From the early morning and lasting long into the night, high priest Osric Ead appeared upon the highest tower of the Walled City to preach his fanatical sermon to both his followers and the enemy on his doorstep.
"Repent! Repent and turn away from your heathen ways of sin!" he cried out to the Viking horde. "God is your only salvation! Only by God's fire will you be cleansed of your blasphemous filth! Repent! Throw down your weapons and fall to your knees before the holy mountain of our Lord!"
Far below, crammed like cattle in too small a pen, the worshipers of Mount Ignis called out to their leader for their own salvation. They called out to be delivered from starvation and disease as the host of northern warriors closed in to trap them. They called out for guidance when their priests gave no insight as to when help might come, and received only contempt for their faithless fears instead. They called out for mercy as the soldiers of the Divine Pyre beat them into submission all in the name of keeping order and peace.
They called out to the high priest for the promise of God's divine fire that would rid the world of all who would bring them harm, but their cries went unanswered.
Dressed in his fine purple robes, high above the squalor and filth of his neglected followers, Osric Ead only called out to the heathens who dared to challenge his rule.
"The everlasting fire of the Lord our God will burn you away like dry wilderness cleared for the fertile field! It will scar you like lepers to be cast out by the faithful! It will ignite the souls of the devout to crush you into the dirt like the snakes beneath their heels! You will face obliteration! Damnation! You would forsake God's grace for the shadowed halls of Hell!"
For two nights and a day his sermons of hate continued with each word falling on deaf ears while the Vikings worked. Hammers clanged and beat with the mending of swords. The grindstone brought forth sparks with the sharpening of axes and spears. Mail and leather was oiled for the coming fight, and any tree within sight of the towering mountain was hacked down for the crafting of ladders. It was the toil of many villages, families and clans from the north, now bound together for a single purpose; to plunder the wealth of a kingdom left broken.
On the morning of the second day Erik Golden-Shield rode out ahead of the camp, flanked by his son, his foreign champion and all of his housecarls, to give an answer to the high priest's unceasing lecture. Holding a great spear of dazzling gold and silver, he waited until it seemed the entire plain had gone quiet except for the high priests ramblings, and he was sure that all eyes were on him.
"I am Erik Golden-Shield! King Tua Peak and ruler of the northern lands from Ishamar to Bilrost! You have refused my offer of surrender, and so now I say to you all... I claim each and every cursed soul within this fortress in the name of Odin, Allfather!" Charging his horse forward, Erik showed no fear as he raced towards the gates of the Walled City, coming well within arrow shot before he threw his spear. The thin weapon soared through the air in a perfect arch, the air whistling around it's sharpened point, before it slammed into the surface of the sturdy wooden gates. The message was clear, and the Viking horde cheered with unrestrained blood lust as Erik rode back to them, a smile of self-righteous triumph on his face.
The fight for the Walled City had finally begun.
"To arms! To arms I call you! With the fire of God in one hand and the blessed sword of the devout in the other, I call you to arms against the unholy heathen and unrepentant sinner! By the power of our Lord I bless you with God's own fire! Fear not the lies of the pagan and the heretic, for you are chosen as God's own to defend his most holy mountain of salvation! To arms! To arms and to victory, for there is only victory in God!"
Under the echoes of Osric's call, Erik and Ivar's forces came across the plain in a mad hurdle to launch the first assault against those high fortress walls. They rushed forward like a rolling wave of red and yellow, painted shields raised to fend off the arrows that began to fall down upon them from the ramparts. Those warriors whose fate had come calling fell pierced by Pyre arrow shafts, while those destined to live on carried forth the ladders needed to scale the walls with a mighty roar that would shake the very rafters of Valhǫll. They came on until they finally reached the base of the walls, shouting curses and war chants as they lifted their ladders and began to climb.
