For all her life, a Viking raid was something that Priscilla had been taught to fear. They were the stuff of nightmares. Tales of fire, deadly blades, endless slaughter, and no survivors left in the barbarian's wake. Somehow, though, the stories always spread, and by the time Priscilla had grown to be a young woman, she was more than ready to join the ranks of Ashfeld's legions to fight against the terrible menace from the north. Since then, she had fought against the Northmen from Crow's Path to the Blackstone Hills, doing what she thought was her duty to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.
Now, she had successfully helped a violent Viking horde sack one of the greatest cities of her homeland, but somehow, it felt like she had still done her duty in the end.
The Divine Pyre had fought relentlessly, but their zealous resolve had broken once Morgana's head had been brought down from the tower and placed on a pike. Only a handful of cultists survived long enough to surrender, the rest laying down their lives in the name of the volcano they worshiped so blindly, leaving their hacked and mangled bodies strewn about the citadel. This had once been a place of trade and politics, where magistrates managed the city's affairs, and traders from far and wide came seeking permission to sell their wares at the harbor's market. But less than an hour ago, the citadel was a cacophony of clashing weapons and screaming warriors, and now it was only a place of death, like so many other places across Ashfeld and, indeed, all of Heathmoor.
Priscilla had done her fair share of the killing, having fought without mercy to finally break the Pyre's hold over Eitrivatnen, but now all she felt was exhaustion after a long day of violence. She sat on the steps of the citadel's main keep, her back turned to the large wooden doors that had been smashed open during the attack, and her fellow Lion Flame comrades scattered about her. Her hands and her blades were both covered in blood, her arms resting upon her knees, and she was meditating on how everything she had ever known had all gone to hell.
Coal sat next to her; shield wedged between his legs as he leaned over it and rested his chin against one fist like some grumpy-looking gargoyle. He stared silently over the loud courtyard full of lingering Viking warriors, and out the charred gates nearly blasted off their hinges by the devastating weapon that now sat silent and cold.
Priscilla was thankful for the lack of conversation, preferring to keep to her own thoughts for the time being. It was not in a Peacekeeper's nature to be talkative at the best of times, but barely surviving the execution of her mark earlier that day had left her feeling more withdrawn than usual. If only everyone in her company felt the same, she might have been able to finish out the day in some semblance of peace.
"Do you think we should stop them?" Marcelo asked with a hesitant quiver in his voice. Standing just a few steps behind Priscilla, he watched a constant stream of Viking raiders moving in and out of the keep.
Each heathen that went in soon came out again clutching whatever loot they could get their hands on. Whatever wealth in jewels and precious metals the Pyre had been hoarding for themselves after bleeding the city dry was now theirs for the taking, but they also came out carrying crates of fine silks and embroidered tapestries, delicate marble carvings, and even grand paintings that took multiple people at once to carry down the steps. They all wore big smiles under their scruffy beards and laughed as if they had simply found such treasures lying about freely rather than having to hack and cleave through an entire army to get at it.
No, the hard work seemed to be over, and the real raiding could now get underway. There appeared to be nothing the Vikings wouldn't pick up and carry off with them if they thought they could fit it on their ships. It was a wonder that they had any interest in half of what they were stealing, surely having no culture for fine paintings or historic heirlooms among their people in the desolate north, but it was the very act of taking the thing that drove them to strip the citadel bare. Theirs was a need to lay claim to what they had conquered and leave nothing behind, like bones picked clean from the carcass of a mighty beast. For these barbaric raiders, stealing was simply a tradition.
Marcelo watched helplessly as one precious item after another was carried off and tried to keep himself busy by cleaning his longsword with a cloth that was far too dirty to complete the task as he fumed. "These treasures belong to the people of Eitrivatnen, or at the very least the poor souls who have endured life under the Pyre's tyranny. Surely we cannot simply stand by and watch it all be taken?" he said, imploring the meager number of Knights around him to action.
Priscilla didn't so much as shrug as she answered him bitterly, "I suppose you could try asking them nicely to stop and see where that gets you."
"Somehow, I think that if such a simple solution could work, our ancestors would have succeeded at negotiations with these savages centuries ago," Marcelo countered as he moved down the steps toward her.
"Well I am out of ideas, then. Coal, do you have anything to add?" Priscilla asked, but Coal just gave a small shake of his head and a disinterested grunt that echoed from within his helmet. Priscilla nodded, then craned her head back as Marcelo tried his hand at looming above her. "Tough luck, friend. I guess not every victory is a happy one."
Marcelo balled his fists and shook his head as he regarded the raiders again. A trio of them were carrying off a large painting in an ornate golden frame. Painted on the canvas was a pale woman whose pink lips were curled into a coy smile, standing in a pool dotted with lily pads and wearing a soaked gown that left nothing to the imagination.
"This is ridiculous. I admit that not all of these barbarians are the wicked fiends I once thought them to be, but I still can't help but feel we have only delivered our people from one terrible fate and into another." he growled.
Priscilla reached up to snatch the cloth from Marcelo's hand and sat back against the steps to start wiping her blades clean. "Unfortunately, that is the deal we have appeared to make," she grumbled.
