The docks of Eitrivatnen harbor were left covered in blood and bodies as the Viking warriors pushed their way into the marketplace. No ground taken was given back, and within moments, the shield wall was made strong as Bilrost Vikings and Pyre Knights clashed against each other with brandished steel and iron.
Herleif held his shield firm in the wall, standing shoulder to shoulder with the warriors next to him as he blocked incoming swords and spears. The majority of the Pyre's front line was made up of just foot soldiers, but every so often, a Warden's longsword or a Lawbringer's poleaxe would strike down and glance off his shield, rattling the bones in his arm. He braced his feet and relied on the strength of those next to him to weather each blow, picking his moment to strike with a thrust of his sword through the gaps left in the enemy line.
"Hold the line!" he shouted to his warriors, willing his voice to be heard over the commotion of battle, "Push them back! As one! Push!"
A flash of light caught his attention, and he raised his shield just in time to block the point of a spear rushing for his face. The weapon glanced off the rim of his shield, and before the enemy could pull it back, he opened his defense and struck forward. There was a sharp cry of pain, and a Pyre foot soldier fell dead on the ground. Blood coated Sólareldur as he drew it back, dripping crimson onto his feet with each step forward.
They were gaining ground, the Divine Pyre line crumbling against the Viking onslaught. The shield wall was strong and only growing stronger as more and more ships arrived at the docks full of warriors ready to join the fight.
Breaking away from the line as his warriors moved forward, Herleif jumped onto a nearby crate for a better vantage point and took in the fight.
His ship had landed just next to a small storehouse that opened to a market and the enclosure that held the trireme. If they could take the market and hold it, then the southern half of the landing zone would be theirs to control, and the rest could be taken with a concentrated push against the Knights.
Watching the flow of the battle play out before him, Herleif began knocking his sword against the metal boss of his shield, setting a metallic rhythm that was soon picked up by others who came to reinforce the battle line. He continued until the noise rose over the roar of battle like a strong and steady heartbeat, striking the pace to which his warriors pushed ever forward.
"Who brings down the thunder?" he called out.
"Thor!" his warriors responded, calling out with one powerful voice and moving with one body as they attacked their enemy. Swords thrust outward from behind shields, striking the Pyre Knights and leaving bodies to drop from the enemy ranks as they pulled back.
Herleif watched in grim satisfaction, keeping an eye on the surging line while beating the flat of his blade against his shield boss. "By whose mighty hand do we wage this war?"
"Tyr!" came the cry in answer, so loud that it drowned out the Knights' shouting before them.
All down the line, Raiders brought down their axes over the shields of the enemy, cleaving through metal and bone in a spray of blood. More Knights fell, creating gaps in their line that the rest struggled to fill. Highlanders grabbed the nearest Pyre commanders and tossed them to the ground, only to be cleaved with their giant claymore blades while spear-wielding Valkyries struck down any foe who tried to press the attack.
"Who will welcome us into Valhǫll as heroes?" Herleif shouted above the battle din.
"Óðinn!" shouted the Vikings in unison, their voices mad with fury and bloodlust now. Their roar was so loud that it would make even the roots of the great tree Yggdrasill tremble.
Berserkers burst forth from the shield wall and let their axes fly, ripping into the enemy line and breaking it entirely. A Warden screamed just before his head was cleaved from his shoulders to the delighted howl of the battle-crazed warriors. Blood-crazed Shaman followed suit, slicing at legs and hacking into the backs of any Knight that tried to turn and run.
Seeing the Pyre begin to falter, Herleif jumped down to rejoin his warriors and push the advance. Joining up with a dozen other Warlords, he led them in the charge and caught the wide eyes of some poor foot soldier just before he barreled over him, smashing the man's face with his shield. Other Vikings followed behind, pushing down the dock into the marketplace and leaving the storehouse open for more warriors to make their landing.
The Vikings charged forward across the docks, pushing into the marketplace and trampling over the fallen bodies of Pyre Knights as they went.
"Break! Secure the area! We will not lose this market!" Herleif shouted as his warriors surged into the heart of the market, directing them to guard the few entrances to secure the area.
