A horn echoed through the air as the first longship pulled away from the fort to sail downriver. More horns soon joined the first as men and women of different clans raced to their boats to begin the last leg of their voyage to Lake Eitrivatnen. Shields lined the ship's sides, and swords, spears, and axes were all stowed away and made ready for the attack as the warriors took up their oars. Only the harbor lay between them and their goal of the fiery Mount Ignis, along with an army of zealous Knights ready to lay down their lives in defense of their holy volcano.
To the fierce warriors of Valkenheim, the strength of the Divine Pyre meant nothing. For generations, their clans had gone to war against the Knights of Ashfeld, and some of the older veterans had even survived the Great Famine and the War of the Wolf against the Blackstone warlord, Apollyon. They knew what strength the Knights possessed, and they knew that with the gods on their side, they could break it.
Óðinn, Thor, Tyr, and the rest of the Æsir were watching now as the Vikings set sail for war, and those warriors that the gods found worthy would receive their strength and aid in the coming battle.
Herleif stood at the prow of the Salt Boar, breathing in the sweet smell of the wind as it blew off the water, and watched as Ivar's ships got underway ahead of his own. The last of his warriors were just now boarding their ships, and soon, they would be ready to set sail. The boat was being loaded with weapons, provisions, and cargo, everything they would need to attack the harbor and hold it as they pressed on to the volcano afterward.
He felt jittery, on edge, like he was caught in the path of a coming storm with no hope of finding shelter. Stretching out his fingers and then curling them in tight, he yearned to feel the grip of his sword and the weight of his shield in hand, wielding them both against his enemy in pitched combat. He reminded himself of his virtues as a Warlord and a Jarl.
Strength, duty, and honor- all things necessary to lead his people into battle and to victory.
If the gods were willing, he would be there to celebrate with them in the end, or he would feast in the golden hall with his ancestors until the day when Ragnarǫk was finally at hand. Both were fitting ends to meet, but in the depths of his heart, he truly hoped the former outcome would be his reward.
Further down the ship's deck, Gunnar led Priscilla and nine other Knights up the gangplank and down through the rows of sea chests where Bilrost Vikings were taking up their oars.
After the attacks against the river forts, a few benches were left empty, and the Vikings who had occupied them now feasted in Valhǫll with the gods and kin. It was now up to the Knights to take their place and do their duty, to see that the longship made it to the harbor with all speed; a task that the remaining Vikings found to be near sacrilege, but kept their mouths shut and simply exhibited their displeasure with dark glares and whispered curses under their breath as the Knights passed by.
Gunnar divided the Knights into pairs, pointing out rowing benches to take as they walked down the boat's length.
"These are truly strange and exciting times, my friends. Strange and exciting times! Knights taking up the oars of a Viking dragon ship? Never in our history has any skald ever sung of such tales, and perhaps after today, they will never do so again," he said heartily, slapping a Warden on the back so hard that the Knight fell onto his bench with a sharp grunt.
"But to take up the oar of a true dragon is no small thing! For once in your miserable, clanking lives you will learn if you are truly stronger than all that pathetic armor you wear. To see if you have the true power of a Viking in your meager bodies, to be a part of something greater than your insignificant selves! To hear the pounding drums and feel the rhythm of the oars pumping like the very beating of your cowardly hearts! You are no longer just fragile, and weak whelps, but now one with the vessel, one with the dragon. One with us all! Vikings to the end!" As his words rang out, the other Bilrost warriors chimed in with their roar of approval, stamping their feet on the deck as they held tight to their oars.
"We know how to work as a unit," Priscilla chided as she crossed her arms and looked up at the giant Raider. She had a piece of white and red cloth torn from her tabard and wrapped around her neck, giving her the look of someone ready for the snowy heights of Valkenheim's mountains rather than the warm lowlands of Ashfeld. "And we have had plenty of practice fighting and sinking dragon ships just like this one for years on end. An unfortunate circumstance of having a castle with a coastal view."
Gunnar briefly looked down at the much smaller Peacekeeper, then slowly knelt to her smaller height, addressing her as if she were a young child.
"Well in that case, welcome to the other side," he smiled under his beard. "I guess that you already know what to expect as we approach the harbor then. Arrows raining down on our heads long before we've reached the shore. Catapults obliterating the boat next to yours. Ballistas striking like lightning through a ship's hull to sink her. Traps lying in wait just beneath the water to rip your boat apart. The screams of your comrades just before they slip beneath the waves, sinking down in Ran's cold embrace to never see the shining sun again. You'll all be brave though, I'm sure. Never once will you stop pulling at your oar, even as your bench mate lies dying at your feet, choking on his own blood with an arrow through his neck. No, not you. Not when you've seen it all before."
Priscilla stood her ground as she and Gunnar stared each other down. He wore that same cocky grin he always seemed to have whenever he addressed her, and her fingers gave a slight twitch next to the dagger and sword upon her belt. Thankfully, though, Coal stepped in and touched her shoulder, distracting her and Gunnar from their staring contest.
"Just show us to our seats already, big man. We'll get the job done, you can count on that," the Conqueror said firmly. He had his own red and white scarf hung around his neck, just as the rest of the Knights did to set them apart from the Divine Pyre in the coming battle.