She wasn't in the mood to explain to Marcelo how the world at large was not as glorious and honorable as he would like to think it was, but if he was going to just stand there and patronize the rest of them over their alliance with the Vikings, then someone needed to break the sad truth and make him see sense. "They help us defeat the Divine Pyre, and the good people of Ashfeld get their lives back. After the Vikings take whatever they want for themselves, of course. But that is just the way things are here in the north. Surviving through another raiding season or war is just a way of life."
"It truly was a deal with the devil that we made, wasn't it?" he asked, gazing forlornly out the gates at the steady stream of stolen loot being carried away.
Working the cloth over her dagger, Priscilla examined the metal in sunlight and flicked away a bit of red bone caught on its edge. Her blades would need a good sharpening after all the work they had done that day. "Would you have preferred we stayed and fought the Pyre on our own? Perhaps try to hold out and wait for the Legion Council to save us in a glorious show of force, united under the Lord-Warden, righteousness, and God like in the old days?"
There was a gruff laugh from one of the other Knights somewhere behind her, and Priscilla watched as Marcelo fidgeted uncomfortably before he got down and took a seat on the steps beside her. "If we had tried either of those things then we all would have surely perished a long time ago, and there would be no hope of salvation for any of these people," he said as confidently as he could manage.
"And so we did what we had to. We survived and bided our time. We sought out refuge where our enemies would not think to look and yes, we made a deal with the devil," she stated, wiping down her short sword next as she spoke, "It was hardly the best deal, but the only one we could make at the time. And now we must live with the consequences of our actions, no matter how badly it might sting our pride. I believe Coal knows a little something about all that, having suffered more than most to get where he is today. Is that not true, Conqueror?"
"Leave me out of this," Coal grumbled, and Priscilla continued.
"Once a free man, and now a conscripted prisoner forced to fight in battles he had no hand in starting, then re-deployed to our legion in the north just before everything turned to shit. His whole life ripped apart and turned upside down even more so than any of us, and yet still he fights on. If anyone can handle keeping their head down and staying the course, it is him. So be more like Coal here, Marcelo. Just keep your mouth shut, and do as you are told."
Marcelo's shoulders tensed as he was told off in front of the other Lion Flame Knights, but his resolve would not be shaken so easily by friend or foe. "This isn't right," he muttered under his breath.
Out in the courtyard, the Vikings had opened up a case full of wine jugs and were passing them out among themselves, guzzling the red alcohol like carefree nobles at a merry summer festival. They were celebrating their success in battle, no doubt, and giving thanks to their many war-loving gods for delivering them such grand rewards that they had stolen from the dead.
Marcelo was right to think that this deal wouldn't be the salvation their people needed, but his hope for a righteous victory against untamed evil was just a fool's dream in the end. Nothing in life was so simple, not so black and white. That was why she and Coal were working on their own plan behind the veil of grand armies and mighty battles. A plan that had been long in the making and was longer still in execution. Eliminating Li Qiang and confiscating his formula was only one step toward completing that goal.
They couldn't involve the Vikings in their plot. If the Jarls knew the secrets behind the weapon created by the renegade Zhanhu, then they would no doubt take it for themselves. Their primitive fire-flasks would take on a whole new destructive element when used in a fight, creating infernos out of entire battlefields that would be impossible to control.
Judith and the rest of the legion couldn't know either. As much as she loathed keeping it a secret, Priscilla had kept the burden of this plot to herself since the very beginning of this nightmare. Including them in the plan now would only lead to questions of where she had found out about the weapon in the first place, questions that Priscilla wasn't ready to answer. If the others ever found out the true masterminds behind this plan, they would never trust her again. Too many lines had been drawn in the sand for her to start spilling secrets now. She had to stay the course.
Their plan would work, she believed. It was working; they just needed more time. Just one more victory at the Walled City and then Ashfeld's true salvation would be within their grasp. They just needed time. She had to believe it would work. She had to hold onto that hope that she was doing the right thing, or else she would be lost.
That was what always weighed on her the most- just hoping she was doing the right thing.
A commotion rose up in the courtyard to break Priscilla from her reprieve, and angry shouts rang out as someone tried to fight against the wave of raiders taking their loot off to the ships. Coal lifted his head, looking over the many helmets and spears, and spotted someone who stood out uniquely among the Northmen.
"Mm… Here comes that crazy Gladiator," he sighed, taking up his shield and flail and slowly getting to his feet. "Why some people are still so fascinated by the Old Empire, I'll never know. It's old and might as well be dead."
Priscilla just shrugged and didn't bother to get up, spotting the Gladiator weaving through the crowd as he approached. "We make war often enough. Why not add ancient blood sport into the mix too?" she said grimly.
The Gladiator coming toward them wore a brightly polished bronze helmet with the image of a grinning skull on the face and adorned with a crown of spikes running left to right across the top of his head. He was lightly armored, dressed more for a day spent under the hot sun of southern Ashfeld than a battlefield, though he did have a small chest plate strapped to him, mismatched greaves, and an armored sleeve that covered his right arm like the scales of a giant snake. His tall trident was slung over one shoulder, and the small buckler in his other hand bobbed up and down in the air as he effortlessly jogged through the crowd.