Behind them, to the south, was a set of stairs that led to a balcony and walkway above, but he was much more focused on the two ramps that led up past the trireme and toward the fortified barracks. As warriors moved into place with their shields, the doors of the barracks slid open, and more Pyre Knights came rushing out to replenish their dwindling ranks.
"Here they come!" shouted Gunnar, taking his place behind the shield wall with his axe raised.
Herleif clapped his sword against the rim of his shield and stepped up to the line to add his strength to the chain. A black-armored Lawbringer led the charge against them, poleaxe ready to spear his way through the wall of Viking shields. Herleif braced his legs, prepared to block the attack when it came.
"Look out! Above us!" came a call from further back in the market.
Herleif looked to where the warrior was pointing and turned to the balcony overlooking the market. He saw a dark shape jump out into the air, silhouetted by the bright sun, only for it to drop down onto an unsuspecting Raider and drive two sharp blades into the warrior's neck. The Raider dropped, and Herleif watched as an enemy Peacekeeper pulled her knife and sword free in a gout of blood and swung them in an arc around her to fend off any incoming attacks. She ducked and rolled as a young dark-haired Warlord tried to land a headbutt to knock her off balance, only to fall with a cry of pain as she sliced his hamstring instead.
The enemy Peacekeeper didn't stop or slow down as she wove her way through the midst of the Vikings holding the market, dodging and slicing between flashing blades and leaving the cobblestones splattered red in her wake.
Letting out a curse, Herleif moved to defend his warriors but then remembered the Lawbringer charging at him as the sound of stomping boots grew louder. He turned back just in time to block the Knight's spearing thrust of his poleaxe with his shield, but his footing was off now, causing him to be pushed backward with a sharp grunt, forced from his position in the line and creating an opening in the shield wall.
He did his best to stop himself from being pushed any further as he stumbled backward against the Lawbringer's strength, but the damage was done. Pyre Knights were already focusing on the gap in the line, attacking the weak spot of the chain and forcing their way into the market.
Trapped in the press of bodies, Herleif soon felt the shields of his own warriors pressing against his back and bringing him to a halt. Finally able to break the Lawbringer's momentum and push away the poleaxe with a shove of his shield, he slashed with his sword but only struck the haft of the polearm as his enemy skillfully knocked away his attack. He struck again but was blocked a second time, giving the Lawbringer the chance to go in for the kill.
Luckily, he wasn't fighting alone, and having a warband at his back certainly had its advantages.
Skuld appeared at his side, swinging at the Lawbringer's head with her small shield and knocking the armored giant off balance. The Pyre Knight was vulnerable now, stumbling to the side defenseless, but the warriors around them were too tightly packed together for Skuld to effectively follow up her bash with a thrust of her spear.
Thankfully, Herleif was better equipped with his sword, thrusting it down from behind his shield to stab at the Lawbringer's groin. The armored man screamed and toppled over, giving Skuld the room to raise her spear and skewer him through the neck. The last Herleif saw of the Lawbringer, the Knight was coughing up dark blood through the holes in his helmet, slowly dying as the fighting continued around him.
Pushing his way through the throng of warriors, Herleif moved to stand against the Peacekeeper who was cutting down his men. It took him a moment to spot her in the crowded market, but soon, he caught sight of the hooded figure kneeling above another body. She had someone on the ground and was thrusting her dagger into their back repeatedly to make sure they did not get up again. He let out a cry of challenge, barreling his way to her with his sword raised. With the Peacekeeper's back turned, he knew that he had her and put the needed strength into his arm to make sure his strike to her head was a clean kill.
Then he saw the body on the ground, dead in a pool of blood from three brutal and precise stab wounds. A Peacekeeper, garbed in the purple and black colors of the Divine Pyre, the one who had leaped from the balcony, while the Knight kneeling before him had a piece of red and white cloth wrapped around her neck that he hadn't noticed before. Cold shock split through Herleif's chest as he brought his sword up short, just barely stopping himself from cleaving it into Priscilla's skull.
Priscilla turned and looked up at the sword that had almost ended her life, then at Herleif. He couldn't see the look on her face behind her hooded helmet, but she seemed rather calm for someone who just had such a close brush with death.
"Surely... our alliance has not broken so quickly, has it?" she asked him, panting hard through her helmet.