All across the ramparts the soldiers of the Divine Pyre moved to block the Viking attack. Archers unleashed death from above without pause, and where a ladder appeared along the wall they quickly worked to push it off, or tried to kill their barbarian assailants by hurling stones as they climbed. Those Vikings that did make the treacherous climb to the top were met by a swarm of swords and spears brandished by the defenders. The wrath of the Vikings was met by the desperate resolve of the Pyre Knights, belting out a cacophony of hateful cries, screams of pain and clashing of weapons as each side tried to overwhelm the other. Soon the bodies of the slain began to mount in number, while the living fought on to trample and struggle over their dead comrades and foes.
Further out on the plain drums beat out the rhythm of marching feet as bent-back warriors pushed forward a crudely constructed battering ram towards the Walled City's gate. It was hardly anything so impressive as the great rams used by the Knights in their northern crusades, just a simple tree felled tied and suspended on a harness, fitted with a roof of shields then covered by tanned hide for protection from arrow fire. Eight Viking warriors on either side pushed it along on slowly rolling wheels, grunting like beasts of burden upon the long road to war.
As the sun rose higher into the sky, chased forever by Skǫll until the end of days, so to did the fighting continue without either side gaining any advantage against the other. Still the dead fell, and still the living fought on.
Herleif scowled from where he stood further back within the encampment, kept as a mere spectator by Erik's order and forced to watch his countrymen throw themselves against sturdy walls and die all for one man's ambition. It set his blood near to boiling just to stand and watch. It shamed him to know that others fought and died while he did nothing, but in a way he was relieved that he had been spared the burden of ordering his warriors to take part in such a foolish and poorly conducted plan. The vanity of Erik Golden-Shield had truly grown beyond measure if he thought that stone walls would fall to him merely by sending men and women with ladders to crash against them.
"Bastard," he hissed under his breath, squinting out across the plain at the golden-winged crown that marked Erik out among the horde, commanding from the rear and far from the danger of falling arrows while remaining surrounded by his personal guard.
Gunnar shook his head as he stood next to his brother, wearing a matching scowl upon his face and crossing his strong arms over his broad chest. "Does Erik seriously think this will win him the day? Ladders and a trickle of warriors to overwhelm an entire city?"
"Erik thinks that the entire world now submits to his rule, and therefore any troll-shit idea that forms inside that empty golden bowl he calls a skull is the first one he acts on without any thought or care for the consequences," Herleif said. Just saying Erik's name now put a bad taste in his mouth, and he spit at the ground in disgust while the siege raged on before him to no avail. "And this is the fool I must now call king." Gunnar shifted uncomfortably next to him, but he paid his brother no mind. There was no point in starting a fight among themselves while Vikings fought and died in droves across the plain.
On Herleif's other side stood Judith, with her own Knights gathered uselessly nearby, all of them a glaring scar of crimson metal among the blue and silver clad Bilrost warriors surrounding them. Judith held her helmet under one arm as she observed the siege, deep lines forming around her eyes as she frowned in grim judgment. "Attacking them like this will yield nothing but dead bodies and little gain. We have them trapped. Driving them to starvation would be the better course of action."
"Erik is too impatient for that," Herleif said. "He wants that vault, and we are far from our ships. The Legion Council may be distracted by the Samurai incursions to the east, but we cannot stay camped here for long if we hope to return Eitrivatnen and back up river without incident."
Judith glared at him side eyed. "The hostages you left at Eitrivatnen will make sure nothing happens to your ships. Your new king made sure of that."
"After all you have seen here since the Pyre rose to power, can you be so sure?" Herleif said in return.
The corner of Judith's eye twitched. "What does it matter? The fight goes on without us while we are commanded to simply hold back and watch like the peasantry at a joust."
Herleif closed his eyes and took a calming breath before looking to the fortress again. "Thank you for reminding me, Lady Judith. I had nearly forgotten."
Down among the clamor of clashing weapons and struggling warriors, the battering ram was finally nearing the city's gates. Drums beat, and warriors moved quickly to make way for the rolling siege weapon. With a great cheer the ram came to rest against the gates, the protective roof littered with arrows like quills, and the drums changed rhythm as the ram was pulled back on its harness before driven forward again. A great boom sounded with the heavy strike of wood against wood, echoing off the surrounding walls and carrying all the way back to where Herleif and his warriors stood in the camp. The gates of the Walled City shook with the impact, but remained unbroken. Again the ram was drawn back, thundering against the gates with another mighty crash, hammering again and again like the crashes of Thor's thunder in the sky.
