets who speak in a vile and foreign tongue! For they shall only lead you astray from the path of glory! They shall deliver you into a world of wickedness! A world of lies and deceit! It is only through absolute devotion to the flame of purity and righteousness that you will find true salvation!"
The voice of the high priest, Osric Ead, carried through the air as he shouted out his mad rhetoric. Perched like a bird of prey upon the highest deck of the highest tower, his mighty voice carried over the entire breadth of the Walled City and the plain beyond. A mere speck of white and purple lingering above in the heavens, not even the roar of the Viking horde spread out before the city was enough to drown out the preaching that had ensnared half a nation.
"For I say unto you all, that is the divine power that resides within this holy mountain! The power of truth! The power of righteous fury! The power of our lord God's wrath brought about in cleansing fire!"
His words carried on until they faded away into a distant echo, only to be replaced by the next verse, and the next and the next. A message of madness and grandiose self importance delivered to his city of unquestioning followers, and the camp of bestial heathens who had come to challenge his rule.
"That is going to get annoying real fast," Coal muttered as he peered out of the tent into the camp beyond.
Priscilla scoffed as she unfurled the bed roll and blanket that had been given to her, noting the abundance of holes and rips in the thin material. "It was annoying when he began hours ago," she muttered. In the end the bedroll was hardly even worth the illusion of a suitable mattress in the end, rolling it back up to use as a pillow instead, little comfort that it was. Pulling off her gloves, she rubbed at her tender wrists, skin still showing the angry pink marks where the shackles she had worn chaffed and rubbed.
She rose from where she had been kneeling, unclasping her sheathed sword and unbuckling her belt that still held both dagger and knife, and set them down carefully in the corner of the tent. Standing free of their weight felt like a small chance to step away from this war, from all the blood and deceit, if only for a moment.
After barely walking out of Erik Golden-Shield's tent with her life, she would take what she could get.
Sliding a hand through her hair, she turned and looked at Coal still staring out from between tent's flaps, ever on guard now for the next Viking to take issue with them, then glanced at the second figure taking up the majority of the room in the cramped space. Gunnar sat sullenly on the ground, shoulders hunched and frowning deep in thought. Just as they had traveled far from that small dark cave within the Hallowed Bastion, he seemed so removed now from the brash and cocky Raider she had first met, burdened now with the guilt that so often came with the overwhelming weight of secrecy.
Priscilla had felt that same weight many times over the years, for her life was consumed by secrecy and schemes, just as the lives of these cultists here were consumed by the lies of their leaders. Perhaps in the end it was only a very thin line that separated the two, but she had always trusted in the idea that the secrets she kept were for the benefit of others. Seeing Gunnar now though, she couldn't be too sure.
"Not considering to convert, are you?" she asked him as Osric's preaching echoed outside without any sign of stopping.
Gunnar snapped to attention at her words, his distant gaze becoming sharp and alert as he looked up at her. The frown that held his lips slipped away for a brief moment, only to return as a hard scowl settled over his bearded face. "Don't tease me, woman," he growled, looking back towards the ground. "If only you had kept your mouth shut earlier, then perhaps things would not be in such of a fucking mess as they are now."
She felt the corner of her eye twitch.
If anyone else had spoken to her like that she would have easily shut them down or shrugged it off without thought. In Coal's case she might have followed up with a quip of her own, but this was different. With Gunnar it was different, and that was a problem. His words cut at her with far more ease then they should.
"Excuse me if I do not keep silent in my own tent while you brood," she said as she scowled at him. "Perhaps the women of Valkenheim speak only when spoken to, but you are a wrong if you think you will find such weak-willed maidens here."
"No. I would not hope to find a moment's peace again in this cursed land. This is a place of lies and snakes, and now I must suffer here like Loki imprisoned beneath the viper's fangs." Gunnar gave a disgruntled huff and a shrug of his shoulders before glancing up at her from beneath his heavy brow. "And you know nothing of Valkenheim women."
"I know that you acted like a fool to try and save me!"
The words came out before she could stop them, a flood of unbridled emotion whirling within her followed by immediate regret. This kind of reaction was not becoming of a Peacekeeper. Growing up in the Sisterhood, she had been taught to act rationally, without feeling or remorse if need be.