Herleif squeezed the grip of his sword and finally collected himself enough to pull back and step away. "By the gods, you really all do look alike from behind. So much for that bloody scarf idea," he said with a shaky voice.
The battle fury had been up in him, and the sudden need to stop had him feeling cold and sweaty beneath his armor, and each beat of his heart was like the pounding of Thor's hammer. Taking hold of his sword and shield together, he reached out with his open hand and helped Priscilla up to her feet.
Then, a Lion Flame Conqueror pushed his way through the crowd of warriors to them. He looked between Herleif and Priscilla, eyeing the bloody weapons between them.
"You alright?" he asked the Peacekeeper.
"Yes. Just getting into the thick of it. Perhaps you would care to join?" Priscilla answered back, then nodded to the shield wall that was fighting desperately to stem the flow of Pyre Knights flooding into the marketplace, filling the air with the clash of metal and the screams of the wounded.
The Divine Pyre was certainly making a push to reclaim what they had lost, but they were having a hard time of it against the sheer amount of Vikings standing in their way. If the shield wall didn't hold, though, the marketplace would become a slaughteryard of both Knights and Vikings alike.
"Starting with that seems like a good plan."
Herleif looked over towards the Viking line and cursed. "Right… Now we feed the raven."
Taking up his sword again, he looked over toward the horde of warriors spilling into the market from the docks and spotted Ragna and Ragnar among them. He waved his sword and called out their names for their attention. Ragna spotted him first and punched her brother on his arm to get him to focus on their Jarl.
"Ragna, take the stairs!" Herleif shouted, pointing towards the back end of the marketplace, where the stairs led to the balcony above. "Ragnar, up to the ship!"
The Berserker twins looked to the trireme, where gangplanks allowed access up to the deck and then over towards the barracks, where the Pyre Knights charged from. Then they nodded to Herleif in understanding, and for a quick moment, they touched their heads together before parting ways, each taking a handful of warriors with them to press the attack and outmaneuver the enemy.
With his orders being carried out, Herleif turned back to the growing hole in his line. He slapped his sword against the rim of his shield and let out a growl of anger to turn his blood hot once again. "Get to it then, tin-men. Now is not the time to stand idle... Show me what the Lion Flame can do!"
Priscilla laughed, and Coal looked at him for a moment and gave an appreciative nod.
"I think that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me on this whole trip," he said, letting the spiked head of his flail drop down to swing on its chain and bringing his studded shield up in front of him.
Together, the three of them charged the soldiers of the Divine Pyre, crashing into their ranks with battle cries ringing out into the air. Herleif slammed the rim of his shield into a Warden's face, then cleaved them with his sword from shoulder to hip. Priscilla dodged a foot soldier's strike only to twirl around him and slice her dagger across his throat, while Coal swung his flail with such quick and practiced precision that each enemy he struck was dead before they hit the ground. They fought with unbound hate and fury, together as foes now united by a common enemy, and beneath their feet, the blood flowed like red waves upon the lake's shore.
Ragnar swung an axe low to trip up the leg of some poor foot soldier, then brought the other up and slashed his belly open before they hit the ground, spilling blood and guts like mead from a horn.
With a hearty laugh, he twirled around a purple-clad Peacekeeper and sank an axe blade deep into her back before she fell to her knees with a sharp scream. The remaining enemy soldiers shrank back in fear, making Ragnar laugh all the louder as he ripped his axe free and leaped joyfully at the Pyre line.
He was blind to everything else around him as he cut down each new enemy upon the trireme's deck, cleaving with one blood-covered axe and then the other. The Divine Pyre had reached the ship before him and his group of warriors, creating a defensive wall of swords and shields to hold the deck and keep the path around to the market clear, but a strong line of shields was nothing to a battle-crazed Berserker. With just a few swings of his axes, he had chipped away at the shields of the weaker, less renowned foot soldiers and carved a way into them like a wolf terrorizing a herd of sheep. A mad, vicious, howling wolf that could smell blood in the air.
It was too bad that his sister was not there to join him in the slaughter, but she had her own bloodletting to do, guarding the marketplace from above. Not that there was much to be shared upon the trireme's deck, as the Pyre line had already broken before his wrath, and the enemy was already retreating back towards the barracks. Ragnar swung at a Warden who had been guarding the Pyre's retreat from the ship, their weapons clanging together as he tried to break his guard, but growled in frustration as the Knight rolled away and took off running to regroup with his men.