All in all, he seemed quite the theatrical figure, and his appearance was undoubtedly a carefully crafted costume to increase his popularity when fighting in the arena of some city or another. But this venture they were on now was hardly a sporting match, and there would be no wild crowd to cheer for any of them whether they won or lost in the end. Certainly not if they lost.
Priscilla remembered how, at the time of their escape across the sea, Judith loathed to accept the wayward Gladiator into their ranks, thinking him just as a marvelous distraction at best and an extra mouth to feed at worst, but he had since proven himself a capable fighter even among their tightly knit military unit and was quick with an exciting tale from his days in the arena if one cared to listen.
The Gladiator stopped just short of the first step and stood at rigid attention once he had reached where Priscilla and the other Knights were sitting. He stamped the end of his trident on the ground, lifted his chin high, and slapped his buckler over his chest with undue enthusiasm as he gave a salute more dramatic than the most devoted of legion soldiers could ever hope to accomplish.
"Godfridus Malus Ferocianous, reporting for the most honorable Lady Judith DeLaroux, Commander of the Lion Flame Legion, esteemed protectors of mighty Ashfeld's northern coasts!" he exclaimed with gusto.
Priscilla knew for a fact that at least two of the names he had given were made up for the arena. No one named their children like that anymore, as the reign of the Old Empire had ended ages ago. Always with the fanfare, these sportsmen.
"Yes, I know who you are, fool. There are hardly any other Gladiators walking around this damn city," she said, shaking her head."Just tell me where Commander Judith is. And Golden-Shield, too, for that matter. Their presence was sorely missed while we took the citadel."
Godfridus didn't so much as lower his chin an inch, keeping his pose perfectly still with the utmost conviction. "Ah, the most honorable Lady Judith bids that the Lady Priscilla and her Knights come with all haste to the church near the city's eastern gate! It is there that many of the oppressed citizens of this war-ravaged city have taken up refuge during the fight. Now, the mighty and powerful Viking Jarl, Erik Golden-Shield, lays siege to this place of holy worship, seeking to plunder the church and take its sacred treasures and relics for himself! Lady Judith fears for the safety of those defenseless citizens sequestered within, feeling that the heathens will show them not an ounce of mercy in their vain quest for gold and material riches!"
As the Gladiator gave his speech, many of the surrounding Vikings stopped what they were doing and looked in his direction, their heads cocked and eyes alight with curiosity. The news of yet more plundering going on without them in another part of the city had certainly sparked an interest in their minds, and with the citadel pretty well sacked, a few raiders near the broken gates were already picking up their war gear to go and find this vulnerable church that was spoken of.
Priscilla looked around and saw this, rolling her eyes under her hooded helmet in annoyance. "Forgive me Godfridus, could you say that again? Only a bit louder please, for I fear that not enough of our northern friends heard you the first time."
"What?" exclaimed the Gladiator, too caught up in his own grandstanding to even notice the commotion his words had caused.
"This is no time for jests, Priscilla," growled Marcelo as he stood and stepped between her and Godfridus, "You heard what the man said. More looting and more death. Is this really the outcome we sought to achieve here today? We need to help these people. Now, before all hope for a worthwhile victory is lost."
Priscilla sighed and rolled her head on her shoulders before standing up. "There is always hope, my dear Marcelo. If there was not, then we probably would have all just laid down and died a long time ago. It may not work, but at least we have hope." She gave her blades a quick twirl before sheathing them on her belt. "Alright, time to move you lay abouts," she said over her shoulder to the other Knights, "Let us be heroes then."
As the others picked up their weapons and moved past her down the steps to follow after the Gladiator, Priscilla's attention was caught by movement from far overhead, and she glanced up to look. High above them on the tall tower that overlooked the citadel, she saw three small figures moving about on the roof. She realized they had removed the Divine Pyre's banner from the tower's spire and were now raising another. A tremendous golden banner, with a bright eagle in the center with its glorious wings spread wide.
She knew the banner of Jarl Erik Golden-Shield, proclaiming his new dominion over Eitrivatnen. The very man she was now going to rescue the city's own citizens from. It was funny how life could turn out in such strange ways, but one should always expect to lose something when making deals with devils.
More and more Vikings crowded the narrow streets as Priscilla and the other Lion Flame Knights got closer to the church. She could see the tower housing the church bells rising over the buildings, stone gargoyles glaring down at the city as if on guard against the barbarian invaders.
The church was large and imposing, rising above the surrounding buildings like so many temples of worship across Ashfeld. A large stained glass window glittered in the hazy sunlight, and the rising facade was decorated with ornate carvings depicting the figures of saints long passed and angels welcoming the citizens of Eitrivatnen to come and pray. A large garden encircled the whole building, with a small outer wall and iron gate around that, and near the back was a collection of old headstones and tombs to make up a small cemetery within the city.
This was a holy place in a land made godless, so it was no wonder why the citizens who had suffered under the Divine Pyre's lash had come here seeking refuge when the attack had begun. From the crowd of clamoring Northmen that surrounded it, one would have thought that the church held all of Ashfeld's wealth for how badly they wanted in. The barbaric horde shouted for the doors to be opened, banging their weapons against their shields as if they meant to charge the place of worship and tear it down brick by brick.