The minutes passed, and Herleif merely remained rooted where he stood while great warriors and shield-maidens alike fought and died without him. This humiliation before the gods was nearly unbearable, a coward's fate unjustly forced upon him while the battle raged on right before his eyes. He glared at the shuddering gate with each blow of the ram, willing it to break, willing it to burst into a thousand splintering pieces so that those warriors stuck waiting beneath a storm of arrows could rush in and put an end to this madness once and for all. He willed it with all of his strength, all of his hate and regret, but still the city gates held firm.
"Come on, keep hitting them," Gunnar uttered in a tense whisper, giving voice to the thoughts in Herleif's mind. "Break damn you. Just fucking break."
Higher up on the gatehouse walls, just below the fortified ramparts where the great banners of the Divine Pyre blew regally in the warm wind, a pair of doors were pushed open directly over the ram, and with the sharp clanking of turning gears and wheels something began to emerge. Herleif felt his heart drop into his stomach as he saw a bronze eagle slide out into the sun from the gatehouse, its sharp beak open in a silent scream. It was to far away from where he was standing, but Herleif could simply imagine the telltale hiss emitting from the pipes within the eagle's throat as the Divine Pyre's terrible weapon readied to unleash fiery death upon all those below.
"Oh gods, no," Gunnar said as the collective horde of Bilrost warriors and Lion Flame Knights all watched on in horror of what was surely about to happen.
Panic surged through those warriors close enough to the gatehouse to be within reach of the eagle's fire, but those men and women working the ram beneath the roof of shields knew nothing of the danger that now was perched above them. Others called to them to flee and find cover, but the din of battle was too loud and the booming of the ram against the gates too great for them to hear. They were set to their purpose, determined to break down the gates that stood before them, or enter through the gates of Valhalla trying.
High upon the tallest tower, Osric Ead lifted his arms up to the peak of the volcano and called out for the divine wrath of his merciless God to rain down upon his attackers. "Almighty God! Ruler of the heavens and this mortal realm! Let your divine retribution burn true! Let loose your wrath in blessed fire, and lay waste to thine enemies!"
Fire erupted from the eagle's beak, engulfing the ram in an inferno of orange and yellow flame that spread forth like the rolling tide. Those who were able to scream were caught only at the edge of the blast, while all trapped within were set ablaze in mere moments. Black smoke belched forth from the eagle's deathly scream, while beneath the ram crumbled and collapsed in a heap of burning wood and bodies. Somehow the gates of the Walled City remained unharmed, still firmly closed shut in the face of its barbaric invaders.
Herleif's face went cold, and numbness spread through him from his fingertips to his toes. The light of the flames danced and flickered before his eyes while he watched Erik and Ivar's warriors turn and run as fast as they could from the encroaching flames. Just as it had been upon the lake, the fire seemed to catch where it should not have been possible, spreading across empty dirt and sand as it was spurned on by the Divine Pyre's uncanny sorcery. Those trying to flee were blocked by those still trying to make it to the walls, crashing against each other with shields and weapons, stalling each other and leaving themselves vulnerable to arrows and magic fire alike. The screams of anguish began anew, rising in pitch until they mingled with Osric's mad words to echo through the air.
"Damn them!" Judith cried out in a rage she could not contain, throwing down her helmet to the dirt. "Damn the Pyre, and damn the Wu Lin! Pitiless snakes and dogs! They all belong in the pits of Hell!"
"Look!" Gunnar shouted, directing everyone's attention to the walls as he pointed.