"Filthy coward!" Ragnar shouted after him, snarling at the Warden's back, and angrily swiped both axes through the air, "May the gods piss on your ancestors and curse your cock to rot off!"
Now that the ship was secure, Ragnar turned back to rejoin his warriors but stopped when the sound of stomping boots and clanking armor caught his ears. He looked to his right and saw a whole troop of Pyre foot soldiers led by a Lawbringer and the same cowardly Warden running along a raised pathway toward a gatehouse near the trireme's prow.
"Ah, not good! Not good!" Ragnar fretted, knowing that the gate keeping the trireme confined doubled as a bridge connecting the gatehouse and the docks where the Viking ships had made their landing.
With that many troops, the Pyre would undoubtedly be able to hold the gatehouse and the northern half of the docks with ease. From that position, they would make the Vikings pay in blood to move forward and be able to mount a counterattack across the bridge toward the landing zone.
Snarling in frustration, Ragnar ran back up the deck to regroup with his warriors. He would have to lead an attack on the gatehouse before the Knights could dig in, though he knew in his heart that it would most likely mean his doom. But a Viking does not fear death at the hands of his enemies, especially one chosen by the gods such as him.
He was Óðinn-blessed, a Berserker without fear. Slapping his axes together, he rallied his warriors to lead them down the gangplank against the enemy.
"Steel yourselves, men! Now we go to meet the Allfather in the golden hall, so hold your heads fucking high and show no fear. We are Vikings, and our drinking horns will be overflowing with the blood of our enemies when we are greeted in Valhǫll!"
The warriors beat their swords and spear shafts against their shields as they got into formation to charge. There was a set of stairs just across from the gangplank leading up into the gatehouse, but a bridge crossing above left the path vulnerable to attack. To the left was another entrance near the gate, but a gaping hole in the gatehouse wall made it easy for the Knights to pounce on them from above, leaving both routes open to attack once they made their move.
Ragnar could already see the Knights taking up defensive positions in the building. The Lawbringer leading them stepped to the building's edge and looked out at the Vikings gathered before the trireme. He spotted Ragnar out in front and thrust out the spear of his poleaxe to single him out for death. Ragnar smiled at the challenge and lifted one axe high in the air to prepare for the attack.
"Ready!" he shouted to his men, muscles tense just before giving the signal to charge, "Victory or – Oof!"
Something small and hard hit Ragnar from behind, and as he fell forward to the ship's deck, he thought he had surely been struck dead. The battle was over for him, and his body was now just a lump of lifeless meat, useless to everyone he left behind. Ragna would finally be the strongest warrior in the clan and stop having to share Helge's affections with him, and he would get to spend the rest of his days getting drunk off his ass in Óðinn's hall until Ragnarǫk.
All in all, it was a rather fortuitous outcome for everyone involved when he thought about it. But the sharp sting of his head crashing into the wooden deck made him realize that he was still very much alive, and sadly, he would have to wait to taste that golden mead just a little bit longer.
"I am not done with you yet, my love," came a chilling voice through the ringing in his ears, and before he could even groan out a reply, he was being hauled back up onto his feet. For a moment, his legs were still shaky, but he was able to keep his footing and shook his head to clear away the blurriness from his eyes.
Helge stood before him now, her smile all teeth and eyes holding a sinister glint. He glowered at her, gripping his axes tight as he snarled in her face. "Daft woman! This is the time for iron and blood, not your silly games. The Allfather calls me home!"
The Shaman did not flinch one bit before his wrath and swiftly grabbed him by his beard and yanked him even closer until they stared with one set of crazed eyes at the other.
"Only I get to say when you can go, and the Voices tell me we have much more fighting and living to do before then." With that, she kissed Ragnar square on his lips, then slapped him across the face so hard he was sent whirling away with a grunt.
Pivoting on one heel, she rounded on the Viking warriors, who all shrank behind their shields before her, not daring to challenge the Shaman even after Ragnar had bolstered them to meet their deaths without fear. Helge smiled to see them tremble and sauntered around them as if they were cattle brought to the altar stone for sacrifice.