Gunnar glanced at Coal as he stood and smiled before waving his hand towards the back of the ship. "Right this way then, my lord and lady. I have a special spot picked out just for the both of you."
He took them to one of the last benches on the ship's right side, which remained empty behind two Berserkers sitting closely together: a woman with the sides of her head shaved and a man with a braided mustache and beard. They looked up at the approaching Knights with cruel eyes glinting behind their metal faceplates, like hungry wolves snarling at intruders in their territory. Gunnar stopped beside them and gestured towards the empty bench, waiting for Priscilla and Coal to sit.
The wild warriors followed the two Knights as they took their seats, frowning over their shoulders at their new rowing mates. Priscilla and Coal stared right back, sitting up straight and on guard for any sudden movement from the Northmen. Gunnar chuckled to himself, cradling his great axe in his arms and enjoying the tense situation of his own making.
"All settled in? Good. Perhaps some introductions then," he grinned, slapping his hand down on the male Berserker's shoulder. "These two filthy animals are Ragnar and Ragna. Now, their just about everything you'd expect out of two war-famed, bloodthirsty, Óðinn-blessed warriors, but all you really need to know if you're going to be spending the voyage with them is that one hates cock and loves quim, and the other very much likes both. That, and they've both come here to spill as much Ashfeld blood as they can, but I'm sure you have already guessed that by now. I'll go ahead and leave it to you to figure out which is which."
With that said, he took a step closer to Priscilla and Coal, using his greater height to lean over the both of them as he stuck a finger in their faces. "Do not falter. We row as one, or we die as one. Simple as that," he growled, glancing over at the twin Berserkers as if the message was also for them. He gave the Knights one last hard look before he turned to make his way back to the prow. "Try not to kill each other before we get there. We're all stuck on this ship together now, after all."
Priscilla watched the big Raider walk away up the deck of the ship, then turned back to the two Berserkers in front of her.
The woman, Ragna, she supposed, was looking her up and down with just the barest hint of a grin across her lips. On the other hand, Ragnar was baring all his teeth in an unnerving smile that could have been easily mistaken for a primal snarl. He looked excitedly between Priscilla and Coal as if he couldn't decide which one he wanted to sink his teeth into first.
"I'm the one who likes both," Ragnar said proudly as he tapped his hand against his chest, evidently eager to share the news. He looked at them both expectantly for some sort of answer, to which Priscilla averted her gaze out towards the river, and the silent Conqueror simply took his shield and placed it firmly between his legs before taking hold of the oar in front of him. Ragnar's smile faded in disappointment, and Ragna laughed at her brother's misfortune.
"Heavenly Father," Priscilla whispered to herself as she gazed out at the sparkling river flowing by, "give me the strength to face the many trials that lay before me."
She silently reminded herself that all of this would be worth it in the end. With just a bit more work, both she and Ashfeld would be free of these heathens. Until then, though, it would be a long trip to the harbor.
Herleif worked his jaw back at the prow and spit over the railing into the river. He had watched enough ships sail off now and was ready to get underway.
"We have wasted enough time dawdling about!" he roared over the clatter of warriors stowing weapons and lining the ship's side with their shields. "Prepare to cast off! Anyone not on board can watch their chance for Valhǫll sail away without them!"
He turned and looked over the deck of the Salt Boar, watching warriors scramble to their rowing benches and pick up their oars. Gunnar was walking towards him up the deck, axe resting over one shoulder as he came to take his spot next to Herleif at the prow. Helge was seated next to the mast at the center of the ship, looking over scattered fingerbones as she conversed with voices that only she could hear. At the rear of the vessel, Ragnar and Ragna were rocking back and forth on their bench together, already snarling as they worked themselves up into a frenzy for the journey and fight ahead of them. May the gods help whoever had to sit next to them on the trip downriver.
Even Skuld had taken a seat on a bench and picked up the oar of a fallen warrior, now prepared to aid the living in her effort to serve the dead. The man sitting next to her looked her up and down nervously, wondering if being so close to a Valkyrie before battle was a good omen or a bad one. Whichever it was, Skuld paid the man no mind but instead looked up at Herleif and caught him with her piercing blue eyes.
He nodded at her. She nodded back, and he knew that he had her confidence. It was time to go. It was time to meet whatever fate the Norns had set out for them that day and sail without fear as the Allfather watched over them.
"Today the Ásagrimmr blesses us all! We sail now for the lake of darkness, to meet an enemy that is as fierce in their pagan beliefs as we are in our own," he shouted, throwing his hands up into the air. "They believe that their volcano has the power to end us all! Us and the gods! I tell you all now, it has been left to us to prove them wrong! I say we give thanks for this great and generous gift! Give thanks by slaughtering every last one of these bastards and turning the waters of Eitrivatnen red with their blood! Today we show our enemy that the tale of Jafnhar's Bane holds no sway over us, and that not even their fiery god can protect them from our wrath!"
A chorus of cheers rang up down the ship's deck. His words had even encouraged a few of the Knights on board to add their voices in support.
Gunnar thumped the bottom of his axe on the wooden deck three times to urge the crew on. "Do you fear death?" he shouted, lifting his axe into the air.
