The sky was choked with smoke from the fires already burning throughout the city, the flames of discharged Pyre weapons igniting the closely pressed buildings in a desperate attempt to stop the Viking horde. There was no sense of direction to the Viking invasion, only forward movement toward battle and plunder. Raiding was how these northern pagans earned their wealth, found their glory, and honored their bloody gods with great heroic deeds. There was no holding back the horde now, no stopping the fury in their battle cries as their blades dripped red with the enemy's blood.
For the first time in her life, Priscilla didn't feel a need to put a stop to the Viking menace that now plagued the city. No, not this time, not when this enemy deserved its brutal fate.
Dirt still clung to her hood and armor as she and the rest of her Legion left the tunnel behind, running beneath the burning gatehouse and into the city. Even before they had made it inside the walls, she could hear the screams, the clashing of weapons as warriors fought, and the loud crash of burning structures crumbling to the ground. It was everything she knew a Viking raid to be, only on a nightmarish scale she had never seen before, and here she was, stuck in the middle of it all. The Tundra Tusk and Headhunter clans were already well inside the city, with Erik's own Sea Eagle warriors now following after, desperate to join in on the raiding after remaining behind in the camp during the siege.
It seemed that all of their efforts had paid off, and Herleif's plan had worked. The gatehouse burned with the destruction of the fire weapon, and the mighty gates of the city now lay in a broken heap beneath their feet. Erik had been left scrambling to take part in the very raid he had organized, no doubt chaffing at his own hubris after thinking he had sent Herleif to his doom. She hoped the golden bastard caught an arrow to the neck as he rushed for the gate. It would be no less than what he deserved. It would undoubtedly be a more well-deserved fate than Gunnar had almost faced.
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that Gunnar was still there, a lingering chill of fear lingering in the back of her mind after what had happened in the tunnel. He was still following her, tall and lumbering, a stern scowl fixed beneath his horned helmet and braided beard, great axe held tight in both hands. When he caught her looking, he glanced at her, and she felt rather foolish. He was his own man, a capable warrior in a fight. So long as no more piles of dirt fell on him, he would be fine.
The pain she had felt at almost losing him simply had to be ignored for now. There was no room for that kind of weakness on the battlefield. She could take stock of everything that had happened between them later after her mission was complete.
She was so close now. So close to making sure the Divine Pyre never threatened her homeland again. There was certainly more to it than that, but this battle was a significant step forward after feeling like she was getting nowhere for so long. She had the formulae for their fire weapon; now they almost had the city. The shadow of defeat was now looming over the holy city, the burning flame of the Pyre's mad devotion fading as the darkness closed in around it, and in that growing sense of despair and dread that emanated from the doomed worshipers like the heat of scorching flames, Priscilla finally felt hope.
Hope.
Priscilla was a fool to trust in it. She always had been. It was hope that had landed her in the absolute worst of situations more often than not. Somehow it was the one lesson she somehow never managed to learn.
None of that mattered now, though, not when there was still so much to do. The Pyre still had a firm hold on the city, no doubt controlling the inner keep and tall towers as the Vikings fought their way inward from the gate. The cultists would not give up easily. This city had become their home, their rock, their place of worship beneath the sight of their holy volcano. They had come to fall at the foot of Mount Ignis in worship, calling out to the smoke rising from its high peak for blessings and the defeat of their enemies and would not move from beneath its oppressive shadow until the fires of their doom carried their ashes up into the heavens.
The Vikings gave no care for the Pyre's devout stubbornness, however. The Northmen would take what they wanted by sword and axe, meeting the black armored Knights without fear as they forced their way deeper into the city.
Moving from one street to another, the Lion Flame came upon a burning church in an open square. The firelight blazed against the surrounding buildings, drawing Priscilla's attention like a moth, with the rest of her Legion unable to look away. She told herself that there was no point lamenting the desecration of this holy chapel, that the true tragedy had occurred when the Divine Pyre first took control of the city to preach the worship of their false idol, and that the Vikings were merely putting an end to the sinful corruption in the only way they knew how. A shocking display of barbarity that, for once, was perfectly in line with her own modicum of justice, no matter how dark it might seem.
That wasn't what kept her attention on the burning church, though, as the battle continued throughout the rest of the city without her. No, what kept her attention were the screams still echoing from within the fire. She could see movement through the open entrance where the doors had burned and fallen; figures moving in the blazing light, writhing against each other before falling still one by one. The sound of despair rising from within was utterly inhuman—brutal pain and absolute suffering. An entire congregation must have come to hide within the walls of their sanctuary, seeking the protection of their God and finding only a painful death instead.
Marcelo took a hesitant step towards the church, the glow of the flames reflecting off his armor. "We… we must help them," he said quietly, stunned by the fiery display of brutality. "We must do something…Anything?" He glanced then at the Vikings who moved past without a care, the sight of a church burning no more of a concern to them as rain over the ocean. Marcelo marched up to Judith, fists clenched at his sides. "This cannot stand. We are here to stop a renegade legion, not watch our people be burned on holy ground!"