"Óðinn himself has spoken to me, and he has no wish for such pitiful and insignificant louts such as you to taint the reputation of his great hall. So, for now, you all belong to me! And I have thought of another way to bring our enemy low. One that will make the Voices clamor for blood and sing our praises when we are done!"
Turning over her shoulder, she pointed to the three eagle figureheads at the prow of the ship. "Fire was their weapon, and now it shall be ours."
A short time later, Helge was clamoring her way through the trireme's hold, followed closely by three warriors toward the front of the ship to help carry out her plan. On ahead, she could see the metal pipes that snaked their way up along the trireme's hull to the figureheads above. It was unclear to her exactly how the enemy weapon worked, but with the gods' guidance, she would undoubtedly work something out, even if she ended up destroying the entire ship in the process. Three large metal tanks were laid out before her, that the tubes were attached to. Each tank had a lever behind it that reminded her of a forge's bellows, and there was a strange, acrid smell about them that stung her nose.
"What strange seiðr," one warrior said as he came up next to her, "They use metal to contain their fire?"
Helge chuckled lightly, pushing him out of the way as she circled the metal tanks to see how they might work.
"This is no seiðr. Their volcano is not that strong. Look, they take credit for the creation of others," she said, pointing to a foreign symbol etched on one end of the tank's surface.
"That's Wu Lin lettering, isn't it? What is this doing on a Knight's ship?" the warrior asked, and Helge was rather impressed that a lowly shield-bearer might recognize the eastern script. The warrior squinted as he looked over the three tanks. "So... how do we get it working?"
"Perhaps I should cut open your belly and seek the answer among your entrails, hmm?" Helge asked without looking at the warrior. He quickly shut his mouth, and she reached into the small pouch hanging from her belt and pulled out a handful of rune-caved finger bones and teeth. "Well, if you will not volunteer, I guess we shall ask the gods for direction in a different way." Tossing the bones and teeth onto the deck, she watched as they clattered together in a chaotic pattern that made little sense to the warriors with her.
"There," she said, pointing at a finger bone spinning around and around with no sign of slowing. "And this one," a wolf's fang rocked on its curved edge among the rest.
Looking at the tank furthest on the right, Helge motioned towards a wheel where the tank met the pipe. "You there, turn the wheel. And you two, help me with this lever."
The warriors stepped quickly to her command, and once the first had turned the squeaking wheel a few times, Helge and the others began to lift the lever up and down, pumping it until they heard the rush of liquid flowing out of the tank and up the pipe.
Helge laughed happily, the muscles in her arms working hard to keep the heavy lever working. "Do you hear Them, my friends? Do you hear the Voices calling out for more blood?" she asked the warriors but received nothing but wary looks in return. Helge didn't care, though; no one else ever heard Them. Strangely, knowing that she was the only one who could made her enjoy listening to their bloodthirsty cries all the more.
Ragnar roared as he brought his axe down onto the eagle's neck, then again with the other. The metal blade sank into the side of the bronze figure, and he let out a triumphant cry as he tore the axes free and stared into the gaping hole in the figurehead. It had taken him some time, but he finally succeeded in cutting through the bronze eagle and opening up the pipe within. And not a moment too soon, it seemed, as a sharp rush of what sounded like water coming up through the tube towards him.
Leaping clear, Ragnar watched in amazement as a gush of clear liquid suddenly burst forth from the eagle's neck and soared into the air. The stream arced away from the ship, raining down on the north side of the dock and all over the gatehouse where the Pyre Knights stood. He laughed as he saw the Lawbringer and Warden jump away from the falling rain, and soon, the air was full of a strange and sharp smell that sent his nose twitching.
Then he turned his attention to his men defending the gangplank from Pyre soldiers trying to fight their way onboard. When the Lawbringer had seen Ragnar begin hacking away at the eagle, he had sent his troops to try to intervene. Whether or not the enemy knew what he and Helge were up to, Ragnar did not know, but regardless, the Bilrost warriors had managed to keep the Pyre at bay for now, but they would only hold out for a little while longer as the fighting grew fierce.