This sort of compassion, this openness, had gone too far. She needed to detach, to remember her mission and focus on what lay ahead. Nothing else mattered beyond saving her legion, least of all him.
"A fool am I?" came Gunnar's retort. Rising up from the ground, he had to bow his head within the tent as he loomed over her. "If that is true then let it be for following you in your mad schemes!" He took a step towards her, and Priscilla found herself stepping back away from him. She had to tilt her head back to look at him, but refused to show any sign of shame as he went on. "What were you thinking? Challenging Erik for his place as fucking Jarl! What gives you the right?"
"My life being on the fucking line gives me the right!" she yelled back.
"I was there too," Coal said without even a glance.
Gunnar spit out a laugh, clearly not impressed. "And why is it you keep finding yourself in these situations? Everywhere we go, every battle, you are there causing more trouble! Now my brother has lost his jarldom to that...that swine!"
"That is not my fault! I did not force him to swear such an oath!" Priscilla said quickly. She had enough problems of her own without having to care for the rule of some Viking chieftain. None of this was her concern, regardless of whatever connection Gunnar thought existed between them. What he wanted wasn't possible, not beyond making sure he stayed in line. There was no more to it than that.
Sometimes though, when she found herself looking into the blue storm of his intense gaze, she could see just how genuine his growing affection was. Genuine enough to almost think that that dream could come true.
Now his eyes were full of hurt now, not anger. Shimmering like pools of melting ice, cracked and broken as all was laid bare. The rage left him, and what remained was a withered husk of someone who had once thought of themselves mighty and strong.
"It is our fault," he said at last, gesturing around to the three of them at once. "Don't you see? We did this. Me. I lied to my brother, and now he has lost all that he cared for. Our family's legacy is now in the hands of a selfish fiend who would sell his own kin for more wealth." He closed his eyes and turned away, putting his face into his hands before running his fingers through loose hair. "What have I done?"
Pity welled in her heart where there should have been none, but it was there. This was not the bloodthirsty barbarian that she had once thought dwelled in the north like a lingering nightmare clinging to the waking mind. Gunnar cared. He cared about his family and his people. He cared about what happened to her and Coal.
"That is not true," she said halfheartedly. "Your brother made his decision. None of us could have stopped him." She couldn't let herself fall to sentimental impulse, not when they were on the cusp of a siege. There was too much at stake to relent now. She had to stay the course, and she would drag Gunnar with her whatever it took, unsure as she was of what that might mean.
"I should have never lied to him," Gunnar said suddenly, ignoring her and looking up towards the light outside the tent. "He needs to know about the vault, about the armor. If Erik gets in and realizes that its missing, he will accuse Herleif of scheming to protect you all."
There was truth to that. It was hard not to see the logic in what could only be Erik's irrational reaction to learning the truth. But that was not what was at the forefront of Priscilla's mind as she watched Gunnar take a step towards Coal and the tent's entrance.
"Wait!" she exclaimed, stepping after him to grab hold of his wrist. He stopped short and turned to look look at her, face full of surprise and uncertainty. Her mind raced to think of an excuse. She needed to keep him here, on her side, to keep the secret they shared just between the three of them. Only one thing came to mind on how to make sure she succeeded. "Just wait. Coal, could you please give us a moment?"
Coal looked to her for a moment, silent as stone beneath his helmet. Then he picked up his shield, having it with him as always, and thumped Gunnar on the arm once before stepping out of the tent.
For a moment nothing was said between them as they stood alone now. Her hand dwelled on his wrist, and he made no move towards or away from her. Finally she stepped closer, sliding her fingers up his forearm to his bicep, feeling the tense muscle beneath scarred and tattooed skin.
"I am sorry," she said, acting on the only thing she knew for sure that would keep him on her side. Her other hand came up to rest against his chest, and now it was her turn to close her eyes and let out a sigh that was just held just the right amount of remorse to get him to relax. "None of this is what I wanted," she said looking up at him, "but please, do not give up on me now."
Gunnar's face fell into a hard frown, but his hand came up to rest over hers as she pressed against him, and she could feel the other moving gently against her waist now to hold her. "But what can we do? So much has gone wrong already. We can't keep..."