"We are a renegade legion," Judith said coolly, not relenting to the despair that seemed to grip Marcelo as the church crumbled and burned, "and we are too late to help them now, but perhaps we might save others. If you truly want to help these lost souls, we win this war and put a sword through the black heart of high priest Osric."
Priscilla could only stare and watch, not knowing if she should curse these people as fools or pity their suffering. Would their lives have turned out any different if they had not fallen for the Divine Pyre's lies, or would they have ended up in another church, in another besieged city, still burning at the hands of barbaric invaders who cared nothing for what sort of God they prayed to? The question haunted her, especially since she had a hand in bringing the Northmen here, but she hoped that her efforts to free her homeland from the tyranny of fanatics would prove right in the end. There was a time when everything made sense, and she was fighting so desperately hard to return to that.
Gunnar stepped beside her, head bowed and great axe held across his shoulders. "Better that they die now than remain our enemy later," he said softly.
Priscilla couldn't take her eyes away from what she saw. "Is it? Perhaps the jarls will say the same of my Legion soon." Gunnar gave that awkward shuffle he always made when uncertain of things, but Priscilla paid it no mind for once. No doubt the Legion Council thought much the same way he did, so she could not fault him for thinking so. Only time will tell.
"Keep moving!" Judith bellowed from the head of their gathering, breaking the silence that hung over the Legion and sparing only a glancing concern for the burning church and the cultists inside. "These people made their choice! We make for the keep!"
Priscilla could hear the steel in Judith's voice and felt the cold heartlessness as the Commander turned and led the Legion out of the square. She paused for a moment, looking back to the bodies burning in the church, but the screams had faded beneath the roar of the fire. There was no helping them now.
Not long after they left the burning church behind, they ran into their first column of Pyre soldiers. The row of pikes and shields blocking the street began advancing on them as the Lion Flame took up their position. Judith stepped out in front, momentarily holding her longsword high above her head as she called out to her Knights. "Hold true, Lion Flame! Now we will finally cut the head from the serpent!" With a cry, she thrust out her sword and charged the Pyre line, the rest of the Legion rushing behind her along with any Vikings that followed.
Priscilla gave no such cry as she ran, keeping her focus while others gave themselves over to the battle frenzy with their war cries. Gunnar shouted loudest of all, charging forward with his axe raised, but Priscilla skirted to the sides of the street, watching carefully as the enemy went for bigger targets and slipped past the Pyre line to begin cutting them to ribbons. Her blades bit, stabbed, and sliced as she moved, weaving between soldiers like an elegant dancer as she found the weak points in their dark armor. She didn't dwell on their screams each time her dagger sunk hilt deep into someone's side or drew the edge of her sword along the back of a knee. Battle fame was not what she was after. Glory was of no interest to her; the killing was just a violent means to a bloody but necessary end. The Divine Pyre had remained a plight spreading throughout her homeland for too long, and this was their chance to end them once and for all.
It simply had to be done, and afterward, when the smoke-charred bodies had been cleared away, the next battle for the fate of Ashfeld could finally begin.
Priscilla had to keep herself from straying too far from her Legion as the fight continued. The Pyre still crowded the street before her, even as several of their soldiers and Knights lay dead or bleeding on the ground. Doubling back, she was stopped short by a Pyre Warden striking at her from the surge of black armor. She ducked and deflected the blow, quickly counterattacking with two quick stabs of her dagger to the Warden's gut. The Knight grunted as they began to bleed, but any suffering they might have endured was put to a swift, and sudden end as Gunnar's axe severed their head with a sweeping arc. The blood-leaking helmet rolled from the Knight's shoulders and landed square on Priscilla's head, leaving a splatter of red dripping from her hood.
"Ugh!" she groaned indignantly, flicking the blood from her sword back at Gunnar without thinking. "Who asked you for help?"
Gunnar quickly dodged the stab of a pike towards his head and punished the Pyre soldier for missing with a quick chop of his axe but grinned over his shoulder before going back on the attack. "Enough of your teasing, woman! My blood is up enough as is." Priscilla felt herself flush beneath her helmet, glad that Gunnar couldn't witness it, but a hard knock from behind startled her back to attention.
"No flirting on the battlefield," Coal grumbled, bringing his shield up to herd her back into formation. Blood was leaking from beneath his pauldron, a crimson river trickling over the metal plates along his arm.
"You are hurt," Priscilla muttered, pushing back against Coal's shield to try and get a better look.
Coal grunted and shoved her away, swinging his flail overhand at a Pyre soldier that lunged forward for them, slamming the spiked head into the enemy's helmet with a loud crack to cave in their skull. "Just a poke. Left a lot worse behind me."
More Pyre soldiers came at them, but Judith called out her orders so that the Legion fought as one perfect unit despite their diminished number. "Protect our flank!" she shouted as enemy pike-men appeared from an alley while the Lion Flame advanced.
Surprisingly, the host of Viking warriors crowding the streets behind them answered the call, quickly locking their shields together into a protective wall. They followed Judith's instruction without argument, standing alongside the renegade Knights and bellowing their challenges as the Pyre crashed into them with pikes and shields. The sound of clashing weapons and crushing blows rang out through the air, and the Lion Flame quickly took up their part in the chaos once again, throwing themselves at the enemy with a righteous fury that had been burning in their hearts since the fall of Ashfeld's northern territories.