All along the walls ladders were being pushed out into open air as the ramparts became flooded with a surge of Pyre Knights. Black armored soldiers overwhelmed what Vikings had made it to the top, cutting them down in a haze of red that hung in the air. With each area of wall that they cleared something was brought forward to lean over the rampart. It was hard to make out, but from the sun and firelight glinting off of them appeared to be some sort of metal device, long and thin in shape with a number of Pyre Knights working behind them. They were smaller than the eagle at the gatehouse, but the truth of their purpose came with gut wrenching realization as jets of streaming fire shot forth over the encroaching horde, delivering burning death from above to spread across the Viking ranks. Warriors down below raised their shields in a desperate effort of defense, only to be covered in liquid fire they could not put out. Panic and confusion took hold, sending the Vikings into disarray as the defenders picked them off with more arrows and fire from above. For all their numbers, it seemed that the strength of the horde counted for nothing against the solid walls of the trapped fanatics, now even more so as their heinous weapon was unleashed upon them without restraint.
A great cry of despair rose up from the Bilrost warriors as they watched on, helpless to do nothing as their kinsmen suffered beneath falling arrows and burning death. One cry stood out among the rest, a cry of such insufferable hate that it chilled the blood of all who heard it. Standing out in front of the watching crowd, Ragna screamed out her wrath to all the gods, flanked by Ragnar and Helge whose anger was merely a pale shadow in comparison. Ragna's knuckles were bone white as she squeezed her twin axes tight, and her teeth were bared in such a vicious snarl that her entire body shook with terrible rage, for she was truly on the cusp of berserkergang.
Tearing her gaze away from the battle, she thrashed and cut at the air with her axes in anger, causing all around her to quickly spring away to safety. Her behavior was wild and erratic, right up until she caught Herleif's eye and stood focused solely on him. "Herleif!" she shouted, her voice like the howl of the Fenrir Wolf himself. She came at him eyes wide, teeth bared, and Ragnar and Helge barely came up behind her in time to stop her short as she pressed one axe blade against his neck. "What the fuck are you doing!?" she shouted, spit flying from her lips.
Gunnar and Judith both stepped forward at Ragna's outburst, but Herleif put out his arms to stop them and showed no fear as the metal edge pressed against his skin. "Still your tongue, Ragna. This pleases me no more than you to watch, but if you wish to rush forth just to add your body to the slaughter then I will not allow it."
"Watch? Fucking watch!?" Ragna's eyes were alight with fire just like the ram still burning before the city gate. The axe blade pressed tighter against his throat as she seethed, barely held back by her brother and lover from going over the edge. "You're doing more than just watching! You're letting it fucking happen! Our brothers and sisters die before our eyes while you order us to simply stand here and watch!? You order us to stand here and do nothing, just like the fucking coward you are!"
Axe blade or no, Herleif threw his head forward faster than Ragna could react, slamming helmet into her face and dropping her flat. He could not let her speak to him that way and do nothing in return, not with all his warriors watching. Honor would not permit it, and his dwindling power as a ruler would not allow it. He had not brought his warriors to this accursed battle to claim honor and glory just to have them challenge his authority now.
Ragna's eyes fluttered as she snorted blood from her crushed nose, but in moments her vision was clear again and she scrambled to her feet cursing and snarling like a mad woman. Ragnar and Helge barely kept a hold on her as she raged, grappling with her arms to keep those deadly axes away from Herleif's face.
"Easy! Easy sister!" Ragnar urged, digging his heels into the dirt and still struggling to hold Ragna back.
"Fuck you!" Ragna screamed, giving no sign that she was in any pain while she fought to get free. "Fight me then, you bastard! You are nothing! The gods spit on you and so do I!"
Herleif narrowed his eyes at her, having no wish for this to go any further. Being called a coward could only be met with a show of strength, which he had given, but he had no wish to start killing his own warriors even as Ragna carried on. "I am your Jarl, regardless of who I may bend the knee to myself. I am still the ruler of Bilrost, and my word is still the last one you will heed if you wish to walk away from this with your life, Ragna."
Ragna barked out a laugh of pure contempt. "You are just a coward Jarl! You rule nothing now but piss and shit!" Finally she shook off Ragnar and Helge, but rather than striking at Herleif with her axes, she pointed past him with one outstretched arm. "If you are any kind of true ruler, then why the fuck is she still alive?"