Priscilla had to make an effort to push her way through the crowd of Sea-Eagle warriors. They stood shoulder to shoulder with their shining helmets and broad shields, refusing to let her pass unless she physically pushed them aside. One red-haired Berserker shoved her back as she advanced, nearly causing her to trip over someone's foot and fall before Coal caught her. The wild woman sneered, and the rest of the Vikings all laughed to watch the little Knight be put in her place. Coal put his shield between them and the snarling Berserker, but he only sparked her ire in doing so.
"Got something to say, tin man?" the Berserker grinned, her hands already going to the axes that hung from her belt. Before the confrontation could escalate, though, Godfridus appeared at their side and put a confident hand on the Berserker's shoulder.
"Peace, good warrior. Peace…" he said with a slight tilt of his head, the skull embossing on his helmet giving him a wicked grin, "We only seek to pass through, for we are on a most honorable quest to safeguard the poor citizens locked within that coveted house of worship. Let us pass, unless you wish to make contest here and now. I would hate to thrash you about like a novice in the training circle before all of your good comrades here. But I assure you, if it is a fight you seek then you need look no further then I, Godfridus Malus Ferocianous, the dreaded Hell Spawn of Sow Mesa!"
The red-haired Berserker frowned at the Gladiator as she looked him up and down. "Who?"
"Godfridus! Malus! Ferocianous!" shouted the Gladiator, exclaiming each part of his name with passionate fanfare. All at once, he moved in close, getting in the Berserker's face as the woman reeled back, his voice mounting in grandiose fervor as his excitement became uncontrollable with each boast that followed. "You look upon the man who took on the deadly embrace of the ferocious Shugoki, Hiriyama Jin from distant Jigoku, and walked away with his spine still intact! Why, it was none other than I who slew the accursed Exile of the Lion Wastes with one perfect stab of my trident to his dainty foot. I have danced with vicious beasts from all corners of Heathmoor and taken their heads as trophies to the roar of the crowd! I, who did mighty battle with the terrible Temptress of Westlake from dawn until dusk and still had the strength to bed her with incredible passion that very same night! I, who have fought in arenas all across this noble land and come away with so many scars in so many places that they would shock and awe you to wonder how I received them! I, who-"
"Enough! Enough!" cried the Berserker, slapping the Gladiator's hand away from her shoulder, "Just go! Get gone, the lot of you!" She looked warily between the Knights, then sank back into the crowd and slipped away like a scared pup with its tail between its legs.
Godfridus stood there silently for a moment, his one hand still raised as if shocked that the Berserker would just leave in the middle of his speech. Then he relaxed, shaking his head sadly.
"Ah, yet another fair lady overcome by the magnificence of my astounding reputation. Such is the price that comes with achieving such grand deeds in the arena. What a tragedy, the burden of fame... But we must not tarry!" he exclaimed, lifting both chin and trident as he turned and strutted towards the church, leading his fellow Knights through the crowd of dumbfounded Vikings. "Clear a path, you hairy vagabonds! Let us pass, or I shall show you how I defeated the mighty Dragon Lord of Blackrake and earned myself the title of Bowel Shaker among my many foes!"
Marcelo quickly stepped up next to Godfridus. "You slept with the Temptress of Westlake after your duel?" he asked.
Godfridus chuckled pleasantly. "Indeed. Ah, that is a night that would forever live in songs and poetry if I was the type of man to fornicate and tell the tale."
"If memory serves, wasn't the Temptress of Westlake hideously disfigured from all of her fights in the arena?"
"Oh, God yes!" exclaimed the Gladiator, cocking his head towards Marcelo. "She was quite the frightful sight to look upon when completely undressed. What of it?"
"Nothing," Marcelo said quickly with a shrug of his shoulders, "Just curious if it was true."
Priscilla's head was pounding as she followed along, but whether it was from the day's battle or Godfridus' boasting, she wasn't sure. As they drew closer to the church, she spotted Judith and the rest of their legion just beyond the gate, standing guard before the doors with weapons ready. She looked about for any sign of Erik Golden-Shield but only saw his son Magnús standing before Judith instead. The young Berserker looked none too pleased with the situation, golden axes clutched tight in his hands, feet braced, and shoulders squared as if waiting for a fight to break out at any moment.
"I don't give a shit who is in there, you ashen haired wench," she heard Magnús snarl as she made her way through the gate, "We're going in to claim what is ours, and as far as I am concerned anyone we find lurking about in there is free for the taking."
Judith simply shook her head, her longsword held at her side as she stood tall against the Berserker prince's ferocity. "That is not how this is going to work, Magnús. This is a house of God and you are standing on hallowed ground. I will not allow you to commit anymore atrocities here then have already been committed by the Divine Pyre."