"Shh." Her hand slipped from his to reach up and cup his cheek as his words fell away. It was clear from the way he sighed that he wanted to continue, but he held his tongue at her behest. It was too easy. More lies, more guilt, but it had to be done. She kept telling herself that it had to be done, but now more than ever she wondered if she would actually be able to live with herself afterwards. "I need you, Gunnar. Just a little while longer, until the Pyre are defeated. Please, trust me."
He did not say anything in return, but for the look in his eyes she knew what it was that he wished to say without words. She tilted her face upwards, welcoming him to do so. He slowly drew closer. Her eyes gently closed, and when she felt the warmth of his lips and the tickle of his beard against her skin, she wondered if the kiss would have felt all the better if it had been genuine.
She wanted to know, for what it was worth. To linger in that blissful fantasy where this was all real. For now though, she would simply have to suffer with the guilt that came with the overwhelming weight of secrecy.
The kiss deepened, and in truth it was not entirely unwanted, but as his hand squeezed ever more tenderly at her side she knew that this moment could go no farther. Their lips parted for a moment's breath before he kissed her again, and their feet lightly stumbled together as he pushed her a step back towards the bedroll she had bound up as a pillow.
"Gunnar," she said in a whisper, nudging him softly to a halt. "You know nothing of Ashfeld women."
His eyes remained half lidded as he looked down, his grip on her as strong as ever. They each stood frozen, locked together in this compromising embrace. She wondered for a moment just how far the desires of a barbarian would go, until at last he sighed through his nose and leaned down until their foreheads touched.
The tension released between the two of them with soft breath, and he let go of her waist to take each of her hands in his own. His hands were large and rough, the feeling of his skin against hers sending shivers down her spine as their fingers laced together. No words were said again between them, but as he looked at her with a small but happy smile, she knew that she had his trust. She had him.
He took a step away, then another, their hands sliding together as they parted until the last touch of their fingertips. The smile on her face mirrored his own, and it remained there until he slipped out of the tent and was away. Then she could not bear the guilt of wearing it anymore.
She remained alone in her tent, so desperate to help everyone else around her. Too foolish to think that anyone could help her in return. The fate of her legion rested in her hands now, a burden that no one else could help her bear.
At least she could blame these damn volcano cultists. Without them none of this would have happened and she could have lived out her days at the northern garrison in quiet obscurity. There was no blaming anyone else for own inability to learn from her own mistakes though. That seemed to be a flaw which would plague her until the day she died.
That day may come sooner than expected, given the increasingly hostile environment the Viking camp was becoming, to say nothing of the enemy stronghold across the plane. Osric's preaching could still be heard outside, forever droning on and on about the divine retribution that would soon befall these heathens and apostates. It was all so tiring now, and the fatigue of the past days suddenly hit her like a stone fallen from a cliff.
Turning her back on the daylight outside, she quietly removed her pauldrons and unlaced her leather vest, setting it all down next to her belt and weapons before laying down on her makeshift pillow for some rest. The preaching continued, and her eyes were heavy, but sleep eluded her as the minutes passed by. No matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn't get the image of Gunnar's kind smile out of her head.
Rolling onto her side, her eyes fell to her belt nestled in the corner of the tent. The thought of what was kept inside the belt's pouch was no less concerning to her weary mind, and soon it was all she could think about. Reaching out, she unclasped the pouch and reached inside, feeling the charred and brittle paper notes within before pulling them out into the open. Of all the notes providing the secret of Li Qiang's destructive formula these were the most legible after the fire, but even then it was nearly impossible to make out everything. It would take more than a bit of guess work to complete the formula correctly with what was here, and even now what characters of Wu Lin script she knew could be mistaken for one word or another.
Would this pile of burned notes still be worth the price owed for her legion's safety? Would the Lord Warden accept this meager offering in return for full amnesty after joining with their most ancient enemy? It had seemed the only option at the time, and she had thought herself to be the only one who could see what a mistake it was. They would never be allowed back after this betrayal.
So why had she even bothered to try? Was it to make herself feel better about how far she had fallen from the days where she resided in court, or was she simply so desperate to remain true to the masters who had owned her so completely before her fall? The unimaginable fear of doubt crept into her heart like chilling frost, and she all at once questioned every decision she had made up to this point until her mind became consumed with one terrible thought.