"Pull back!" he called out to them, though it pained his heart to do it, "Time to go! Swift as mighty Sleipnir! Go!"
Heeding the Berserker's command, the warriors slowly began to pull back, keeping a tight formation with their shields to keep the advancing enemy from overwhelming them. Ragnar watched carefully, ready to rush in to help at any moment, but became distracted when he felt his boots become wet around his feet. Looking down, he found himself standing in a puddle spreading from the open pipe.
The acrid-smelling geyser was spraying all over the ship now, sending a shiver of panic rushing down Ragnar's spine.
"Helge! Time to go!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, hoping to the gods that she could hear him below deck.
The rear line of Viking warriors was rushing past him now, running back down the way they had come to make their escape. Not all had abandoned the defense, though, choosing to stay behind and slow the advance of the Pyre soldiers as they thrust and sliced with their swords. Ragnar knew that these men had chosen to stay and face their fate with honor, and it made his heart swell with pride to know that such brave warriors would soon be feasting with the gods in Valhǫll.
Taking a step back, Ragnar pulled out a fire-flask from his belt, and he struck the spark cap once with his axes, but nothing happened.
A cry of alarm went up from the other side of the ship, and he looked up to see that the Lawbringer and pathetic Warden had left the gatehouse and were now cutting their way through the Viking warriors and up the gangplank, fighting desperately to reach him.
It took every ounce of Ragnar's will not to abandon the plan entirely and rush forth to meet those armored cowards with axes flying, but instead, he did what he had to do and struck the spark cap again with his blade. The top of the fire-flask flashed and began to spark, and Ragnar hurled it at the open pipe with all his might. Turning to run, he didn't bother to look and see where it landed, but the loud crack of an explosion and the burst of heat at his back told him that his aim had been true.
There was a great rush of air as the explosion rushed outward, lifting Ragnar clear off his feet and throwing him towards the southern dock with a great cry of fear and excitement.
For the second time that day, he crashed to the ground with a hard thud, but this time, he quickly got back to his feet and spun around to marvel at the sight before him. The front half of the trireme had been engulfed by flames, the explosion of the fire-flask having been doubled by the power of the Pyre's own weapon. The wound on the eagle's neck had become a gout of liquid fire, rushing through the air to splash against the gatehouse and set it ablaze.
From where he stood, Ragnar could see the Pyre Knights collapsing upon the burning deck, writhing in pain as they died a horrible death. The Lawbringer had tried to retreat back down the gangplank to flee, but it was already too late. The explosion must have caused the fiery liquid to splash all over him, as his suit of armor had become a glowing torch of dancing flames from which there was no escape. Soon, he fell to his knees screaming, no doubt roasted alive within the very armor that was meant to protect him. The cowardly Warden already lay dead upon the deck, evidently not having survived the initial blast of fire that robbed the Pyre of their vantage point.
Ragnar threw up his axes and let out a long wolf's howl as fire and smoke rose into the air before him. His time to meet the Allfather was not yet at hand, but he had no doubt that this moment would earn him a place at Óðinn's side when the battle of Ragnarǫk was finally at hand.
"Burn! Burn, you wretched worms of Miðgarðr!" came a loud and shrill cry from the rear of the ship. Ragnar looked over to see Helge and her warriors emerging from below deck, and the Shaman was lifting her arms into the air as if urging the bright flames to rise even higher.
"All your miserable lives have led to this end, and now you are nothing but food for the gods!" Helge screamed and laughed without restraint, her eyes wide and tongue out as she watched the bodies of her foes burn to ash for the amusement of voices in her head.
Ragnar dropped his axes and sighed, using one of the curved blades to scratch at the back of his head. "Crazy woman. Always has to be the center of attention." He muttered to himself.
Suddenly, there was a sharp crack from below the burning deck, and the whole front half of the trireme exploded in a roar of fire, shredded bronze and splintered timber. The gate in front of the ship was utterly obliterated, littering the lake with flaming debris as the entire dock shook from the blast. The plan had worked even better than expected, it seemed, ending any chance of the Divine Pyre flanking the Vikings and attacking their ships. It also sent Ragnar flying into the air yet again.