With Judith leading the way, the Lion Flame forced the enemy soldiers back up the street. The Divine Pyre might have the home advantage, fighting beneath the shadow of their holy volcano, but for the Lion Flame, this fight was personal. Pushed to the brink of defeat, driven from their homeland in shame, surely branded as traitors simply for taking the fight to the cultists by any means necessary. Sacred oaths and ancient blood feuds no longer held sway over the wayward Legion dispossessed by the powers that ruled over their homeland. As the Lion Flame fought relentlessly against corruption and tyranny, they fought through sheer force of will and by the grace of God alone.
The looming threat of a slumbering volcano counted for nothing as the Divine Pyre was forced back against the Lion Flame's righteous fury, first faltering and then breaking before the onslaught of iron and steel as Knight and Viking fought together. Justice would be theirs to deal with the usurpers with impunity. God's righteousness was to be dealt out by the sword and the iron fist of the Legion, or they would die in the attempt.
Marcelo let loose a valiant cry as he charged forward with his shoulder and slammed a Pyre soldier off balance, quickly slicing at them with his longsword and watching them fall. He swiftly lifted his sword for the next attack, panting hard and stepping quickly, but found no one left standing against him. He looked and saw the remaining Pyre soldiers as they turned and retreated. "Ha! Turn and run, you filthy cowards! There is nowhere for you to go now! The Lion Flame will have your heads this day!" he called, lifting his bloody sword triumphantly into the air as the dark figures disappeared behind buildings and smoke.
"The boy has a bit of savage in him after all!" smiled Gunnar, standing over a dead Pyre Lawbringer and yanking his axe free of bloody plate armor. "Now you sound like a true drengr!"
Marcelo flinched, glancing around between Gunnar and the rest of his Legion as the few remaining Pyre were dispatched with cold efficiency. "Surely not. It is an honor to simply fight for what is right, even if there is a certain pleasure in sending these bastards to Hell where they belong." He shivered, armor clinking as if shrugging off a strange euphoria that had gripped him. When next he had complete control of his senses, he stepped over the fallen corpses and took in the newest dilemma that had presented itself. "Commander?" he said, looking between the two streets that veered off in opposite directions, a rising tower creating a fork between them. "Which way?"
Judith was checking to see if any of her own Knights and soldiers were wounded or if any lay silently among the dead but paused long enough to take stock of the situation before giving more orders. "Spread out and secure this junction! Vikings, make a shield wall across each of those streets! No one gets past, and if the Pyre return, slaughter them all like pigs! Marcelo! Search these surrounding buildings, and make sure no surprises are waiting for us inside."
The Lion Flame Knights quickly sprang into action at Judith's command. Marcelo snapped a salute before picking out a few soldiers to aid him, ordering some to take a building on one side of the street while he took the rest to clear the other. However, the gathered Vikings lingered for a moment now that the fighting had lulled. They gave Gunnar questioning looks, frowning beneath their beards and gripping their weapons tight, unwilling to carry out orders given to them by a Knight on a whim.
Gunnar glared back, frowning at each disgruntled warrior as he looked about. "Well, what are you looking at me for? You heard the Commander. Shield wall!" he roared. A series of grunts and grumbles came from the Vikings. Still, they ultimately hefted their shields and stepped quickly into formation across the open span of each street where they forked, closing off the main road from any potential counterattack.
Judith surveyed everything with quiet scrutiny before making her way over to where Priscilla was wrapping a bandage around Coal's arm, his pauldron hanging loose from his shoulder. "I need you to go to the top of that tower and pick out the best way to the keep. The city will never surrender unless we eliminate the Pyre's leadership. Look for Herleif's banners. We will need to regroup if we want any chance at storming the inner fortress."
Priscilla didn't look up as she tied the bandage and made sure the blood didn't seep through too severely. "Not afraid I will just cause another incident if you let me out of sight, Commander?" she asked.
"Deathly afraid," Judith said without skipping a beat. "But we are already in the middle of a battle with the city burning down around us. I struggle to imagine how you could make things any worse."
"One shudders at the possibilities," Priscilla muttered. She gave a half-hearted salute before heading off, not looking back as she set both hands to the hilt of her weapons and stepped over the Pyre bodies towards the tower. Gunnar was waiting for her, axe in hand, a determined look in his eye. They said nothing to each other, but she gave the tower door an extra push as she entered to leave it open for him to duck in after.
Coal remained where he stood, shifting awkwardly on his feet and rolling his aching shoulder as he was left standing next to the Commander. "So, join the shield wall, or should I just...?" He gestured hesitantly towards the tower Priscilla and Gunnar had entered. Judith sighed, not looking at him, but gave a slight jerk of her head towards the tower, broken eagle ornament bobbing in the air. Coal didn't need to ask again before he quickly moved to catch up.