The crew shouted back with a clear and resounding, "No!"
Herleif stepped closer to Gunnar and threw an arm around his brother's shoulders, thumping his fist against his own armored chest. "What do you welcome?"
"Valhǫll!" the crew answered uproariously.
"What do you welcome!?"
"Valhǫll!"
Herleif roared his excitement into the air along with Gunnar next to him. "Cast off!"
The sound of a horn sounded clearly out into the air once again, and the full-crewed longship was pushed away from the dock and drifted further into the river. Oars splashed into the water, and the sail was hoisted to achieve all speed as the dragonship pulled away from the dock. More of Herleif's ships followed soon after until the river was choked full of Viking ships sailing off to do battle upon the lake.
Boom Boom Boom Boom
Drums beat out the steady rhythm of the oars, taking the ships downriver until gentle waters gave way to rolling waves. The Viking fleet had sailed through the morning, and now, as the afternoon sun glittered brightly on the vast openness of Lake Eitrivatnen.
Whatever dark reputation the lake had for the warriors of Valkenheim seemed to vanish as the longships cut their way through the choppy water. Taking the fight to the Divine Pyre was a second chance to right past wrongs and claim the glory of taking Eitrivatnen harbor after the failure of Jarl Jafnhar years ago. There was a sense of eager fury hanging over the fleet as the Viking warriors readied themselves for the chance to put their weapons to use against their enemies.
When the sight of Ashfeld triremes appeared on the horizon, a cheer went up among the Viking sailors, along with the sound of horns signaling to begin the attack. The flame-wreathed phoenix was displayed upon the trireme's sails as they came forth to inflict what damage they could against the Viking horde before they could ever reach the harbor. The fleet of longships was great, though, and the northern sailors came on without fear of the enemy they sought to conquer.
"Light up the boar," Herleif ordered to one of his warriors, waving his hand to the animal skull at the ship's prow.
Lighting a torch, the warrior climbed up to the beast's head, tipped the flickering flames into the metal grate beneath the boar's tusks, and set the metal grate alight. The great skull breathed fire again, giving its threatening visage new life. More ships did the same all across the lake until the fleet was a line of fire-spewing beasts rushing toward their foes.
Boom Boom Boom Boom
Herleif squinted at the approaching enemy, watching as the vessels grew larger with every passing drum beat. They were larger than most of the fleet's longships, except for the drakkar, but that wasn't what had caught his attention. He looked from one ship to another, frowning in confusion.
"Ten? Ten ships? Is this all they send against us?"
"Perhaps they are holding the rest in reserve closer to the harbor?" Gunnar asked, gazing out over his brother's shoulder. The actual harbor city remained out of sight beyond the horizon. Lake Eitrivatnen was the largest lake in all of Ashfeld, and the eastern shore was still far away.
Gunnar grinned and slapped Herleif on the back. "What a waste... Ten ships against our strength? Hardly seems worth the effort. We'll make quick work of these and move onto the rest on land."
"Right," Herleif said grimly, but in truth, he had his doubts. So few ships going against their fleet was suicide, a move that even a Viking eager to enter Valhǫll would consider pointless.
What was the Divine Pyre trying to achieve by dispatching such a meager number of ships against them out on the lake rather than making a stand at the harbor in greater numbers? Was this just a desperate attempt to try and thin them out before they reached the shore? If so, he would ensure they sorely regretted paying him the insult of such an ill-conceived attack.
One trireme moved out in front of the rest, cutting through the water straight for the Viking fleet. Along with Salt Boar, two sleek snekkja advanced to surround the enemy and box them in. More longships followed close behind, ensuring the enemy would be surrounded even if it slipped past Herleif. He eyed the enemy a bit longer, then turned and called out to the drummer at the mast.
"Double speed! Run up on them fast! Close them in and swamp the deck! Anyone not rowing take up shields and provide cover from arrows!"
Boom-boom Boom-boom Boom-boom Boom-boom
The Salt Boar's speed increased, pushed through the water by Bilrost warriors pulling at the oars and wind filling the sails. Veering right, Herleif's dragon ship moved to come up on the enemy's port side, letting smaller longships move in for the attack on the left.
One of the snekkja was out before the rest, leading the charge as the Salt Boar followed behind. With hooks and ropes, it would slide up next to the enemy vessel and lash them together, allowing the battle-ready Vikings to swarm the enemy deck and cut the Pyre Knights down to the last man. Even now, the oars of the leading longship were being drawn in, rushing headlong at the Pyre before they could try and turn away.
Yet Herleif watched as the trireme kept its course, neither turning nor trying to slow down as the longships approached. It was like watching a rabbit willingly leap into the jaws of a hungry wolf, which was an oddly disturbing thought, even if he was the wolf.
"They sail with Óðinn's frenzy, these zealots," he laughed to Gunnar. Tilting his head up, he called out over the wind, drew Sólareldur from its sheath, and lifted it into the air. "Draw weapons and prepare for boarding! Hooks and ropes at the ready!"
"Oars! Prepare to pull in!" Gunnar shouted after, stepping down from the prow to join those gathered on the deck. Warriors rushed to carry out their Jarl's orders, readying their shields for incoming arrows and handing out weapons.