All eyes turned in the direction that she was pointing, over to the group of Lion Flame Knights, armor rattling now that the attention of an entire Viking army was on them now. There within the ranks of metal, Priscilla stood lurking behind Coal like a small creature trying to hide among the tall grass from a hawk.
"These Knights are under my protection now," Herleif said, knowing full well that any reason for allowing Priscilla to live would mean nothing to his people, all except one that is. In truth he asked himself why he had allowed the Peacekeeper to escape judgment every day since her so called trial, but knew the answer well enough already. He shared a quick anxious look with Gunnar before turning back to Ragna. "Nothing is to happen to them without my express word, and for now I will say no more on the matter. Do I make myself clear?"
"That is not the true reason and you know it! We deserve an answer!"
Herleif took a step forward, and gently rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. "The next time you make demands of me, I promise I will answer you with steel."
Ragna's lip curled in a dismissive smile, letting her axes drop to her sides as she took a step back. "Worthless troll shit," she said, shoving any touch from Ragnar and Helge as they tried to usher her away. "The gods have forsaken us and it is all your fault, coward Jarl." With one last glance of pure disdain she lowered her head to spit at Herleif's feet, then gave her back to him before shouting at the surrounding crowd to clear out of her way.
Her anger was almost enough to make Herleif forget about the battle going on right in front of him as he watched her go, but the continued war cries of his people mingling with the constant jets of fire shooting from the walls soon took his attention again. And always there was the constant sound of the high priest preaching above all of this violence and death, unperturbed by the black smoke rising up around him. The air was filled with the cent of charred flesh and burning wood, and it made Herleif's stomach turn as he watched the great eagle above the gate let loose another gout of flame to scare off any warriors who dared try to get close. Horns sounded clear over the battle din, sounding out a pattern that saw the attacking force turn about and quickly make their way back across the plain back towards the camp.
"Finally, they are retreating," Herleif said quietly, looking out over the scene of abandoned ladders and mutilated bodies left before the city walls. A great cheer rose up from the ramparts as black armored Pyre Knights raised their weapons in victory and shouted out their insults after the fleeing horde. "Erik will not be pleased, but there is no more that can be done this day."
Judith glanced up at the high tower where Osric Ead's sermon had transformed into a speech of jeers and curses that he would have everyone believe came straight from the Lord. "It is for the best," she said. "It was madness to attack the city head on. We should have known that the Pyre would have had more of those fire weapons at the ready. There was no way of knowing about the smaller weapons though."
"They knew what they were doing," Herleif said begrudgingly. "We chased them all the way back to the place where they are the strongest, to where we will have to work the most to hurt them. As long as they have those weapons there is no way we can take the walls or get close to the gate, but Erik is exactly the kind of vain fool who will try anyway."
"And get all of us killed in the process while he sits in his tent and drinks, no doubt," Gunnar grumbled bitterly.
That remark sent a spark off in Herleif's mind, and suddenly the notion of following Erik's orders seemed to him the same as embracing his own death without question. Today he had been commanded to sit and wait, an insult and punishment in one for daring to make the Golden Jarl look like a fool. Tomorrow though an altogether different command may be bestowed upon him. A command not meant as insult or punishment, but merely a means to an end for someone who saw every man as expendable.
Anger and fear swelled within his chest in equal measure, and he rounded on Judith so quickly that she nearly drew her sword in surprise as he gripped her pauldrons. "Judith! If you are to be of any help to me then let it be now," he said with eyes wide and gritted teeth. "I know Erik will try again! He will throw everything he has at that city until it falls. I tell you now, the next time he makes an attack on that gate it will be my people pushing it, and if my warriors are forced to make that sacrifice then I swear your Knights will be right there beside them!"
Judith blinked as realization set in, and her confusion quickly turned to resolute determination as she frowned. "What are you proposing we do then? Disobey Erik's orders if he commands an attack? He would have us both put to death."
Herleif thumped his fist against one of her armored shoulders, making the metal rattle. "This is one of your cities. This is your homeland. Like it or not, these bastards we are fighting are your people! Erik has done the only thing he knows how to do, send men to die until he gets what he wants. Now I want you to tell me, how do we succeed where he has failed?"