Things became quieter as Priscilla ascended to the top of the tower, the battle throughout the city now raging on far below. The smell of fire smoke was heavy in the air, dark clouds billowing up from burning buildings as the flames spread. Something would have to be done about the fires soon, or else the entire horde might be engulfed in the inferno, but the focus of the attack remained fixed firmly on reaching the Pyre leaders within the city's main keep. Priscilla looked out to where the keep was built into the rising slope of the volcano, an imposing fortress of carved battlements set behind a second defensive wall, and with the tallest tower of the city rising high up into the sky.
Leaning out over the tower's crenellations, she cocked her head towards the smoke-hidden sun and listened to the desperate voice carried on the wind.
"What are you doing, you useless worms!? Fight them! Fight them, I command you!" shouted Osric Ead from his tower above the keep. "They are nothing but primitive savages! Do not let them get to me! The volcano demands it! The volcano commands you to cease this desecration of God's holy city! Do you hear me!? Do you hear me, you fucking idiots!? We are all going to die, and it is all your fault! Fight, or God will curse all your useless, bitch-sired souls to the deepest pits of Hell! Do you fucking hear me!? Fuck!"
"I don't remember any scripture verses sounding quite so... verbose," said Coal as he came up the ladder just behind Gunnar, both joining her on top of the tower.
"The city falls, and his all-powerful deity remains dormant," Priscilla said. "Sounds like his usual material no longer holds much sway over his followers, and so he struggles to come up with more striking while his influence slips away like smoke on the wind."
Gunnar grunted angrily as he went to the wall and looked out over the city towards the keep. "I give no shit for impotent priests who cower on top of their tall towers. We need to find my brother. With the entire horde fighting together, we can take the keep and bring these cultists to a swift end. You will have your homeland back, and we will have our treasure. Just not the armor we were promised."
Priscilla tried her best not to dwell on that last bit. Beyond the complication of needing to deal with Erik if he learned that the Pyre never had the Apollyon's armor in the first place, the fact that she had also been given a false story to set these tragic events in motion meant that her troubles far exceeded just ending this war. She would certainly be having words with Elise if she survived.
"Is that him?" Coal called from the other side of the tower, catching their attention. Priscilla and Gunnar came to stand by his side, peering through the smoke and flicker of rising flames to see Herleif's banners waving in the narrow streets below, cutting through the city's center and heading further west, away from the keep.
"It looks like he is trying to get around the fires," Priscilla muttered.
Coal nodded, then pointed out ahead of the direction Herleif's warriors were moving. "And right into a damn trap. Look."
From their high vantage point above the intersecting streets of the Walled City, it was impossible to miss the gathering forces of Divine Pyre Knights prepared to block off Herleif's advance; a far larger host of enemy soldiers than any of them had seen within the city so far. It seemed that the fires had not been a product of the attack between savage attackers and desperate defenders, but a sacrifice knowingly made to direct the flow of battle to their liking. All Herleif's efforts to bring the city to its knees were about to come to a devastating halt as he led his warriors right into the jaws of death.
"Curse these black-hearted bastards!" Gunnar growled. "They're nearly on the other side of the city! We'll never get to him in time. Where are those dogs, Ivar and Erik? They should be helping push the attack."
Together they kept their eyes open over the city streets until Coal gestured again with his shield away from the burning buildings. "There! It's Ivar," he said, pointing out the red skull banners moving to intersect with Herleif's path. "Looks like he's moving in to assist. Your brother won't be fighting alone, at least."
Gunnar sneered and spat over the wall's edge. "There's no trusting that Thurshamrar dog. His warriors will be tearing at anything that moves, whether friend or foe. We need to let Judith know what is happening and move quickly. Where in all the realms is Erik?"
"I see him," Priscilla said, although she spoke hardly with any sense of relief. She had turned to look behind them, away from the impending fight between Herleif and the gathering Pyre counterattack, pointing off in the opposite direction. The three of them stepped across to look over the parapet, watching the great mass of golden warriors surge through the city towards what looked to be a well-fortified tower built into the mountainside. At the head of the horde, where surprisingly enough the fighting seemed to be the thickest, the Sea Eagle banners of Erik Golden-Shield waved among the fire and smoke, cleaving a wedge into the defending Pyre forces and making a mad dash for the tower. There was no need to think long about what was driving Erik forward with such urgency. Every street in the city seemed to run red with the blood of Knights and Vikings alike, but for the Golden Jarl, there was only one true goal to this siege, one true prize to be claimed. Priscilla shook her head in disgust. "That must be the vault. The Pyre still fights against us for control of the city, and already he is going after the treasure."
"And leaving our asses hanging in the wind!" Gunnar snarled. He roared with anger and slammed his fist against the parapet. "Damn him to a coward's fate! That nithing troll-fucker! He is no King worthy of praise and honor… he isn't even worth the shit that pigs roll in!" Priscilla watched as he stomped his foot and snorted like a bull, suddenly turning away and pacing around the tower. She could see the rage building within him and almost thought he might give a reckless swing of his axe, but he returned to the battlement and shouted out over the calamity raging far below. "There is only one coward jarl here, and he is nothing but a troll's whimpering whore disguised as a king of gold!" His voice echoed off into the smoke, carried on the wind across the city, only to fall beneath the clamor of clashing swords and cleaving axes. He slammed a closed fist against the parapet as his rage boiled, then slumped against the wall with a defeated sigh.