Kneeling at the ship's mast, Helge quickly rattled finger bones in her hands before throwing them to the deck, stooping over them to see what signs they revealed.
"Fire on the lake... Jafnar's Bane... a lake of fire..." she uttered over and over again, teeth bared as the voices spoke endlessly in her head. Fire. Blood. Death. Over and over and over, they howled at her. "Shhh…shhh… We will give you blood, I swear it. Patience… Flame and blood. Fire...such chilling fire. Just wait...wait..."
Herleif paid her no mind as he stood firmly at the prow of his boat, sword and shield in hand. Now was not the time for cryptic questions and answers from the realms beyond Miðgarðr. This was a time of steel and shields. The leading snekkja was nearly to the trireme now, bringing in its oars to move in close and begin the attack. Time seemed to slow down, and Herleif snarled in frustration at having to catch up. He was ready to fight, ready to kill and prove himself worthy of great battle fame once again.
"Prepare for battle, my mighty drengir! To victory or Valhǫll!" he shouted, hearing the cheers and beating of weapons against shields thundering behind him.
Priscilla gritted her teeth as she looked over her shoulder towards the Pyre ship, drawing closer. Her arms and back were burning from all of the rowing, but that wasn't what concerned her the most at the moment. She eyed the front of the approaching trireme, noting the figurehead of three bronze eagle heads looming out from the prow. One eagle faced straight, while the other two were angled outwards on either side of the first. Together, they screamed with open beaks, crying out in silent fury against the encroaching longships.
Even from the rear of the ship, she could see what lay within those shining beaks, and it chilled the blood in her veins. In the morning light, she caught the glint of metal tubes stretching out from within the eagle's throats. Her heart dropped into her stomach, and for the first time since taking on this insane mission, wondered if she had made a mistake in believing it could be done at all.
Coal turned to look at her as they worked the oar together. "No ships out of dry dock, that was what you said," he growled at her, glaring through his helmet. "They wouldn't be ready yet, you said. Well, it looks like they were able to work well ahead of schedule!"
"The weapon might not be ready! There may only be archers and a few warriors on board, that is all," Priscilla hissed back, even if she didn't quite believe it herself. The report of the weapon given to them by Beaufort intelligence had been pretty clear as to how the weapon would be fitted for use, and the closer they got to those eagles, the more desperate she began to feel.
"Looks pretty ready to me!" Coal exclaimed as he took a glance over his shoulder. "That ship isn't even trying to be evasive. It's coming straight for us!" He waited for Priscilla to answer with another quip, but when she didn't, he groaned in frustration. "Priscilla, we have to do something!"
"Turn... Turn the boat, you fools," she hissed under her breath, hating herself for choosing a Jarl's flagship to sail on out of the entire fleet.
Ragna turned her head over her shoulder and flashed an angry snarl at the both of them. "Shut up and row, you worthless dogs! A drakkar has no room for cowards!"
Ragnar tipped his head back and let out a ridiculous wolf howl into the air as he stomped his feet on the deck. "Aaawooooh! Victory or Valhǫll! Victory or Valhǫll!"
Coal and Priscilla rowed on in grim silence for a moment longer until the Conqueror turned and shoved his shoulder against her in frustration. "Priscilla! This is suicide!"
They glanced back up the ship together, watching in horror as the taller trireme loomed above them closer than ever. Soon, it would be on them, those screaming eagles soaring above all their heads and bringing death with them.
"Dammit!" Priscilla cursed, jumping up off of her bench and taking off up the deck. There was nothing left to do but try and convince the Vikings to go against the one thing they all lived for. "Stop! Turn the ship!" she screamed as loud as she could, desperate to make her voice heard over the beating drums, crashing waves, and roaring wind. Her heart was pounding in her chest like a hammer, a cold fear gripping her as they sailed closer and closer toward their doom. "Quick! In the name of God, turn the damn ship!"
Herleif turned as he heard a woman shouting over the wind. He frowned, wondering who would dare give orders on his ship, and then spotted the Peacekeeper running down the deck and waving her arms in the air. For a moment, he couldn't quite catch what she was saying over all the noise, but the desperation and fear in her voice were quite clear. Gunnar stepped up to block the Peacekeeper's path, raising his axe as if expecting some sort of treachery to finally be revealed from their Knight allies.
"Get back to your bench! We row as one!" Gunnar roared at her. His warning did nothing to stop her, though, and she ran right up to him and grabbed the haft of his axe as he pushed it in front of her.
"Herleif, turn the ship!" she shouted at him, trying to slip past the Raider. Gunnar dipped and weaved with her, keeping her at bay as the warriors crowding the deck looked on in confusion and held their weapons at the ready. Priscilla fought against him, craning her neck to glance at Herleif over Gunnar's shoulder. "If you keep going, then we all die!"
"Do as she says!" Helge suddenly screamed from where she sat over her scattered fingerbones, her face stricken white with terror at the signs they revealed. Jumping to her feet, she ran to the nearest bench and grabbed hold of an oar already being handled by two warriors. She pulled furiously against them to plunge the oar into the lake and slow their advance, looking up at Herleif with bright and fearful eyes. "Fire on the lake! Turn!"