Judith closed her eyes and sighed as she thought. As a veteran commander, she knew full well that her life and the lives of her Knights depended on what she said. She turned and looked out over the plain where the ravages of the fire lay beneath black smoke that plumed into the air. Her face softened for a moment, then she looked back to Herleif with a knowing grin. "Marcelo!" she called, knocking Herleif's hands away as the young Warden stepped forward. "The crate of Wu Lin bombs that we took from the Great Forge, did you hide it as I instructed?" she asked him.
Marcelo gave a curt bow of his head. "Yes my Lady. They are secure."
"Good," Judith said, her grin spreading out into a full smile. "I think I have an idea for how we can use them."
Two more days passed.
Two more days of Osric Ead's incessant preaching. Two more days of ladders and fire, where the only fruits harvested of a days' labor were more dead bodies on either side. The sky was made dark with smoke as the weapons of the Divine Pyre spit fire down upon the heads of desperate Vikings.
So far Herleif and his warriors had been spared the burden of attacking the walls. Erik had yet to summon his presence since last commanding that he sit and do nothing, seemingly so enraged by the fact he had not taken the city on the first day that he had forgotten all about his existence. Herleif was not about to remind him now. At any other time he would have taken further exclusion from the siege as an unforgivable insult to his honor, but for now it served his purpose just fine to be overlooked and ignored.
Then on the evening on the third day, after yet another failed attempt to take the walls, Herleif and Gunnar were summoned to Erik's tent to attend his war council. It was going about as well as he expected.
"That city should be mine already!" Erik roared, throwing over a table laid out with wine and freshly-made delicacies to crash over the floor. The thralls who had laid out the finely made meal all scattered before their master's wrath, but not before Erik caught a cowering young man by his collar and hauled him across the tent to throw down at Old Wolf's feet. "Have my Shaman sacrifice this one to Odin. Take more if you must, but I want my strongest warriors anointed with fresh blood come morning!"
"As you wish, my king," Old Wolf said, addressing Erik by his new official title before grabbing up the now whimpering thrall and shoving him out of the tent.
"You'll get no favors from the gods sending them weak thrall's blood. The gods will want something of worth," said Ivar who was nursing a goblet of wine as he lounged in his own high seat, still covered in dirt and grime from the days fighting. Unlike Erik, Ivar led his warriors into the thickest of the fighting without a second thought, and somehow had come away from each assault with barely a scratch on him. Even now he seemed perfectly comfortable still smelling of death and smoke rather than get himself cleaned up. "Sacrifice Magnus. Giving a son will catch the Allfather's attention."
"I thought you said they wanted something of worth?" Erik snapped without thought, walking right past his son to his own high seat and dropping himself down onto the ornate throne with a heavy sigh.
Magnus tried to laugh off the comment as if it were a joke, even if his father remained grimly silent. "The new ram is almost finished, father. Stronger this time too. We will drench the hide and shields with water before it is sent against the gate tomorrow, and this time it will not fail. I am sure of it!"
"And who are going to be the poor bastards sent to carry out this fools mission, hmm?" Ivar asked, looking from Magnus to Erik. "It won't be my fucking men, I promise you that. I am not so stupid as to buy into your son's shit brained optimism, Erik. And do not think you can go waving your finger around ordering me to do so either. I may be here fighting your fucking battles for you, but I do not call you king yet."
Erik leaned over on his throne towards Ivar, pointing a finger with the ghost of a smile on his lips and a greedy glint in his blue eyes. "There may come a day, Ivar. There might yet come a day." He sat back again and rested his head against carved backing of his seat, looking down his nose at all in attendance until he found who he was looking for. "But no. There is already one here who already calls me his king. Is that not true, my loyal friend?"
Herleif looked up at Erik from where he sat down among the rest of his warriors, no longer given the honor of his own high seat, a privilege that even a dog like Ivar was allowed. Soon everyone else was looking at him too, and he willed himself to show no emotion as he stood up to address his new king. "Aye, my king. The warriors of clan Tundra Tusk are yours to command." He heard Gunnar give a disgruntled sigh behind him, but kept his gaze locked firmly forward as he watched for Erik's reaction.