"Herleif was right," he said, head hung low. "Erik cares for nothing but his prize, no matter how many warriors he must sacrifice to claim it."
Priscilla's heart ached for Gunnar, knowing he felt betrayed by someone he had once put his trust in and helpless to do anything for his brother as the enemy closed in. Unfortunately, Herleif falling in battle would not be the worst of outcomes for her. It would eliminate one of the jarls she would soon be forced to deal with and, more so, would put an end to the suspicion and scrutiny that Herleif always seemed to regard her with. A Peacekeeper always needed to stay realistic when it came to big decisions. Herleif dying was simply the best course of action to ensure the success of her mission. Nothing else mattered beyond the liberation of her homeland from Pyre control, especially the life of some Valkenheim jarl who would surely come back to raid their lands.
But how would she ever face Gunnar knowing she had doomed his brother to death, especially after fighting so hard to save him from the same fate? Things were becoming far too muddled for her liking, far too removed from thinking realistically or practically. She was thinking with her heart instead of her training, going against all the oaths she had taken as a Peacekeeper.
Then she looked at Gunnar and felt her bubbling turmoil swiftly fade away, and her mind was made up in an instant. Oaths be damned, there was no guarantee she would survive the war anyway, much less return to the life she had known before. She would be fine making things up as she went along. After all, that was also a considerable portion of her Peacekeeper training.
"Come, we can do nothing from up here. We will have to move quickly if we want to save your brother's sorry hide," she said, gently touching a hand to Gunnar's shoulder. His head snapped up to look at her, gaze unsure beneath his helm, but a smile soon spread across his lips at her touch.
"Aye. That will put some fire in Herleif's belly, getting saved by the same Peacekeeper he can't seem to get rid of." Gunnar chuckled. "Maybe we'll see a few of you Knights feasting in Valhalla before all is said and done here." He gave one last glance towards Erik's push towards the vault, his smile falling back into an angry sneer, and spit over the parapet.
Priscilla felt her stomach twisting into knots as they made their way back down the tower. If Elise or any of her other Sisters could see her now, they would surely revel in how far she had fallen from her days at court. Simply entertaining the idea of choosing her own wants and desires over the needs of the mission went against all the teachings of her order, and saving a horde of Vikings from certain death had never been part of the plan. It would be better to let as many of them die in this battle for the Walled City and set the stage for what lay ahead once the Divine Pyre had been put to the sword, but she had already deviated from that path by saving Gunnar in the tunnel.
She was walking a dangerously thin line now. So much had changed over the past few months since the world had fallen into ruin and war, and longer still since the days of her youth. Almost nothing of the life she had known remained now, and her life had certainly not been without its troubles, yet it seemed that she was still fighting so hard to get it all back.
When they had made it halfway down the tower, a fearful cry from out in the street caught them all by surprise. Gunnar gripped his axe and nearly jumped down the last few steps to the tower's entrance, with Priscilla and Coal hot on his heels as they all rushed outside with weapons drawn, eyes searching for danger. They were ready for another fight, but what they found stopped them cold in their tracks.
Out on the street surrounding the tower's base, there seemed only to be confusion and hysteria as Judith and the other Knights struggled to corral a large group of people pouring out of the nearby buildings. Men and women, some old and some younger, and more than a few wide-eyed children stared fearfully at the surrounding soldiers. From the way they were dressed, it was clear that they were merely peasants, farmers, perhaps a few merchants, certainly not fighters. They seemed to huddle together and spread out aimlessly over the street in their panic, weeping mothers holding screaming babes to their bosoms while grim-faced men tried to put themselves between the Lion Flame and their families.
All of them appeared thin and tired, no doubt scared out of their minds for the Viking horde that had sat outside their walls, trapping them inside the city for days, and were now running rampant through the streets with brandished steel and burning torches. Priscilla could see that there was more to it, though, frailty that spoke of pain, suffering, and weakness from lack of food and rest. They were like feral animals scurrying for the nearest hiding place after being dragged out into the open, with no sense about them, just fear and abandonment brought on by their misguided faith.
"What madness is this? We were only gone for a moment," Gunnar hissed, his axe ready.
Priscilla craned her head to try and get a better look, eventually deciding to shoulder her way into the crowd to get closer instead. "Looks like Marcelo found a few surprises hiding in these buildings."
"Just scared people on the run," Coal said, slinging his flail over one shoulder and following her. "They don't know what they're doing, just that they want to get away."
"Are you sure?" asked Gunnar.
Coal nodded, watching the men and women nearly falling over each other to escape, only to recoil before the armored Knights and soldiers of the Lion Flame. "Trust me. I know a prison break when I see it. A bad one too, by the look of things."
They were a scared and haggard-looking lot, but it was hard for Priscilla to think of them as pitiful refugees. After all, it had been their choice to come here, to gather in worship of Mount Ignis and bow in obedience to the Divine Pyre. Now they must suffer through the war that their leaders had started, a travesty that, by the look of things, was not something they had expected to endure.