Priscilla glanced up toward the church and noticed for the first time how the building had been vandalized during the occupation. The stained glass window above the door had been smashed apart, the holy images depicted by the colorful glass lost, leaving only the hollow skeleton of a cast iron frame behind. The Phoenix crest of the Divine Pyre had been drawn on the church doors behind the Knights who now stood guard, and high above their heads, the stone cross that should have adorned the bell tower had been broken off and taken away. A glance to her right showed that it had just been allowed to fall from the tower instead and now lay embedded in the broken earth and forgotten in the churchyard nearby.
Such sacrilege. No doubt, the Divine Pyre had worked quickly to break down Ashfeld's established religion before replacing it with their own ideology once the north had been abandoned to their rule.
The evidence of their cruelty had been left on Eitrivatnen like a scar that needed to be healed, but had she and her legion truly found the proper remedy by bringing the Vikings here to liberate the city? Surely, the heathens would do no better, seeing churches and houses of government as nothing more than stone buildings to be plundered for treasure and resources. But there was no point in having second thoughts now. Whatever good or ill might come, now it was simply part of the plan.
Magnús glared at Judith as she stood defiantly before him, baring his teeth in anger. "My father's army stands with me. What are a few rogue Knights going to do to keep us from smashing those doors down and taking everything within? You are all little more than pets and should learn to heel when told."
Judith's hand tightened around her sword, the tension mounting as she looked around at the horde of treasure-hungry Vikings that surrounded them. Despite the fact that they had fought together to take the city, the threat of what the Northmen would do to claim the treasure they believed was owed hung over the Knights like a dark storm cloud.
Priscilla took that moment to speak up, leaning in beside Magnús with a little wave of her hand. "Perhaps we will not succeed, but we could still fill you full of holes before we are all slaughtered where we stand. It is not the best of all possible outcomes, I think, but one that I could certainly live with. Or die with, as it were."
Magnús whipped around to look at her, his eyes narrowing at the newly arrived Knights coming in through the gate, and he realized that he had become surrounded in the church's courtyard. Indeed, his father's warriors could have made quick work of the lot of them, vastly outnumbering what remained of the Lion Flame Legion, but standing alone and surrounded by so many well-armed and battle-tested veterans of Ashfeld meant he had little chance of escape on his own. Even a Berserker's strength had limits.
Godfridus stepped forward next, his head held high and back straight as he brought his buckler to his chest once again in salute. "Ah, honorable Lady Judith! It is I, Godfridus Malus Ferocianous, returned as requested with-"
"Shut up!" snapped Judith and Priscilla in unison, causing the Gladiator's armor to clatter as he jumped and fell quiet.
Magnús sneered as he looked back at Priscilla, flexing his fingers around his axes. "The gods would not allow me to be defeated by such sorry and disgraced warriors as you lot. I am a favored son of the Æsir, Óðinn-blessed and Berserker strong. I have nothing to fear from the likes of you níðingr!"
"Shall I take that as a challenge, boy?" asked Judith, finally bringing up her longsword and pointing it at the young Berserker prince. "Let us do away with all this useless talk and let our warriors see which of us truly stands with the blessings of the divine on their side."
"Ah-ha, yes! A contest of skill!" exclaimed Godfridus with a flourish of his trident. Again, he stepped forward, moving to Judith's side as he took up a fighting stance and brandished his three-pronged weapon at Magnús with vicious intent. "Good Lady Judith, I beg you allow me to stand as your champion in this fight! I will make quick work of this rabid wolf, just as I bested the vile Black Hound of Hylur in my younger days. I will flay his hairy hide and gift it to you as a rug or perhaps a fashionable scarf if you would prefer." The Gladiator was posed immaculately in the moment before battle, each part of him perfectly placed to show off the most bulging muscle and gleaming armor. However, he ultimately failed to notice how Judith seemed to sag and shake her head at the needless display.
Magnús didn't seem to mind, though, not in the least, as he snarled at the Gladiator. He quickly brought up his axes, happy to take up Godfridus on his offer to a duel, and answered with some bravado of his own. "Be careful who you address, peasant! I have slaughtered a hundred Knights today single-handedly, you clanking whoreson. I would carve you up like a roasted pig and feed you to the worms and crows!"
"Ah, is that the best you can do, you little milk drinking cur? If your mother was here, I would slap her for giving birth to your mangy hide so that you would have the audacity to stand before me now!" Godfridus laughed, giving a dismissive wave of his buckler as he traded insults with the golden-clad Berserker.
Priscilla could see Magnús' eyes widen with fury beneath his helmet as Godfridus spoke, his blonde beard bristling as he seethed. The Gladiator had obviously struck some kind of nerve in the young would-be northern prince.
"You leave my mother out of this, you worthless pile of troll shit! I'll take that pointy stick of yours and shove it so far up your ass that you'll become my new banner as I march into battle!"
Godfridus twirled his trident over his head, then planted it in the ground with its deadly prongs facing the sky. "You are welcome to come and try... Indeed, fortune does favor the bold. Such could be said of your father, I think, for he would truly have to be a mighty brave man to hump your mother as she chewed cud in the fields with the rest of his cows."