Herleif looked between the two women, stunned that Helge would echo the plea of this mad Peacekeeper. What did they know that he did not? What terror was about to befall them before they could strike at their enemy? He looked back at the oncoming ship, and suddenly he knew. The Pyre Knights weren't making a mistake by rushing headlong against the Viking fleet. This had been their plan all along.
Over the pounding of drums and crashing oars through the waves, a low rumble rose from the trireme's prow. As they sailed closer to the enemy, Herleif could hear the Knights aboard the trireme shouting to each other with sharp urgency. He could see the tops of their black helmets as they moved about like ants at the front of the ship, working at something just out of sight behind the bronze figurehead. The low rumbling grew louder and louder still, soon turning into a sharp hiss that emanated from the eagle's throats.
"Raise shields!" someone shouted just as the telltale whistle of arrows filled the air, death raining down on them from above. Arrowheads thunked into sturdy shields, quickly followed by the cry of those unable to protect themselves quickly enough.
Herleif hefted his shield above himself and Gunnar just in time, feeling two arrows slam into its broad surface from above. For a moment, he thought that the hissing he had heard was just the arrows falling from the sky, but even after the first volley, he could still hear the sound of it clear in the air. He waited under his shield for more arrows to fall, but none came. What did come next, though, was a weapon so great and terrible that no shield or armor had any hope of standing against it.
The sharp hiss grew into a deafening roar as a torrent of fire erupted from all three eagles. The bright flash of fire arced through the air, making the glowing prow beasts look like small candles flickering in the wind by comparison. Fire spewed from each eagle in front of the trireme, creating a ring of death to burn anything in its path.
Too late did the first Viking longship realize what was happening, and even as the call went up to steer out of the way, there was nothing to be done as it was engulfed in flames. In seconds, the entire vessel was overcome by fire, and the terrible cries of those on board were drowned out by the roar of the deadly eagle's scream that still flashed through the air.
"Cover!" Herleif shouted, knowing of no other order to give as the flames came forth, squeezing his eyes shut as he was momentarily blinded by the bright flash that had taken him by surprise.
Even from behind his shield, he could still feel the heat biting at his face and the sheer power of the blast shuddering through the air. When he opened his eyes again, everything before him had been set ablaze, and the snekkja that led the attack was already sinking into the lake. Somehow, even the water surrounding the doomed ship had become a sea of flames, as if evil magic was allowing the weapon to forego the laws of nature in its need to destroy anything it touched. The inferno danced upon rolling waves, jumping upwards like greedy hands around the longship to pull it down beneath the water.
Herleif watched helplessly as his warriors aboard the snekkja tried to escape a painful death by jumping into the lake, only to leap overboard into more danger. They died screaming in agony, trying their best to swim in boiling water before they eventually sank beneath the waves from the weight of their armor to drown in Ran's cold embrace.
The Pyre ship crashed through the burning wreckage without pause, splintering the snekkja's mast beneath its bow. Flame-spewing eagles passed through black smoke like hungry demons seeking their next meal, but soon, the scorching flare died away, seemingly spent. Through the dark haze, Herleif could already hear the Knights working at the trireme's prow to ready their weapon for another attack.
Gunnar threw himself at the railing and stared open-mouthed at the carnage left in the wake of the enemy's attack. The Divine Pyre had destroyed a longship in mere moments, wielding a fiery power more destructive than any in the realm of Múspell, and all before the Vikings had a chance to strike.
"Surtr take us! What evil power is this?" he shouted, his knuckles white as he gripped the ship's edge, "Flames on the water? Not even a fire-flask has that kind of power!" He looked over to Herleif, eyes wide with shock at what he had just witnessed. "Is this the power of the volcano? It can't be!"
Herleif gritted his teeth, gripping his shield tightly as he stared back at the enemy. It was coming straight for them now. The remaining snekkja that had been sailing along with Herleif had already fallen back, turning wide to escape the fiery destruction of the Pyre ship. Glowing hot liquid seemed to drip from one of the eagle's beaks, and the air before the figurehead still shimmered with the heat of its terrible breath. Already, the low rumble and rising hiss were once again beginning to fill the air.
"It matters not what it was! The power of gods or some evil seiðr, we press on!" Herleif roared as he jumped down from his spot at the prow and raced down the deck along the rowing benches with all haste. He slapped the backs of every warrior he passed by, shouting at them, encouraging them to put all their heart and strength into rowing through the burning waters. "Row! Row! Show these níðing bastards no fear! We must get to the harbor! Row!"
The drummer at the mast once again picked up the beat of the oars, faster than ever, to escape the scorching threat bearing down on them with each passing moment.
Boom-boom Boom-boom Boom-boom Boom-boom
The air sparked with the hiss of death, and again, a burning gout of flame erupted into the air from the eagles. Bright embers fell like molten rain from clouds of black smoke, setting the lake ablaze and turning it into a sea of glowing flames. The lake of darkness, it seemed, had become a lake of light, bright and terrible to behold, brought forth by the Divine Pyre's destructive might.
