Arthur I
Their failure to reach Fort Sigrun weighed heavily on Arthur's shoulders, and hours of riding and marching had done little to abate that feeling. Arthur heaved a heavy sigh as he once again refused to look behind him at the well worn road of the Via Ferros, the most well used road through both Valkenheim and Ashfeld, and the road they had used in their attempt to reach Fort Sigrun in time. In the distance, he could see banners flapping in the snowy winds of late winter, and the fort they flew above, a massive stone stronghold, a walled structure built to withstand the test of time. Though the winds blew, the image on the banners could easily be seen upon the walls: a raging crimson stallion charging across a black field. Even in the dim light of the moon and their torches, the banner was visible to all who would approach the fort. Leif had told him of the viking tribe that called this fortress home: the Steeds of the Damned.
On the way from Fort Sigrun, Leif had informed him about this particular clan of vikings and their ways. According to the raider, this clan was formed as an offshoot of the Warborn, much like the Union itself, however, instead of allying themselves with knights in order to bring down a stronger enemy, the original Steeds had another purpose from a different origin. Nearly two hundred years ago, a Warborn jarl and some of his clanmates visited both Ashfeld and The Myre, they quickly learned the art of horseback riding, as well as its utility in combat. As such, they quickly learned that in the flatter regions of Valkenheim, cavalry on horseback was absolutely deadly, and it made raids over land possible. Taking these lessons back to Valkenheim with them, the Jarl and his clanmates presented themselves before their fellows and declared that they would be forming their own clan. The matter was settled in viking form: trial by combat, and it ended with the jarl and his followers being granted the right to form their own clan. Claiming Fort Morgenstern as their home, the newly christened clan declared themselves under a new name, one that they believed embodied their deadly raids from the saddle. They would become known as The Steeds of the Damned.
Arthur sat atop his destrier before the bulk of the Union's forces, the wind blowing at their cloaks and making their own singular Union banner flutter madly, the emblem they once flew proudly now all but invisible as the flag fluttered. The warden stabbed the blade of his lance into the icy ground and used his newly freed hands to pull his cloak tighter around his form. Though the steel was cold against him, he was glad his helm hid his face right now, as he couldn't bear to let his men see the look of near hopelessness on his face right now. The only one who seemed able to sense it was Layla, as she sat mounted on her own horse not a few feet away, and he could feel her gaze on him, even if she showed no signs of even glancing at him. The two had known one another for quite some time, and many believed the two were even lovers, but Arthur would always dismiss this claim with a wave of his hand and a recitation of his oath to live by the word of the Lord. Funny how hard it could be for him to feel the Crucifix around his neck and the Holy Bible in his belt pocket right now after he had carried them for so long.
The knight general, or perhaps knight commander, now that Godric had died, heaved a sigh as he counted down the minutes since they had been there. When the Union had first arrived, Leif had offered to act as an emissary for the Union's forces, taking only Hilde and a small company with him as he went to speak with the Steeds' warlord, a man who held the name of Halvdan the Ancient. Arthur knew surprisingly little about this man, though Leif seemed to have a lot of respect for him. This was good, Arthur hoped, as Leif only gave his respect to those with both strength and honour. The knight knew his companion's respect was not easily given, as even after the years they had served together, Leif had yet to truly respect Arthur, often referring to the warden as a "milk drinker" or some other insult. The implication was clear: while Arthur had honour, he lacked real strength.
Though Arthur tried often to prove his might, Leif had high standards for strength, and they often called for more aggression than Arthur was accustomed to showing. The knight preferred to keep a cool head whilst on the battlefield, his calm mind helping him remember and direct his strategies while fighting. It would do no good for him to forget his place whilst his forces were in the thick of battle. Someone needed to remember the next step to the strategy, and if not him, then who? That was not to say he was no warrior. Far from it, in fact, as he and Leif had fought back to back in many a battle against Blackstone forces and viking rebels. He recalled a time when a Blackstone conqueror was about to crush his skull with his flail until Leif flying tackled the man and threw him over a cliff. And he knew Leif would likely never forget when he had charged in and rammed his blade through the spine of a rebel berserker who would have cleaved his head off. The two had actually made quite the pair in battle, with Leif adding his own flair to Arthur's tactics, while Arthur kept Leif in line and ensured his strength was always used in its most efficient manner.
So lost was Arthur in his thoughts that he almost missed the gates to Fort Morgenstern opening and Leif and Hilde emerging. Arthur dismounted and approached the viking as he left the fort. "Well?" He asked, trying not to let his voice waver.