"My mother was a mighty shield-maiden! Feared across the land by níðingr like you! Speak ill of her again and I'll fucking kill you where you stand!" Magnús roared, voice cracking as he hacked his twin axes through the air. His entire body began to shake as his anger grew, and Priscilla couldn't help but think that this would be the time to ease off and leave the wild, blood-crazy Berserker alone, lest this battle of words became bloody in earnest. But Godfridus only seemed emboldened by the warrior's threats, going at him again like a bloodhound after the scent of a wounded animal.
"Ha! That cannot possibly be true. I could never believe that you would be the son of such a mighty she-wolf. All I see before me now is a little golden pup, yap yap yapping away as he waits for his tiny balls to drop."
That got a bit of a laugh from the surrounding crowd, both Knights and Vikings alike. Magnús gritted his teeth, casting hateful glances all around before rounding on Godfridus again.
"You... you spineless wretch of a pig's ass!"
"You quivering shit-pile of foul refuse-eating swine!" Godfridus returned.
"Dirty, maggot-spewing bastard!" Magnús snarled with flying spit.
"Vile, lice-ridden spawn of a diseased back-alley whore!"
"Cowardly goat fucker!"
"You yellow-bellied fornicator of poor defenseless beasts!"
A few hollers and a whoop of adulation went up from the watching crowd, and there was even someone clapping not far off. Godfridus turned to the onlookers and gave an appreciative nod, puffing out his chest as he took in the adoration. It was almost like those few encouraging cheers were akin to the entire roar of an arena in his mind.
Magnús growled and stamped his feet as he stared the Gladiator down, his face growing more and more red like the setting sun.
"How dare you speak to me this way!" he yelled for all to hear as he pointed one axe accusingly at Godfridus. He began to march towards the Gladiator, squeezing his weapons tight in his hands until his knuckles turned white. "I am Magnús Eriksson! Son of the most powerful Jarl in all of Valkenheim, and you will show me the respect that I fucking deserve!"
Bringing one arm back, he lifted an axe high and swung to bury the glimmering blade in the Gladiator's neck. Just as the swing was about to cleave through flesh and muscle, Godfridus ducked to the side and spun around with incredible grace and agility, leaving the axe to slice through nothing but air as he stabbed out with his trident at Magnús' toes.
"Away with you," he taunted, sounding more annoyed than angered by the Berserker's attack.
Magnús gave a sharp yelp as he jumped back from the trident's stab. He barely got his foot away in time before the sharply pointed tips stuck him to the ground. Hopping back on one foot, Magnús' face flushed with embarrassment as his father's warriors laughed at the spectacle Godfridus had made of him.
"Curse you!" he roared, attacking the Gladiator again, this time with axes spinning around him in a flurry of flashing steel and gold.
Godfridus stood his ground, weathering the oncoming blows like a mighty stone against an endless gale. Magnús spun around and around, swinging hard with his axes so that they sparked and sliced against Godfridus' buckler with the horrible shriek of metal on metal. Then suddenly, the Gladiator made a move so quick it was almost impossible to see, hooking the shaft of his trident in the curved edge of the Berserker's bearded axe. Magnús stopped short, his arm and shoulder jerking horribly as all his momentum was brought to an abrupt halt. Unfortunately for him, Godfridus had the upper hand now, yanking the young warrior around and sending him twirling through the air. Magnús gave a harsh cry as he soared through nothing before he crashed to the ground with a thud.
Now, the crowd was openly laughing, and Godfridus stood before them with his arms outstretched, urging them to cheer more. It seemed that once again, after months of running and hiding, the battle-tested pit fighter could again revel in the skill he displayed and stand as a god of the arena. He jumped back, moving his feet quickly as he raised his fists and gave a series of lightning-fast punches, dodging and weaving as he fought an unseen enemy, all to the crowd's delight.
Some of the Vikings were even clapping as they cheered him on, and none of them made a move to help Magnús as he slowly got to his feet. The young Berserker looked haggard and defeated, doubled over and panting as he went after one axe that had flown from his hand. The Vikings of the Sea Eagle clan just watched and jeered, whispering among themselves as the Jarl's son struggled to defend his honor.
"That'll teach the whelp some manners!" yelled out some unseen warrior, causing Magnús to snarl and snap obscenities at the crowd.
Priscilla sighed in disbelief as she watched the pointless display of arrogance and bravado before her. "This is ridiculous," she said, moving to stand next to Judith, "Nothing but a waste of time."
"Agreed. We are wasting a perfectly good distraction right now," grumbled Judith. Putting a hand on Priscilla's shoulder, the taller woman leaned in close and spoke softly. "Go inside and make sure that everyone is alright. See if you can get them ready to move. I think that there is another entrance at the rear of the church where they can slip out unseen."
"Slip out to where, exactly?" Priscilla hissed back. "In case you failed to notice, this city belongs to the Vikings now."
"It matters not," Judith bit back, her hand squeezing a bit harder on Priscilla's shoulder, "Take them to the city gates, to the fields beyond. Take them into the sewers if you must, just get them away from here before these heathens decide they are tired of watching this farce."
Priscilla bit her lip beneath her helmet to keep herself from retorting back and simply gave a nod before moving from Judith's grip. She tapped Coal on his arm and motioned for a Lawbringer and Marcelo to join her. Together, they slipped quietly behind the row of Knights guarding the door, waiting until they bunched up to give them some cover before ducking into the church as quickly as possible.