Coal ducked as an arc of bright flame hissed through the air. The blaze was nowhere near his head, but that much fire had a way of making a man's heart heavy with fear no matter how close it was. He had seen that the figurehead of the trireme had been shaped to look like bronze eagles, but the overwhelming rush of the weapon igniting sounded more like the bone-chilling roar of some beast risen from the pits of Hell. He gripped the oar in his hands tightly, barely able to hold onto it against the rushing water as he sat on the bench.
Just when he thought the lake might wrench the oar from his grip, Priscilla jumped down next to him and helped take up the burden of pivoting the ship away from the shooting flames. They both let out a strained cry as they pulled with all of their strength, along with every other poor soul struggling on board.
"Mother of God! I told you this was a bad idea!" he shouted at Priscilla, unable to keep himself from voicing his anger about this fool's mission. "Did you see that!? How do we fight that? We're going to die here sailing on this ship because of you!"
"Yes, I saw it, and we will live as long as you keep rowing! Now shut up and pull!" Priscilla shouted back, pumping her arms as fast as she could like it was up to her alone to keep the boat moving.
Coal groaned beneath his helmet as the air around them grew hot like the sun with another burst of flame. "This is madness! I thought you said the weapon wouldn't be ready yet?"
"I said with any luck!" Priscilla snapped. "Clearly between the two of us we have no luck at all!"
"You didn't know that from the beginning!?" Coal shouted, leaning back on the bench to bring the oar up before pushing it down into the water again. "We're sailing on a Viking ship against a bunch of fanatics that drove us from our home! I'm a Goddamn conscripted convict, you fool! What makes you think we had any luck to start with!?"
"Just shut up and row!"
The Salt Boar's hull groaned like a beast in pain as it cut a sharp turn in the water as the Divine Pyre closed in. Burning waves splashed up against the bow as fire fell from above, making the warriors towards the front of the ship cry out in pain and fear as they jumped up from their benches. Coal looked back and caught sight of the tall Valkyrie standing up from her seat and rushing down the rows to urge the warriors to remain and take up their oars once the ship was clear of the oncoming trireme. Amidst all the chaos, she seemed astoundingly calm, something that Coal himself could barely manage. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled at the oar, willing himself to ignore the heat and the noise and focus solely on getting clear of danger.
He felt like his body was already burning from working the oar as hard as he could, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins gave him the extra strength needed to keep working through the fear and pain. It was like he was sailing through a harrowing, fevered dream, and he didn't know which part of his situation was the most insane: sailing through a hail of fire and arrows brought forth by his own people or listening to the two Berserkers in front of him whoop and laugh their way through it all. Regardless of which one it was, there was only one thing that Coal was very much certain of.
He really should have just stayed in prison.
Glowing death was all that Herleif could see before him now. The blaze had come so close to his ship that he feared the wooden hull would start to burn simply from the heat alone, but somehow, they had made it out of the way just in time. Warriors gritted their teeth and roared their exertion as their oars churned in the waves with no drum beat to guide them, pulling the longship clear of the Pyre's attack and onto clear water. Fire swept through the air, landing harmlessly upon the water that still foamed in the wake of the longship. A shout of excitement rose up among the warriors, along with sighs of relief and cries of thanks to the gods for seeing them through such a disaster.
Herleif knew that his warriors truly had themselves to thank for surviving the Pyre's attack. The gods might be with them now, but it was by the strength of their backs and the determination of their will that they had successfully escaped. He wanted to congratulate them and celebrate the small victory they had earned, but he knew that the danger was far from over, let alone the fight for the harbor itself.
"Do not falter! Keep those shields raised!" he shouted down the deck. His warriors heeded the order just in time, as yet more arrows fell from above to slam into upturned shields. Another volley followed after, but soon the Salt Boar pulled far enough away to be out of range of the Pyre's archers.
Herleif lowered his own shield and waved to the drummer at the mast to keep the beat going. "Keep up the pace, and hold onto your courage! This fight is not over yet! The harbor still awaits us!
Boom Boom Boom Boom
Another resounding roar erupted through the air, and Herleif knew before he even turned to look that the eagles had spouted fire once again. A flaming longship crashed into another in the fleet as it failed to escape the spray of glowing embers coming at it. Even as his other vessels sailed safely on, he could hear the screams of warriors burning alive, unable to save themselves from the fire in the water beneath them.
It was as if the lake had been set ablaze by the very power of Mount Ignis. Black smoke billowed into the sky as the Divine Pyre sailed into the fleet, unrivaled among the northern ships with its terrible weapon. But not even a devastating power such as the Pyre's magic could last long against overwhelming numbers. The Viking fleet was closing in, and the further the Divine Pyre sailed against the surrounding longships, the less room it had to maneuver through the waves.
Like Óðinn charging upon his swift and mighty steed Sleipnir, one of the Bilrost ships came rushing at the enemy's side. It slid straight through the flames dancing upon the water and went at the trireme with all speed, ramming into the trireme with a bone-shaking crash. Everything seemed to go quiet for a moment as all eyes turned and watched the Pyre ship rock from the impact, tilting to the side as its hull buckled under the longship's reinforced bow.
As if the longships themselves were being worked into a battle frenzy, another came careening in to land a second blow against the triremes keel. Already knocked dangerously off balance, the Pyre ship rolled from the impact as the longship oars put more power into the attack. The large hull groaned as it capsized, its masts and great sails crashing into the water and sending white spray into the air.