"I am pleased to hear it," Erik smiled. Allowing himself to relax upon his throne his hands slid forward to grip the carved eagle heads at the end of each arm, taking this moment to revel in his own grand self-importance after days of being kept from a treasure that was destined to be his. "And for your loyalty, I will give your warriors the honor of driving the ram against the city's gate tomorrow. You will break down the doors that stand between me and what I am owed, and you will not fail. You will see to it personally, leading your warriors from the front like a true Jarl. Do I make myself clear?"
Herleif's jaw clenched tight, but answered with a respectful bow of his head. "Perfectly clear, my king. I will see it done, and tomorrow you will walk through the broken gates of the Walled City in triumph. This I swear to you before all the gods."
Laughter rose up all around him, including from Erik himself, seemingly amused by the notion that Herleif believed himself capable of success against such terrible odds, enough to make an oath with the gods no less. Herleif appeared to remain ignorant of the joke, eyes downcast as he waited for Erik to continue. After a moment though he looked up again and noticed that there was at least one person who did not laugh along with all the rest.
Ivar stared at him silently, dark eyes narrowed and full of suspicion. Herleif ignored him, not caring if Ivar suspected treachery or cowardice, but he would give the man nothing to go on if he could help it.
Erik slapped his open hand on the arm of his throne in approval. "Very good! I bid you to go and prepare your warriors then. I look forward to your success my friend, and if you can deliver on what you have said then tomorrow will truly be a great day indeed. Let us all give thanks to Jarl Herleif, a bold and dependable man as there ever was!" The rest of the warriors beat the tables and raised their horns in mock recognition of Herleif's efforts, but still they smiled and whispered among themselves knowing full well that their king owed him no respect. Erik was sending him and his warriors to their doom, and gladly so if it meant a chance at breaking down the gates of the Walled City.
Herleif gave a small bow as Erik laughed on, then glanced at his brother before they both headed out of the tent. As he turned he caught Ivar's eye once again, still as suspicious and untrusting as ever. There was no telling what he was thinking, but in truth Herleif did not want to know. He had other concerns now, chief among them was making sure he and the rest of his warriors survived tomorrow's assault and make good on his promise.
An oath made before the gods was not something to be taken lightly, unless of course it was an oath made with a worthless dog like Ivar.
Stepping out into the night, the preaching of Osric Ead began to echo down from the dark once again, tormenting the entire camp and drawing forth another angry outburst from Erik just before Herleif and Gunnar got out of earshot. "By Hel's frozen tits, I will give my own weight in gold to any man who bring me that shit eating priest's head on a fucking pike!"
Together Herleif and Gunnar walked in silence through the camp, passing among the tents that belonged to Erik's warriors, then Ivar's and then finally Herleif's own. Even then, surrounded by familiar faces they kept on walking, further and further until they reached the very edge of the camp on the eastern side of the city. There out further from the rest, far enough to perhaps be considered suspicious by a vile dog of a black bearded Jarl, stood Herleif's own large tent surrounded by five of his housecarls. They stood at attention when they saw him and Gunnar approach, with one lifting up the tent flap for them to pass inside. It was no joy to lose one's own place to sleep for the night, but in this case Herleif found the sacrifice acceptable. Inside the tent were none of his own personal things; the stand for his armor, his cot or trunk with tools to clean his weapons. Instead there was only dirt, mounds of dirt, and the tools needed to dig up all that dirt to create the gaping hole that now opened up at their feet. From down within that empty darkness came the unending sound of bestial grunts and ferocious digging, and so it was only with a moment's hesitation that Herleif and Gunnar looked at each other before dipping their heads and descending down into the tunnel beneath the earth.
Herleif had to feel his way through the dark as he led, pressing one hand to the roughly dug wall. The tunnel was wide enough for he and Gunnar to walk side by side if they wanted, but low enough that his head scraped against the ceiling even as he walked stooped over like an old man. Every so often a shower of dirt would fall over him, and he willed himself not to think about all that rock and earth hanging over his head as they went. It was a long way, with nothing but the sound of their own breathing and the clamor of digging off in the stark blackness before them.