There was another roar of challenge from Magnús, then the clash of metal against metal from out in the courtyard. She heard Godfridus give a sharp laugh, followed shortly after by the watching crowd erupting into grand applause.
Leading the way, Priscilla slid to the side and made sure that the others got in without much noise, easing the door shut just after the Lawbringer managed to squeeze through while wearing so much armor. The commotion from outside quickly softened as the door latched closed, the metal click echoing faintly to the high rafters above.
The church was quiet and dark, with only a few candles lit on the far end of the chapel and dim light shining through the small windows. At first, Priscilla thought the place was entirely deserted by how still it was, but then saw the dozens of wide, fearful eyes staring back at her out of the gloom. Then she saw their faces, at least thirty or more, pale and stricken as they knelt huddled together among the rows of benches that stretched toward the altar. Priscilla swallowed hard as she looked over them all, suddenly feeling the total weight of her task and this mad plan she had helped implement fell upon her shoulders.
There were no warriors here, no one who was about to pick up arms and make a glorious last stand for their family and neighbors. Those fools were surely all dead by now, already killed by the Divine Pyre when they had taken Eitrivatnen.
No, what she saw were a bunch of scared women and children and those too old and frail to be a threat to the Pyre's rule. They all looked small, even the adults. Thin and run ragged, most likely left little more than the clothes on their backs while the Pyre took everything else for themselves. One little girl whimpered as Priscilla looked in her direction, burying her face in her mother's chest as the woman held her tight, staring with tear-filled eyes.
Were they afraid of her? She and the other Lion Flame Knights? It wouldn't come as that much of a shock. Even if they hadn't witnessed their legion fighting side by side with the Viking horde through the city, these people had all just spent months under the tyranny of Knights who had once sworn oaths to protect them. After living through the treachery and violence brought about by the Divine Pyre's rise to power, it was a wonder that they might ever trust another Knight of Ashfeld ever again.
Then, a priest stood up from the crowd and took a hesitant step forward, looking at each of the four of them in turn. He was middle-aged, thin, and wore a fine purple robe tied with a golden cord around his waist. He licked his lips and spoke, though his voice faltered initially, and he had to begin again.
"Are... are they gone?" he asked, licking his lips again, his eyes darting between them a bit quicker, "Are we saved?"
Priscilla stared back at him for a moment, saying nothing. She braced herself for what she knew was about to happen. Times like these, it was like wounding someone without ever drawing her blades.
"No, the Vikings are not gone," she said in a calm and clear voice.
No sooner had the words left her lips than the entire church erupted into cries of anguish and fearful groans. Some shot up to their feet, demanding answers about what was happening. Others remained on their knees, turning to the altar with hands pressed together and heads bowed as they quickly uttered their prayers for deliverance and mercy.
Priscilla took a deep breath, raising her hands to try to calm the crowd as she continued. "My comrades and I are here to get you all out safely, but I need you to listen to me!" she called out, having to raise her voice to make sure it was heard over all the clamor. "Please! Please listen! Tell me, is there another way out? A back door we could use to get around the Northmen outside?"
The priest held his arms out helplessly at his side, appearing lost as the rest of his congregation looked to him for answers. "Ah... Y-yes, there is another door. It leads out to the cemetery," he uttered in a weak voice. For a man of faith, he looked as if he was about to lose his at any moment, along with whatever sat in his belly from how pale he had become. "But it is a door that we hardly ever use! It is old and heavy, and the hinges will surely creak if we attempt to use it. The Vikings will hear it, I know they will! They will hear us and catch us before we can escape!"
Marcelo stepped forward and put a reassuring hand on the priest's arm, attempting to calm him down before his rising fear could spread to anyone else. "Be brave, Father. For the sake of your flock, be brave," he urged, holding the priest's gaze until the frail man began to nod. "Now is not the time to give into fear. Even if all seems lost, and the wolves howl just outside your door, do not betray your hearts to despair. There is always hope, so long as good, true Knights are willing to stand up for those who cannot stand for themselves."
A few of the older men and women seemed to be encouraged by Marcelo's moving words, nodding their heads and looking to others who still needed some encouragement and support. They were good words, Priscilla thought, but not the kind that would make the horde magically disappear and see them all to safety.
"Take us to the back door. We are leaving now, all of us together," she said, leaving no room for doubt as she looked at the priest. The holy man nodded, then looked to Marcelo and gave an appreciative bow of his head before turning and heading for the back of the church. Priscilla moved to help usher the rest to follow, allowing a few people out from between the benches.
When she came to the mother with the cowering child, the woman suddenly gripped her arm tightly and pulled her in close.
"What's going on? Why are the Vikings still here?" she asked, her eyes wide with fear and madness. No doubt she only felt afraid for her child, trapped and cornered while the monsters of the north lurked just outside the door. "If you're here, then why isn't the city saved? When will the legions come to help us?" she demanded.
Priscilla tried to pull her arm free of the woman's grip but found it frightfully strong, and she did not wish to hurt the woman by removing her forcefully. "Forgive me, but there is no time. We must be away now. Please, go with the rest," she urged, still trying to free her arm.