Had this all been a mistake?
Forcing her grief down inside, she stuffed the notes back into the pouch, not caring if they crumbled and cracked as she did. Pulling the pouch closed, she rolled once again onto her back, staring up at the inside of the tent and refusing to dwell on things that were no longer under her control. She controlled her breathing, easing her heart rate and calming herself just as she had been taught. Finally the sound of Osric's voice became quiet and distant, fading away into nothing as the promise of sleep began to claim her.
Suddenly the flaps of the tent flew apart as a figure stormed in, large and broad-shouldered. Priscilla shot up from where she lay, her heart racing with surprise. "Gunnar?" For one fleeting moment she thought that perhaps he had returned to...well she wasn't really sure what she thought of that idea, but that moment of hesitation was enough to delay her reaching for one of her blades when she realized the person standing before her was in fact not Gunnar.
Her uncertainty cost her as Herleif stepped in close and pointed the tip of his sword against her neck. "Get up," he growled at her, teeth bared beneath his dark beard.
She froze against the feeling of sharp metal against her skin, and then very slowly got up to her feet, never taking her eyes off of him as she did. "Here in Ashfeld, a man usually knocks before entering a lady's bedchamber." The blade twitched upward beneath her jaw, making her breath hitch as she lifted her chin against its edge.
Herleif's eyes narrowed at her, as if searching her hard gaze for a reason not to slit her throat open from ear to ear. "I take it my brother was here?" he asked in a tone that did not invite any argument.
Priscilla decided it was best to give none. "Yes."
Her answer was met with silence, and in Herleif's eyes she saw a ruler who was not above killing a foe that stood between him and those he cared for. Perhaps she had misjudged just how much his compassion could be taken for weakness. That still did not change the fact that he had done just such a thing for her and Coal at the cost of his own power.
"Your deception cost me a great deal today. A far greater deal than I was prepared to part with," he snarled. "I should kill you now and save us all from suffering whatever misfortune you would bring down on us next."
His hand tightened around the grip of his sword, knuckles going white. Priscilla swallowed, trying to remain still and passive rather than show any kind of satisfaction at her next words. "If you wish me dead now, then surely you wasted both hall and hold back in Erik's tent."
The silence between them could not have been cut by all the blades in Heathmoor as Herleif stared at her with burning, barely contained rage. The sword's edge brought forth a lone trickle of hot blood down her neck, and Priscilla knew that she would be dead if not for the undeniable truth to her words.
"Whatever hold you have on my brother...whatever dark seiðr you have woven over him to protect your own worthless hide...end it."
"Your brother is his own man," she said, eyes narrowed in return.
The sword dropped away, and he move in to glare at her so close that their noses nearly touched. "End it."
The threat of a violent and painful death was not needed. The sharp sting cut into her skin along with the merciless gaze from a man she had once thought kind was enough to get the message across. He had given her another message as well though, one unintended but none the less made clear.
Family was his weakness, a tool she knew how to exploit. For once though, she couldn't help that she was a worse person for it.
Keeping her chin raised, she didn't bother to try and cover up the cut as it dripped crimson down into her shirt. She wanted him to see the blood. "As you wish, Jarl, if that is what you still are. I will simply snap my fingers and wiggle my nose, and he will be free of my sinister ways."
Herleif sneered and stepped away, unconvinced but either unwilling or unable to do anything about it. His love for his brother truly had a hold on him, and as long as that was the case then he would not make a move against her. So long as he never learned the truth. His gaze lingered on her, lip curled like she was a maggot-ridden corpse to be burned as soon as possible. "When this is all done, your comrades will look to me for a chance to find a new life in the north. If you wish to join them, then stay away from Gunnar." With that he turned and left the tent as swiftly as he had entered, leaving only the cut on her neck as proof of his presence.
Priscilla hissed at the stinging pain once he was gone, reaching up to wipe away the blood. "Bastard," she whispered to herself, looking down at the blood smeared across her hand.
Outside the tent Osric Ead continued his mad sermon, promising death, fire and damnation to all in equal measure.