Not everyone trying to flee was cowering pitifully as the Lion Flame tried to shepherd them back into their homes. Some men had weapons, swords, knives, or clubs clutched tight in their hands and were desperately fighting to get free. One man in a dark wool cap was snarling as he swung an iron mace back and forth before him, all while pulling along a frightened-looking woman and a long string of crying children behind him. The man in the cap beat his mace against the shields of the Lion Flame soldiers surrounding him. He was gaining ground against them as the soldiers seemed hesitant to cut him down in front of his family, even as he attacked and beat them with his mace.
"Back! Back, you faithless devils!" he cried, splintering wood chips from a shield with his mace. "You stay away from my family! You'll not have us! Get away!"
He had nearly fought his way free and indeed would have shot off down the street if not hindered by the family of screaming children, but Marcelo managed to put himself in the man's path, holding up his arms to try and calm him but quickly had to dodge the mace. "Please!" Marcelo cried, ducking at a swing of the mace towards his head. "Stop this at once! We are here to help you!"
"Liar!" snarled the man, eyes wide and frightened as a feral dog backed into a corner, seemingly unconcerned with Marcelo's armor or sword. He came at the Knights again, swinging his mace in wide arcs. "You're all traitors! Heretics and murderers!" he cried, "You'll kill us all, I know it! Stay away!" Other men with weapons were beginning to fight back harder against the Lion Flame, encouraged by the words of the mace wielder, but still, the soldiers refused to escalate the violence by spilling more blood.
"Keep them in line!" came Judith's command as she moved to help her Knights get a handle on the panicking crowd before things spiraled out of control. "No one goes free until the battle is over! Get them back inside!"
Marcelo was still doing what he could to fend off the man in the cap, weathering the blows against his armor and trying to reach out and grab the mace as it swung. "I will not fight you! Ah! I am not- oof! I'm not your enemy here! Just- ah! Just listen to me, dammit!"
They grappled together, Marcelo refusing to raise his sword against the man the whole time until a quick smack of the mace to the thigh brought Marcelo down to one knee. Instantly Gunnar was there, a hulking barbarian that loomed tall like an unshakable mountain, grabbing the man in the cap by his collar and hurling him away before he could strike his mace down over Marcelo's head again. The man gave a short whoop before he fell back on his ass, quickly scrambling away before getting to his feet and pointing at Gunnar with an accusing glare.
"You see! You see! They side with the enemy! They fight alongside godless heathens against us!" cried the man, shrill voice cracking. "You attack your own people alongside these bloodthirsty barbarians and dare call yourselves our protectors? What putrid filth! The high priest will curse your souls to Hell for this treachery!"
Priscilla pushed her way past Gunnar as he stood stalwart over Marcelo, helping him back to his feet. "Listen, you fool. Does it sound like Osric has a plan for stopping us, much less saving you?" she said, pointing up to the city's tallest tower where the high priest was shouting another string of curses at his followers for their sudden ineptitude to push back the invaders. "Pull your head free from your ass and see reason. The city will fall, and no act of divine intervention will stop us now. There is no power in the volcano. It remains dormant and still. Nothing but smoke, blinding you from your own ignorance, all while your esteemed priest throws your lives away for nothing. Go back inside and wait until the fighting is over. Do not get yourselves killed for the likes of him."
The man in the cap stared blankly at her, jaw slack. His mace was still held loosely out in front of him, but his grip soon tightened as the fire and bitterness of his cruel faith returned to his eyes. "What do you know of divinity? This city was given to us by God himself. It is ours to protect, to spread his word, and to bring about a new kingdom in his holy name! Our faith burns with the fire of the Lord! As the high priest says, it binds us all together in his love while you all break your oaths and hunt down the flock you once swore to protect! That you would still call yourselves Knights at all is an insult to our Lord!" he snarled, many of the others calling out their agreement or giving fearful praise to God.
Priscilla thought back to the burning church as she continued to stare him down, dagger and sword gripped in her hands but not raised. Victory in the war did not hinge on these people surviving the siege or whether they realized the complete depravity of the side they had chosen. It didn't matter if they all burned here in this city or were given a chance to start again, a chance at a better life, so long as the high priest and the rest of the Divine Pyre legion were eliminated here and now. That was how they would win.
However, leaving these people to be slaughtered did not seem like a victory worth having. If she was willing to go to war to change the predicament of her own life, surely, as a proud Knight of Ashfeld, she was ready to do the same for these people.
"Our oaths were stripped from us the moment we were branded outlaws by our lords for refusing to bow to madmen," Priscilla shot back. "It has been us who have been hunted, abandoned, and betrayed. We have been branded your enemy, and all for what? So you can be crammed in this insignificant city like sheep? Tell me, how long was it before the soldiers here reduced you to living off scraps while they feasted like fat kings in the fortress? Was it before they had taken all of your possessions of worth as offering to the Lord?" A murmur ran through the crowd at that, eyes shifting away while mothers and fathers clutched their gaunt children to their chests. "Do not think to try and hide it. One look at you, it is easy to see that you have gone without a proper meal long before a siege trapped you all within these walls. We have seen the limits of the Divine Pyre's mercy in the burned villages and desecrated corpses of God's own people. There is nothing divine about these tyrants!"