For the third time that day, he was thrown to the ground in a heap. He could feel hot air rushing over him and watched as twirling flames leaped up into the sky above. This time, he did not move to get up but instead just lay there and let out a long, quiet groan from between his lips. After a while, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching just before Helge appeared, standing over him with that same toothy grin spread across her lips.
"The gods are pleased with you, Ragnar. They enjoy watching chaos and death, and you have given them much of both," she said happily.
"Does that mean I'm done?" Ragnar wheezed up at her, his eyes still staring up at the smoke-filled sky past her head, "Do I get to enter Valhǫll now?"
Helge bent down and grabbed her lover's hand, grunting as she dragged him up off his back and onto his feet. "No, I have not said you can go yet. There is still more fun to be had in this life, and we must experience it together."
Slipping herself under Ragnar's arm, she helped support his weight and guided him, dazed and weary, down the dock towards the market, where the fighting continued. "Come, we must go find Ragna and see what kind of fun she has gotten up to without us."
The sound of fire and battle filled the air as the trireme slowly began to sink into the harbor, but Ragnar couldn't help but grin back at her. "Ha! Nothing could have been more fun than that. I'd bet my beard on it!"
Herleif had no idea what had brought about the terrible explosion on the ship's deck, but he would be sure to personally thank whoever had caused it with a horn full of silver once the battle was done.
The fiery blast had acted as the perfect distraction to turn the tide against the Divine Pyre pushing their way into the marketplace. Herleif had been locked in pitched combat against a bucket-helmed Warden when the explosion had ripped into the sky. The Warden had been so taken by surprise that he came up short while charging forward with his shoulder, allowing Herleif to cut his head clean off from his shoulders right in front of a group of watching foot soldiers. He had caught the head as it fell and tossed it back at the soldier's feet, sending them running back the way they had come, screaming for their lives.
From that point on, the battle became a rout as the Vikings forced the Divine Pyre out of the market and back toward the barracks, which were situated behind the archway of a large gatehouse. Herleif and Gunnar led the charge after the enemy, with Skuld, Priscilla, and Coal following close behind. They charged their way up the ramp from the market but quickly stopped when they found the great ironwood gate to the barracks dropping closed before them.
"Troll shit!" cursed Gunnar, jerking his axe through the air in frustration. He turned towards the other warriors and waved them forward. "Bring fire-flasks! We'll have to burn this thing down to get through!"
Herleif shook his head. "No, we should go back through the market and follow after Ragna to look for another way. Burning it would take too much time."
"Would going around be any quicker? By the time we reach the doors those bastards will already be dug in and waiting for us," argued Gunnar.
Priscilla cocked her head up towards the gatehouse, holding out her sword to get the brother's attention. "Shh. Do you hear that?"
Herleif and Gunnar both went silent to listen and quickly noticed the sound of fighting and the screams of dying men coming from behind the gatehouse walls. Next, there was a loud clanking of gears and chains and the cry of a woman shouting orders in an ear-blistering tone. The gate gave a loud groan and then began to rise up again, clearing the path for the Vikings to pursue their foes.
Gunnar gave a triumphant laugh at their turn of luck. "The gods smile on us again!"
"It has to be Ragna. She must have taken the gatehouse on her own!" said Herleif loudly, getting his warriors to cheer for Ragna's success.
"Did you have any doubt?" came a gruff voice from the crowd. The warriors parted to let Ragnar and Helge through to join Herleif and the others. The grinning Berserker looked a little rough around the edges as Helge helped him along, but he was alive, and that was enough to put courage into the hearts of those who saw him. "My sister isn't going to let a little something like an army of Knights stand in her way of saving the rest of your mangy hides."
Gunnar smiled, glad to see the wild Berserker still alive. "Was that big fire all your doing, you crazy bastard? You're looking a little singed about the beard."
"I'm touched that you noticed. But no, the fire was all Helge's idea. Or at least from someone inside her head." The Shaman beamed with recognition, and Ragnar stepped away to stand by his own strength again. "But what are you doing standing here? We going to stare at each other's beautiful faces all day, or are we going to kill us some Knights?"
Moving past the Raider, he slapped the flat of one axe blade against Gunnar's rear before he dashed off to lead the charge through the gate. Gunnar jumped and grumbled at the slap, turning a bit red under his helmet, while Herleif chuckled and signaled his warriors to follow Ragnar to the barracks.