A cheer of victory came up from the surrounding fleet, Herleif's ship included, but it soon became evident that just because the trireme was doomed to sink did not mean that the danger was over just yet.
Even as Pyre Knights fell from the deck and sank beneath the waves, fire continued to erupt from the eagles. It soared through the air like some hellish death scream as the vessel went down and spread flames over the water like a blanket of death, forcing incoming longships to quickly alter their course and sail around lest they be swallowed up by the infernal heat. The two longships that had crashed into the enemy were now desperately trying to get themselves dislodged from its hull, with warriors pushing at its exposed underbelly with their oars to escape the fire spreading around them.
The first ship to hit the trireme successfully freed itself and started rowing away from the danger to safer waters, but the other was not so lucky. The warriors aboard struggled too long to separate themselves from the doomed vessel. When they finally pulled away, it was only to row back into the flames that now surrounded it, setting the ship alight and sending its crew into a panic. While one half of the ship burned, the warriors on board began to jump from the other end, taking their chances in the choppy waters and trying to swim to the nearest longship to be rescued.
Few made it. More slipped beneath the waves and never came up again.
In moments, the trireme was nearly beneath the water. Only the bow remained above the surface now, with those three terrible eagles belching smoke and embers until the very end. If any Pyre Knights had somehow survived, there would be no hope for them now, surrounded by enemy ships and an inferno of their own making.
As the eagles finally fell beneath the waves, the water boiled and began to steam as the strange weapon was extinguished and the heated bronze rapidly cooled. Then, finally, the Pyre vessel was gone.
There were still more enemy ships sailing out against the fleet. Herleif looked out across the water and saw smoke rising against the clear sky. He could hear the roaring of fire and ships crashing unseen among all the smoke. What remained of the Divine Pyre cut their way into the fleet, but the Viking longships still sailed on to meet them.
Then, without warning, the world suddenly shook as a great explosion erupted among the ships, scattering wood, water, and bodies alike. A thick cloud of dark smoke billowed into the sky, and a great swath of the lake was set alight along with any craft unfortunate enough to be caught in the explosion's wake.
Even though it was a fair distance off, Herleif still ducked upon the deck as the shock wave sent his ship rocking upon the lake. Had the Pyre Knights done something wrong with readying one of their weapons, or did a Viking longship have the misfortune of striking the trireme in just the wrong spot to set off the explosion?
Judging from the sight of more black smoke rising into the sky, he could only guess that each of the Divine Pyre's ships had this terrible weapon at their disposal. He tried his best to spot any sign of the enemy among his allies, but with so much thick haze filling the air, he could only spot two triremes still sailing among the fleet and spewing forth flames from their prows. Each left burning wreckage in its wake, but there were still many more longships to contend with. Against those odds, the triremes wouldn't last long, even with the power of their holy volcano on their side.
"That was too close," Coal said, rowing a bit easier now as the ship sailed on, putting the burning lake behind them. The ship rolled over the waves with ease, but the smell of burning timber and smoke was still heavy on the wind.
Priscilla rolled her head on her shoulders, trying to work out the kinks in her neck after working the oar for so long. "We are not done yet. Stay close to me once we reach the harbor. It would do us no good to be separated by any more tricks."
Coal gave a gruff laugh that echoed from underneath his helm. "Not so trusting in your channels of intelligence anymore? Can't say I blame you after that little fiasco. Next time you make contact with Beaufort you should tell the Lord-Warden to go stick his head in a fire and see how much he likes being roasted."
"Be quiet," Priscilla snapped. She glanced up at the two Berserkers in front of them, but the savage twins didn't seem to have understood their language or cared what Coal had so carelessly let slip. "Just keep your head down and keep your wits about you. There is no telling what the Pyre may have in store for us now."
Coal shrugged his big shoulders. "I'm not worried. Once I get dry land under my feet and my flail swinging I'll be fine. I just think these Pyre bastards aren't the only ones we need to be concerned about as far as this little mission of ours goes. Was this really the best plan the Legion Council could come up with? "
Priscilla glanced back over the waves at the hundreds of longships full of Viking warriors. Soon, they would crowd the narrow harbor streets as they brought the sword to their enemies, washing the cobblestones red with blood.
"Apparently so. We are getting close now. Be ready."
The hazy shapes of buildings and towers could be seen now on the horizon, bringing a smile to Herleif's lips as they grew closer. There was also the shape of another vessel appearing out of the harbor all by itself, but the threat of more seiðr flames seemed less demoralizing now that their goal was finally in reach. They had made it. Through fire and smoke, they had arrived at the harbor unscathed. Eitrivatnen was theirs for the taking.
Herleif directed his crew towards the southeast, leading his portion of the fleet behind him to the barracks where they would make their landing. The lone trireme seemed to be sailing straight for the center of the fleet, meaning that it would be Erik's problem to deal with while Herleif focused on his part of the attack.