"And can the same be said for you, siding with these savages?" said the man, still glaring at her. "The Divine Pyre are our protectors. Chosen by God to lead us in a war against the heathen Vikings and Samurai! Those who refuse them are the enemies of God and must suffer a non-believers death."
"So I have heard. And yet we few here are still here to fight for you. To protect you, as our oaths drive us to do, for even while we have been beaten and stripped of our dignity, a true Knight does not simply forget an oath sworn before God! That is what gives us purpose, even if that means fighting for ignorant fools who are less than deserving of it! That is why we have given up all we hold dear for a chance to free you from this oppression! To fight for you!"
The crowd fell silent as she finished. Dozens of weary, sunken eyes stared back at her while those holding weapons stepped back from the Lion Flame, looking more like frightened children now than mad zealots. Priscilla sucked in a quick breath, standing with her shoulders straight and head held high, as any Knight should. "Look around at what your priests have brought you! Ask yourselves how many of your neighbors were good, God-fearing people before they were suddenly labeled heretics! How many of your friends? Your loved ones? Ask yourself, do you see God here in this city? Surely he is meant to be here with all of us now, but looking around at the deep hollowness in all of you, I see no sign of him. God has abandoned this place, but perhaps we might find him again if you would only listen to reason."
The man in the cap seemed to shrink where he stood, and the woman with him stepped up to take hold of his arm, gently pulling him back to their children. He stepped back with her; mace held loose at his side. For a moment, Priscilla saw a look of shame in his eyes as they stared at each other, but then he looked up and past her at Gunnar, his face going hard once more.
"There is no Godliness to be found in the likes of you," he said. "You have all chosen the wrong side in this fucking war! My heart burns for the glory of the Lord!" Pulling free of his wife's grasp and ignoring her cries, he rushed forward, bearing his teeth in a wretched snarl and raising the mace again. Priscilla gave a curse, relenting that there was no helping these people after all. Once again, her hope had been misplaced, foolishly imagining a peaceful solution when it was clear this fool was too far gone.
The man came at her fast, but before she could raise her weapons and defend herself, Marcelo stepped in front of her, still determined to try and end this without bloodshed. The cultist did not share Marcelo's wish, baring his teeth and giving a hateful cry, ready to bring his mace crashing down upon them. "The glory of the volcano is with me! The glory of God is-!" His next words were cut short by a pained gasp and a gurgle as his feet suddenly stumbled, and he shuddered to a stop, the bloody blade of a longsword suddenly appearing through his chest and out into the air.
The sword gave another lurch through the man as it was pushed from behind, and then he fell, revealing Judith as she shoved him away with her shoulder. She ripped her sword free of his limp body, letting him crumble to the ground with a gore-splattered hole through him, mace clattering uselessly to the ground beside him. Judith stood tall over the body in the lingering silence, longsword dripping with the man's blood, the eyes of her soldiers watching her in surprise while the cultists looked on in stunned horror. Then the dead man's wife fell to her knees and let loose a heart-wrenching scream.
Judith showed no remorse as she gave her sword a quick flick of the wrist, splattering fresh blood over the street. That was when the other men with weapons were brought back to their senses and rushed at the Lion Flame again with their short swords and knives, but now there was no question of how they would be dealt with. Their valiant cries of righteous fury quickly transformed into screams of pain and fear as the soldiers and Knights dispatched their attackers with lethal efficiency. Those lacking the will to fight could only cower and watch as more friends and loved ones were cut down right before their eyes.
Moving her sword in a swift arc, Judith sliced open the front of an attacker who came screaming for vengeance for the first man she had killed. She stepped over the body as it fell, easily parrying another attack and countering with a quick riposte, slicing her opponent's face open before they could scream. Then, as swiftly as it began, the fight was over, and every man who had stood against the Lion Flame was now lying dead in the street. Judith's shoulders rose and fell as she panted, anger radiating off her in waves, and at her feet cowered the now widowed wife of the man in the cap.
The woman looked up at Judith with wide eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks as her children clung to her and wailed. Opening her mouth to speak, the woman's bottom lip trembled momentarily before any sound slipped out. "Why?" she asked, her face breaking in anguish. "Why? Why choose them over us? Over God?" Her eyes flicked over to Gunnar and the other Vikings, who watched on in grim silence over their shields. "Are we not your people?"
"No, you are not," Judith answered swiftly and with chilling certainty. She tipped the blade of her longsword up, catching a crucifix that hung around the kneeling woman's neck and lifting it into the air. "I admit, I had hoped it was true once. That there was still something in all this worth fighting for beyond silencing your damned high priest. I hoped that there was more to liberate than just stone buildings and old relics, but now I see the truth for what it is. You are my enemy… all of you vile, false worshipers, and I am not in the habit of letting my enemies live to return another day." The point of her sword edged closer to the woman's neck, drawing forth a desperate whimper as the woman began to pray.
"Commander!" Marcelo exclaimed, stepping in and putting a hand on Judith's arm. "What are you doing? We came here to save these people."