The woman only seemed to hold onto her tighter, coming at Priscilla now, even as her little girl began to whimper and cry in her arms. "We deserve to know! Have we not suffered enough? My child is in danger! Why has no one come to save us? Why? Why!? When will someone do something!?"
Again, Priscilla tried and failed to pull her arm away. The woman was taller than her, bigger too, looming above her like some overbearing manifestation of judgment for her part in all of this.
"My good lady, please... just go..." she muttered, suddenly feeling very small beneath the woman's harsh gaze.
Her heart began to race in her chest, and she felt the trickle of cold sweat running down her neck beneath her helmet, fearful that everyone would suddenly round on her and accuse her of being a traitor. Accuse her of being complacent, of toying with their lives to serve her own goals. This was a house of God. How could she deny the truth when it was thrown at her feet? Her breath caught in her throat, making her neck feel tight as she tried to speak, and finally, she jerked her arm back with enough force to get free.
"Please, I just want to get you and your daughter out of here. We are doing all we can..."
"If you are here, why do the Vikings remain in the city? Where are the other legions?" continued the woman angrily as she grabbed for Priscilla again. "Don't they know what has happened here? What is going on? Tell me!"
"Alright, that's enough," snapped Coal as he appeared next to her, shoving the woman away and moving her towards the others. He didn't seem bothered by the crying child in the woman's arms or the spiteful glare she flashed at him as he pushed her toward the back of the chapel. He moved up behind the shuffling crowd, flanked by the Lawbringer, who herded people towards the exit like frightful sheep with his poleaxe. "Go on! This isn't a request, now move!"
Priscilla backed away toward the front door, clutching at her arms. It felt hot inside her helmet, and the world seemed to sway around her. She was shaking but stayed on her feet, refusing to give in to the wave of nausea that washed over her. This was nothing she couldn't handle. Nothing more than an old woman who needed to be reminded of her place. She had a job to do, and that was all that mattered. Damn the lot of them if this wasn't the salvation they were hoping for. They would get their due freedom in time; they just needed to be brave and hold out a little longer. Everyone just needed to hold out and be calm for a little while longer until her mission was done.
"Are you alright?" Coal asked as he stepped up behind her, making her jump.
"Yes," she snapped, "I... I just got a bit dizzy. Been a long day is all."
"Are you sure? Maybe you should sit down," he said, reaching out to help guide her to one of the benches.
"I am fine!" She slapped his hand away and moved swiftly around Coal to make her way down the aisle without looking back. She forced herself to relax, taking on a much more natural gait like she had been trained to do. Control her emotions; that was what she had been taught when becoming a Peacekeeper. Only let the world see what you want it to see, then can you control the outcome of any situation. She had faced down savage Vikings and renegade Knights regularly enough, even a pompous Wu Lin alchemist, for that matter. A few peasants weren't about to break her now, not when she had made it so far.
"Alright, once you get out to the cemetery keep to the left," she commanded, refusing to look at any of the frightened people as they filed into a hall behind the altar. "Stay out of sight and look for a way over the fence. From there we make for the eastern gate. If that is too heavily guarded then we will try to slip into the sewers and make for-"
"Priscilla!"
The voice boomed suddenly from outside the church, loud enough to make it through the thick stone walls and heavy wooden doors, causing all heads to snap toward the front as the echo faded to the ceiling. Priscilla felt a chill run down her spine, recognizing the voice immediately for its utter authority and command. She glanced over at Coal, who looked back at her with shoulders tense.
Then the voice came on again. "Priscilla Arentii, I know you are in there! Come out now with all the rest, before I come in there after you! I promise that the first option is far better suited to your best interest!"
Priscilla lowered her head in frustration, leaning over a bench and gripping the wooden frame tightly. Her hand jerked as she slammed it down suddenly, grinding her knuckles into the hard surface and letting the pain wash over her.
"Dammit!" she shouted, ignoring the offended look of the priest as her voice echoed off the walls.
The Lawbringer glanced at the huddled crowd of frightened citizens, then back to her. "We can still make it," he urged. "If you keep the heathens busy then I can get them out to the gate."
Priscilla shook her head solemnly, fists trembling as she clenched them tight. "It is too late," she spat, refusing to meet any fearful eyes fixed on her. "It was always too late."
Again, the voice sounded from outside, harsher this time, like the bark of a wolf cornering its prey. "Come out, Priscilla! I will not call for you again!"
Reluctantly, she turned around and headed up the aisle toward the front. But before she could get there, Coal grabbed her by the arm, stopping her in her tracks as he shook his head.
"Priscilla, no… We can't," he said.
Priscilla looked up at him, knowing he couldn't see the sad frown she wore beneath her helmet, and wondered if his face looked much the same beneath his. "Turns out now is not the time to be heroes, Coal. I wish it was, but we are not ready. Not yet."
Tugging her arm free, she turned her back on the now hopeless congregation and walked on. Pressing her hands to the two wooden doors, she hunched her shoulders and pushed as she stepped back out into the bright golden daylight beyond.