He could see the Pyre ship spouting fire now at the approaching longships, but by this point, the Viking sailors had learned to steer clear of the front of the vessel, maneuvering quickly around to its more vulnerable sides or stern to make their attack. Even with such a devastating power at the enemy's disposal, there was nothing that one ship could do against such overwhelming odds. As destructive as the Divine Pyre's weapon was, they had seemed woefully ill-prepared to use it.
Now was not the time to worry about whether or not more triremes might be put to sail against them. It was clear now that their path was clear, and Herleif had learned long ago to cherish what few gifts the gods gave during battle. His warriors could now row unbothered by the threat of enemy attack. Still, as they got closer to the city, he could see Pyre Knights rushing to take up defensive positions along the docks and waterside markets, ready to make the Vikings fight for every bit of ground the moment they set foot off their ships.
"Bring down the sail! Ready your weapons and prepare to bring in the oars!" Herleif shouted, unable to keep a grin from his lips even after sailing through such fire and mayhem upon the lake just to get to this point. He gripped his sword tightly, feeling its familiar weight in his hand as he banged the flat of the blade against the metal shield boss. "Remember that the Norns already know who will live and who will die in glorious battle upon these shores! So fight hard! Fight well! Fight without fear! Give the rest of us a death worthy of remembering you in songs and sagas! We live knowing that Valhǫll awaits us as we clash steel with our foes here today, and every Knight pisses himself in fear that they will wake up in Hell after our blades pierce their weak hearts!"
A cheer went up as warriors scrambled to carry out his orders, bringing down the sail and setting out weapons for those still working the oars. Herleif thrust Sólareldur into the air and looked toward the harbor and the army of purple and black warriors awaiting them there. He shouted out loud and clear, letting his voice be carried on the wind so that his enemies might hear him just as well as his crew.
"Victory or Valhǫll!"
"Victory or Valhǫll!" echoed the warriors behind him, a cry that was picked up by the ships following behind in the Salt Boar's wake.
Gunnar thumped the butt of his axe against the deck, taking up a position on the styrbord side as it approached the docks of the harbor. "Form the shield wall as soon as we make landing! Hold the line, and give no ground!"
They were coming up on a marketplace near the barracks, next to a large gate in the water. The gate blocked off what looked to be a large craft behind it. One of the missing Pyre ships, unprepared to set sail and bring fiery death to its enemies? Herleif heard the shouts of the Pyre Knights as they readied themselves for the attack and focused on the threat at hand, not what might be.
An entire raiding fleet was coming right at the Pyre upon the rushing waves, a sight to set any man running in fear, but these were all zealots and fanatics too caught up in their own delusional beliefs to just break without a fight. He could see black armored Lawbringers and Wardens towering above their troops as they shouted orders and sturdy Conquerors filling in the gaps in the lines with their shields.
The distance was closing now, so close to the moment of crashing steel and breaking shields. Just a bit longer now before the carnage would begin. The world seemed to go quiet, like the calm just before Thor began striking his mighty hammer to strike lightning in the sky. Out of the water rose great wooden spikes, meant to spear and catch the enemy ships before they could reach the docks, but the Salt Boar was too sleek and quick, sailing around them and leading the way for the others to do the same.
"Oars in!" Herleif shouted when he knew the time was right, taking up his position at the prow to jump ship as the boat glided along the water towards the dock.
There was a harsh clattering as all the oars were brought in from both sides, letting momentum carry them the rest of the way. Ragnar and Ragna snarled as they threw down their oar and jumped up from their bench, drawing their twin axes from their belts as they quickly made their way up the deck. Helge joined them, curved knife and hatchet at the ready as she gave her enemies a wicked and bloodthirsty grin. Skuld came to stand shoulder to shoulder with Gunnar, spear already leveled at the enemy as they came closer to the dock with each passing moment.
Priscilla gathered her Knights behind the Bilrost warriors, ready to provide support or fill in any gaps in the line as they made their initial attack.
"Steady… Steady men," she said quietly just to her Knight as she took up a position behind Coal with his protective shield and flail. "Remember, we are sworn Knights of Ashfeld, and we will reclaim what is ours."
Herleif gritted his teeth, lifting his shield in front of him and holding his sword at the ready as the tense moments seemed to slow down to a crawl. He stared over his shield at a single Warden waiting on the dock, longsword in hand, purple tabard, and black armor gleaming in the sunlight. He would be Herleif's first target, his first kill once they had made their landing. He glared at the single Knight, focusing all his wrath and his hate as if it was him alone that he had traveled all this way to kill.
A row of dinghies tied to the dock were crushed beneath Salt Boar, splintering to pieces as the longship scraped up against the dock. Wooden boards shifted underneath the Pyre soldiers, causing them to stumble as the dock was shaken by the force of the impact, putting the enemy off balance long enough for the Vikings to make their move.
Herleif didn't wait, didn't hesitate. He jumped forward from the ship as soon as it touched the dock, shield held firm and sword raised as he lunged at the swaying Warden. Sharp metal swung through the air, followed quickly by a gout of red blood and a gurgled scream from the falling Knight.
Landing on his feet upon the dock, Herleif shouted at the top of his lungs to his warriors with all the hate and fury he could muster within his heart and raised his bloodstained sword into the air for all to see.
"Attack! Attack! For the glory of Valkenheim, for the Allfather! Attack!"