Leif offered him a small smile, one which, beneath the skull pattern on his helm, almost looked off-putting. Arthur had seen it enough, however, to know that what his friend was about to give him was good news. "They're letting us in." Leif said. Arthur released a breath he hardly realized he was holding, the exhaled air flying from his helmeted head in a puff of steam.
Arthur beckoned for their forces to enter the fortress, feeling the relief on Layla's face rather than seeing it from behind her mask. The Union forces quickly entered the fortress, the Steeds sending stewards to take their horses to the stables, and take the soldiers somewhere they could make camp within the walls. Looking within as he and Leif entered the fortress, the gates closing behind them with a mighty heave, Arthur could see a fire being started in the courtyard, likely what would serve to warm their men up after their long forced march.
"The old man wanted to talk to us, by the way." Leif said, getting Arthur's attention once again. At Arthur's confused expression, Leif spoke again. "Halvdan, he wants to meet us in the great hall."
The warden reached up and removed the helm from his head, shaking loose his brown locks and releasing another breath, feeling safer once again. "Then let's not keep him waiting." He said simply, gesturing towards the fortress' entrance.
Leif followed Arthur's example and removed his own helm, releasing his own brown hair and revealing his blue eyes. His locked on Arthur's green orbs for just a moment before he nodded and set off into the fort. Arthur followed close behind, noting the sparse decorations along the walls. Fort Sigrun had been rather ornately decorated, with many tapestries adorning the walls of their hallways whenever possible, however, Fort Morgenstern seemed almost the opposite, with only the occasional statue of one of the vikings' gods seen in each hallway. Though what did surprise Arthur, however, were some of the other statues, and one in particular which displayed the Virgin Mary. The knight frowned. Could that have been a trophy from a past raid?
He hadn't long to consider this, however, as soon they reached the great hall, and his eyes were drawn to the one man who could have been the warlord of the Steeds of the Damned: Halvdan the Ancient. After all, that was the only man who could have been seated at the seat of honour at the head of the table in his gilded seat.
It wasn't hard to see where he had got his name, as Halvdan was clearly a very old man, likely in his seventh decade. However, one could tell he was far from ready to die by the fact that he still wore his armour, a suit of chain and leather that bore the insignia of his clan, and by the Ulfbehrt sword sheathed at his waist. Looking at his face, one could easily mistake him for their kindly grandfather with his long, white hair and braided beard, however, it was his expression that changed his mind. Halvdan had a look on his face somewhere between pensive and stern. It was the look of a man unsure of the path ahead, but who knew he had to move. It was clear from the look in his electric blue eyes that his mind was racing, even as he looked upon his guests.
As Arthur and Leif entered, they also noticed the two men who sat flanking Halvdan. The first sat to his right, a shorter man, though his expression told all in the room that he was not to be trifled with. He had long blond hair braided down the back of his head, though the sides of his head remained shaven. His face resembled that of Halvdan, though untouched by the man's advanced age, and his eyes were exactly alike, though clearly less trusting of their current guests, as he fixed Arthur in particular with a steely glare. Like the warlord, he also wore armour, leather plates emblazoned with the raging crimson stallion of the Steeds of the Damned.
The man to the left was enormous, likely as large as or larger than Leif himself. He had a head of red hair braided down his back in a single braid, his faced framed by a well trimmed red beard. A single streak of blue paint was visible across his face, and though he seemed aware of this, he was not about to fix it. The man wore a leather chestplate and spaulders, with a shirt of mail beneath it, and a cape fastened to his shoulders with a pair of large brass metal clasps. Beneath that, he wore little armour below his waist, instead wearing a lengthy blue kilt, the same colour as the paint across his face. His expression was different from the other man, stern and curious, though not actively hostile. This man was not ready to kill them just yet, though it seemed all he needed was a reason.
Arthur inclined his head slightly as he approached the table, thinking it only proper to bow before the lord of a house.
Halvdan scoffed. "Quite the polite one, aren't you?" He said, his voice still strong, though carrying his years of wisdom with it. "I figured Magnus might have knocked that out of a lad like yourself."
Arthur raised his head in some confusion. "Excuse me, milord?"
"Oh, none of that 'milord' business, lad." Halvdan said, gesturing to the empty chairs next to the men flanking him. "Take a seat. I invited the two of you to my table, didn't I?"
Arthur looked to Leif, who simply gestured forward towards the chairs. With a nod, Arthur stepped forward and claimed his seat next to the giant, red haired man, while Leif took his next to the smaller man.
"Allow me to introduce myself and my companions. I, as you may know, am called Halvdan, though my clan and allies enjoy reminding me of my age through their little name for me."
"Only because it is true, father." The smaller man added.