They seemed late to the fight, and the courtyard behind the gate was already littered with bodies as Ragna and the warriors who followed her tore through Pyre Knights like a scythe through a wheat field.
Ragna was in the middle of chopping a Knight's head from his shoulders and turned with a feral growl when she heard others approaching from behind. Her mood barely changed when she saw that it was her brother and the other of the Bilrost warriors.
"Where in Helheim have you been? There's bloody work to be done here," she snapped at Ragnar, who smiled happily to see his sister. The two Berserkers greeted each other just as they had parted, with Ragna putting a hand behind her brother's neck and touching their foreheads together in a shared moment of peace among all the death and chaos of the yard.
The remaining Vikings finished cutting down any Pyre Knight, unfortunate enough to be left outside the barracks once the doors had been closed. Soon, the courtyard was filled with the screams of the wounded and dying, and among it all, Herleif stood frowning up at the great doors that barred his way to the rest of Eitrivatnen harbor.
"Ragna, Ragnar! Find me a way through this door. Hack it down if you have to, just make it quick," he commanded, and the Berserker siblings nodded as one before ordering a few Raiders with their great axes to set about cutting through the doors.
Herleif turned and surveyed the crowd behind him, looking for the one person he knew could tell him what to expect once they were through, but did not find her anywhere.
"Priscilla!" he called out but received no answer. His gaze found another white and red Knight, a slim-looking Warden who stood rather stiffly among the Viking horde. "You there! Yes, you. Come here," Herleif said gruffly, beckoning the Warden to him, "Where is Priscilla? She was just with us outside the gate, and now she seems to have vanished."
The Lion Flame Warden looked around as if he had been unaware of Priscilla's absence, which concerned Herleif all the more.
"I know not. I saw her just before we entered the courtyard as you said, but lost sight of her in the crowd... my lord." He added the last part quickly, remembering that he was talking to a Viking Jarl rather than just some random barbarian. "I don't see Coal either, and those two have always been close as of late."
Herleif nodded and waved the Warden away back to his companions. He had not noticed Coal's absence either, but he did remember the Conqueror showing concern for the Peacekeeper during the battle. Perhaps it was not a coincidence that the two had disappeared together, but he could not guess why.
"Has she betrayed us?" asked Gunnar, speaking quietly at his brother's shoulder, "Perhaps she has gone to set about an ambush, or maybe to save her own skin?"
Herleif glanced at Gunnar and shook his head. "No, I do not think she would betray us. I believe she is committed to this cause, along with the rest of the Lion Flame Legion. She fights with too much hate and fury for it all just to be a ruse."
Gunnar huffed and licked his lips, clearly unwilling to concede his point. "I do not trust her. She knew about the fire out on the lake, about the Pyre's weapon. You heard how she called out for you to turn the ship, even before the fire began raining down on our heads. She knows things. Things she has not shared with us or with Erik."
Herleif listened to what his brother said, knowing he spoke the truth. Glancing back to where the remaining Knights stood, it was clear to him from the way they gestured among themselves that they were as confused by the Peacekeeper's sudden absence as he was.
"Or shared with the rest of her legion, I think," he said. Turning to Gunnar, he put a hand on his brother's shoulder and spoke firmly. "Find her, and the Conqueror too. Take some men if you have to, but bring them both back unharmed. Do not kill them," he commanded, holding his brother's gaze for a moment, "not unless it is absolutely necessary. They have both fought and shed blood with us today, so I will not pass judgment until I have heard an explanation."
Gunnar frowned but nodded to his brother. "Try to leave some cultists for me to kill, eh? No one makes songs about having to save Knights," he grinned and then headed off into the crowd and back through the gate to chase down their wayward companions.
Herleif watched his brother go until he was out of sight, a tinge of worry in his heart for his safety. Gunnar was well practiced at taking care of himself, but it was still an older brother's duty to worry, even if it was just in private. Letting out a sigh, he looked back towards the barrack doors and called out to those hacking them down.
It was also the duty of a Jarl to give some encouragement to his warriors when needed. "Why is that accursed door still standing? Did I sail with children to fight this battle! Break it down before the Gjallarhorn blows, if you please!"