"Save them from what?" demanded Judith, whirling around to face Marcelo, her sword dropping to her side, much to the woman's desperate relief. "To save them from themselves? Is that why we came here?" She looked back, glaring down at the woman from beneath her helmet. "We offered them our help, and they have refused! There is no saving them from a faith that is nothing more than poison in their soul. There is no difference between these cowards and every soldier we have killed to get here."
The woman stared pleadingly up at Judith, her hands coming together as if to pray as her children crowded around her. "Mercy, please! We are all children of God! You must see that…"
"Be quiet!" Judith shouted, kicking the woman in the chest, sending her toppling over. "Mercy is not deserved by those who worship alongside snakes, as it was never shown to us when we were forced from our homes by your fucking cult!" She moved to kick the woman again, but Marcelo stepped in front of her, pushing her away.
"No, Commander! This isn't the way!" Marcelo said. "They are just lost! Lost! What hope does Ashfeld have if we cut them down in cold blood rather than guide them back to what is right?"
"There is no more Ashfeld! Not for us!" Judith snapped, grabbing Marcelo by a shoulder plate and tossing him away. He stumbled, and Judith quickly reached down and snatched the woman by her arm, hauling her up to her feet and away from her wailing children. "And as for you…"
"If there is anyone who needs to be saved, it is my brother," Gunnar called out, stealing Judith's attention as she whipped her head around to face him, eagle ornament waving in the air. Gunnar stood at ease with one arm propped up on his axe, watching the scene unfold like some amusing play. "While we stand here babbling on about which one of you has offended your God more, Herleif continues the fight against our actual enemy, who is luring him into a trap. We must move quickly to help him unless you wish to see how long you would fare in Erik or Ivar's care instead."
Judith stared back at Gunnar for another moment, then looked around at her soldiers and Knights, who were all waiting for what she would do next. Her gaze lingered on Marcelo for a moment as he stood nearby, body tense at the ready. Then she turned on the woman again, squeezing her arm hard enough to draw forth a gasp. "Take your children back inside, and stay out of our way," she growled, then tossed the woman away and shouted at the rest of the crowd. "Stay inside! Anyone caught out in the streets will be treated as a combatant and given no quarter! Leave the dead where they lay! Their accursed souls are far beyond your concern. Now go!"
All at once, the street was busy with movement again, with those desperate to get back inside before more blood was spilled and those who were pulled away as they desperately tried to hold onto the bodies of their dead loved ones. One by one, they disappeared back into their homes, the cries of children echoing from within. The last to slip away was the widow of the man in the cap, her sorrowful gaze looking back to her husband's dead body at Judith's feet. She hugged her children close, letting them all cry into her dress as she stepped inside and then was gone.
Judith pulled a cloth from her belt and began wiping down her sword, walking purposefully towards Priscilla, Gunnar, and Coal while looking beyond down the street. "Which is the quickest path to find Herleif? Did you see from the tower?" she asked, the bloody fight and dead bodies already forgotten.
Priscilla reached out and took hold of Judith's wrist as she tried to walk past, ignoring the Commander's question for one of her own. "If we are not fighting for Ashfeld, what are we fighting for?"
Judith looked down at Priscilla's hand on her wrist and then up at her. "It is no mystery what we have given up to make it this far, Priscilla," she hissed back, her voice ice-cold. "We knew we would be branded traitors by joining the Northmen. We knew there would be no going back, and we still made that choice. All of us."
"That is a sorry excuse, Commander, and I, for one, wish to hear the truth," Marcelo said, stepping up behind her with uncharacteristic defiance firm in his voice.
Judith first looked at him over her shoulder, then pulled her arm away from Priscilla's grasp and stepped in close to Marcelo, helmets nearly knocking together. Marcelo tried to take a step back, but she only followed after. "Whatever reasons you have for fighting are your own, just as I have mine. So long as the war is won in the end. Agreed?" She stared him down for a long moment, refusing to back away. "I have given you a fucking answer, Marcelo. Now it is your turn to answer mine. Are we in agreement?" she asked. Finally, Marcelo could only give a curt nod. She released him from her attention without a backward glance, calling out to the rest of the Legion. "We still have a city to take and plenty more cultists that must die before we are done! Not to mention a high priest that needs to be thrown from the balcony of his fucking tower!" A cheer rang from the other Knights, and Judith beat her fist against her armor as they all began moving down the street.
"Lead the way," she said to Gunnar, who did not need to be told twice before he was rushing off in the direction of his brother with the rest of the Vikings in tow.
Priscilla swallowed hard, feeling a stone's weight in the pit of her belly as everyone moved past her. She had always known that Judith harbored a heavy resentment towards the Pyre and the Legion Council for everything that had happened. Still, she had never known that resentment to extend to the worshipers who were surely abused by the Divine Pyre just as they had been. Strangely, it ended all her worries over why she was fighting this war and for whom, but it did little to calm her fears about what might happen when the time came to make sure her Legion chose the winning side in the end. The future remained uncertain, all except for one glaring truth. Judith was another part of an ever-growing list of problems.
She turned and looked back at the dead bodies lying out on the street, the man in the cap still caught in a look of wide-eyed shock from when Judith's sword had stabbed through his body, and he realized in the moment before death that God had not protected him after all. "So much for not causing another incident," she whispered to herself, then rushed off after the others.