"Aye, it may be." Halvdan said with a sigh. "But I'll let the gods decide when I'm ready to feel like it." Gesturing to the smaller man, the warlord introduced him. "This is my son, Gunnar. As my blood, I thought it only right that he be here when I meet the two of you and plan our next step."
"Next step?" Arthur questioned.
"Aye lad." The red haired man stated, clapping Arthur roughly on the shoulder. "You're companions are held by your enemies, and we're here to fix that."
"One step at a time, Fergus." Halvdan said, gesturing to the large man. Returning his gaze to the Union's leadership, he continued. "Arthur, Leif, this is Fergus Blackwood, an emissary from the highland clans."
"You're a highlander?" Leif inquired.
"Aye, that I am." Fergus replied. "The Steeds and my own clan, Clan Blackwood, have been close for quite some time, and by the grace of God, hopefully we will remain so for centuries to come."
The highlander's words caught Arthur somewhat by surprise. "I had hardly expected to find another man of the faith this far north."
Fergus looked to Arthur in some surprise. "Then you'd be looking in the wrong place, lad." He said, reaching around his neck and retrieving a Crucifix he held there. "Whole clan worships the Good Lord, even in Valkenheim."
For the first time in quite some time, Arthur remembered the necklace around his own neck and produced the Crucifix that hung there. "It is always kept with me, especially in my darkest hours."
"And dark hours these are." Halvdan said, producing a map of the Via Ferros and placing it on the table. "Magnus dead, Godric gone with him." He said, placing a carved representation of the Blackstone Legion emblem upon the map, marking the location of Fort Sigrun. "From what Leif has told me, Fort Sigrun is no more, correct?"
Arthur nodded. Normally this might conjure memories for him, but he pushed the thoughts of his failure to the back of his mind as he looked upon the map. It hardly paid for the strategist to be wallowing in his own guilt before planning.
"Then the Legion is likely already on the move." Halvdan continued, placing a marker with the Legion's symbol next to the Blackstone and moving both a short distance down the Via Ferros. "Now, you know better than I the condition of the Blackstone force, as well as how many they have and how many of your men are held by them. So, what are we looking at?"
Arthur cast his mind back to the report Layla and Hilde had given him. "Our scouts report they have five thousand men, and two hundred Union prisoners. We're not sure how long before they separate the sheep from the wolves, but if they're still alive, then I can tell you exactly where in the Blackstone camp they'll be."
"You were one of them, after all." Gunnar snarled.
"Peace, Gunnar." Halvdan sighed. "You'll have your chance for vengeance once battle is joined." The heir to the steeds rolled his eyes as his father continued. "As I was saying, at the speed a wounded army with prisoners can move, I would place them only a few miles down the Via Ferros. They're hurting, and they're carrying extra weight." He said, moving both Blackstone and Union emblems a short distance down the Via Ferros on the map. "Your scouts are reliable, yes?"
"Aye, that they are." Arthur replied.
"Then we'll send them to verify the enemy's position properly before battle is joined." Halvdan said, producing another Union emblem as well as one of his own clan, placing both at Fort Morgenstern on the map before moving them down the Via Ferros. "It'll take a day to march out to meet the Blackstones, and we haven't the manpower to kill them all right now. But we can make 'em hurt, and hurt enough that you can rescue your forces."
"Only enough to make them hurt?" Leif demanded, incredulous. "What the hel do you mean? The Steeds have plenty of men for war-"
"And war is where they've gone." Halvdan said, cutting off the raider. "Stigandr called his banners. Much of our force marched on Ashfeld a week ago. They're taking the fight to Apollyon."
"Then why are you here?" Leif asked. "I would expect you to be at the head of your forces."
"That would be my doing." Fergus replied. "The Highland tribes have not joined your war, as Stigandr lacks the power of the Oberjarl, and cannot call our men to battle. Until then, Halvdan and I have negotiations to finish."
Gunnar snarled at Fergus' words, an expression of anger. "By 'negotiations' he means he's here for my cousin Freja."
"Gunnar, enough." Halvdan declared. The older man sighed heavily. "My niece Freja will be leaving Fort Morgenstern with Fergus, as they are to be wed by the Blackwood clan."
"She should be married under the eyes of Odin-"
"And that you will be when you take Ainslie as your wife-" Fergus cut him off.
"Enough, both of you!" Halvdan declared. "Gunnar, I invited you here to learn the ways of war before you must lead your own army, so pay attention. And as for you, Fergus, you are a guest in my house, and I will not have you and my son make a scene before our guests. Am I understood?"
Gunnar grunted in affirmation while Fergus looked down in shame.