Soon though an orange light began to show in the distance, and he saw shapes moving about in the gloom. They moved past him now, figures caked in a thick layer of dirt, faces covered by torn cloth around their noses and mouths for protection from the dust. They carried shovels full of dirt, depositing them in little alcoves dug into the tunnel that Herleif could now see in the dim light. There could only be one torch at a time down here due to the smoke, but as long as the tunnel remained straight they would hit the base of the wall soon enough, and that was all that mattered.
One figure set down their shovel and came towards him, and if they had not lowered the cloth covering their face Herleif may not have recognized Judith for her compete lack of armor and the simple shirt and trousers she was wearing. "We are almost done," she said after giving a quick cough. Her silver blonde hair had been turned completely brown, much like her clothing which at one point had been white beneath her armor. "Should be sometime tomorrow I think."
Herleif gazed past her into the glow of the torchlight, seeing the reason for why the tunnel had been dug so far in such a short amount of time. Cutting at the dirt with pick axes and shovels just as ferociously as they would cut at their hated enemies with axes, his loyal Berserkers dug away with wild abandon fit for any battlefield. They were all stripped naked in the dust and heat, muscular bodies glistening with sweat, but they gave no care. Berserkergang had taken a hold of their spirits, the hard work sparking their fury to work without pause. They snarled and snapped their teeth at each other whenever they got too close, or growled like angry beasts at any poor Knight who's job it was to clear away the loose dirt as they left it.
There among the wild warriors, Ragna and Ragnar led the way, carving away at the tunnel with no signs of slowing until they reached their goal. Then suddenly, as if alerted to their presence, Ragna stiffened and turned. Herleif could just make out the gleam of the torchlight shining in her eyes, but he knew that it was him she was looking at. After their last encounter he half expected her to come charging again ready for a fight, but instead she simply gave a small nod of her head then got back to work, attacking the end of the tunnel with all of her mad strength. It seemed that she had her purpose now, strange as it was, and would no longer be left standing idly by while Vikings fought and died without her.
Herleif coughed in the choking dust. "Do you have everything you need?" he asked Judith over the commotion of the Berserkers digging away.
Judith glanced down towards something at their feet, taking hold of a heavy blanket and lifting it up to reveal the crate of Wu Lin bombs barely visible in the gloom. "This must be the dumbest idea I have ever had, and I looked for help in fucking Valkenheim of all places. But we are ready."
"It needs to get done tonight."
"Tonight?" Judith asked in surprise, glancing back over her shoulder at the crazed Berserkers. "Do you think they can do it?"
Herleif nodded and gave her a reassuring smile, trusting in the fury of his Berserkers. "They will get it done tonight. Tomorrow, we walk into Hel. Keep them working Commander!" He clapped Judith once on the shoulder then turned to move past Gunnar and head back up the tunnel. There was still more to prepare for, and he had to make sure the rest of his warriors were ready for the fight of their lives come morning.
Making their way into the dark again, Herleif stopped short when he spotted none other than Priscilla and Coal sitting in one of the dirt filled alcoves along the tunnel wall. "What are you two doing?" he barked over the noise.
The two Knights looked haggard and beat, caked in dirt from head to toe, but most of all they looked absolutely dismayed to see him of all people coming out of the darkness like an unwanted demon come to torment their souls. Coal ran a hand through his mop of dark hair, sending a shower of dirt down over his shoulders. "We're on a break," he said.
"A break? Ha!" Herleif didn't care if the dust choked him as he laughed. "Get these two back to work, Gunnar! Let the Berserkers put some enthusiasm back into their weary bones!" Gunnar gave an apologetic frown, but reached out and took Priscilla's hand and then Coal's arm to help them up to their feet before ushering them back down the tunnel towards the torchlight. Priscilla grumbled something under her breath that Herleif didn't hear, and for once he could not be bothered to care. "A break you say? This is war, my friends!" he called out after them as they melted into the haze of dust. "You can have a break when you are dead!