"Good." The warlord continued. "Now back to strategy."
Arthur nodded and followed along as Halvdan explained his plans, occasionally chiming in with ideas of his own. In the end, a plan was settled upon, though Arthur could only hope it would be successful. The plan would be simple: the remaining riders of the Union would join with the warriors of the Steeds and would surround the Blackstone camp in the dead of night. Once the Blackstones had been driven to chaos, Leif and Arthur would lead vans of troops into the camp, making for Aryen's command tent. With this extra distraction, it would go near unnoticed that Layla and Hilde were breaking the Union prisoners out of their chains. Once the prisoners were free, Layla would send up a flare alerting the remaining Union and Steed soldiers that it was time to retreat. Arthur wished they could do more, but with the resources and time they had, it was unlikely they would be able to.
Arthur let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "So this is final?"
Halvdan nodded and returned the Union and Steeds emblems to their place at Fort Morgenstern on the map. "Aye. That'd be all we can do tonight."
"If it help at all, I'll be with you in this battle." Fergus piped up. "Any ally of the Steeds of the Damned is an ally of mine. I'll even wear the colours of the Steeds of the Damned so that they don't know me from the crowd."
"You have our thanks, Fergus." Leif said, nodding to the highlander.
"Think little of it, Leif. You would do the same for us, were the positions reversed." Fergus replied.
"I know Magnus would." Halvdan said with a nod. "I've known the lad since he and Bjorn could hold their swords."
He paused for a moment and Arthur thought about the other name Halvdan had mentioned. Bjorn, brother to Magnus. Godric had been introduced by Magnus to his brother, but few other knights of the Union had ever met the man. By Godric's own description, however, that was likely a good thing. The man supposedly hated anyone from Ashfeld, and threatened Godric with death should he have stepped out of line. No one really knew what had become of him. There was no grave for him at Fort Sigrun, and while he may have been among the prisoners, a man like him seemed like he would be more trouble than he was worth to take captive. Wherever he was, Arthur actually muttered a small prayer under his breath that Bjorn not be at the Blackstone camp when they arrived.
Arthur was jarred out of his thoughts as a mug of mead was placed before him. He looked up to see that all the others were being given similar mugs by a servant boy. Arthur watched as Halvdan took his mug by its handle and raised it, the warden and the others at the table mimicking his actions and raising their own glasses.
"Lads, we've seen better days. Two of the finest warriors I've ever seen, as well as over a thousand brave souls lie dead, and those responsible have yet to be brought to justice." Halvdan said. "Tonight, my friends, tonight we drink our mead in the names of those who fell, for those now drinking in Valhalla's halls. I raise my glass to Godric Ambrose and Magnus the Bear Eater."
Arthur raised his glass as well, adding his own words to the toast. "May those who fought for justice be welcomed into the light of the Lord, and let us say amen." Before Arthur drained his glass, he smiled somewhat at Fergus saying 'amen' with him, the warm honey wine leaving a bitter sweetness in his mouth as he drank deeply from the glass. He let out a breath as he lowered his empty glass.
Halvdan gestured to both Arthur and Leif. "The two of you should get some rest." He said. "We march to battle tomorrow, and the last we need is for the two of you to tire before its end."
Arthur and Leif both rose to their feet and gave a small bow for Halvdan and his host. "Thank you, Lord Halvdan."
The warlord returned the bow and all rose as one. "I'll have some of my servants show you to your quarters. Be ready, for we march in the morning."
"Sir Arthur," Fergus said, catching the knight's attention. "Would you care to join me for a prayer session tonight? It would be nice to pray with another Christian for once."
"I'll have to decline, Sir Fergus." Arthur said. "I would like to say my prayers myself tonight. Though I thank you for your offer." Fergus bowed his head and exited the hall as Arthur followed the servant Halvdan summoned to guide him to his quarters. Passing the Virgin Mary statue on the way out of the hall, the knight began to understand why it was there. It seemed as though the faith of the Good Lord had made its way to Valkenheim, and had begun to spread.
Upon arriving at his room, Arthur shed his armour and placed it upon the armour stand provided by their host, leaving him in only a tunic and his breeches. Rifling through his belt, the warden was quick to find his Holy Bible, its page marked. Reaching down the front of his shirt, Arthur pulled his Crucifix to his face and planted a kiss upon the holy symbol. Kneeling by his bedside, he began his recitation. Though he read from the bible as much as he could, while on campaign with the army it was often difficult to find the time to read. As such, he took each and every chance he could to read from his bible, his marked page being that of the twenty third psalm. "The Lord is my shepherd," He read aloud. "I shall not want…"