The smoke from the funeral pyres hung in the air for a day after the battle, after the Vikings had gathered their dead and sent them on their way to the next life with respect, on to Óðinn's golden hall.
It was not so with the bodies of the enemy, which were stripped of their possessions and thrown into ditches outside the city walls. They were buried without ceremony, with no words of respect. Just dirt to cover the bodies and hide them from the rest of the world. It was decided that the Divine Pyre did not deserve to be burned, given their mad devotion to the fiery mountain that lay to the east.
For his own fallen shield warriors, Herleif made sure that each one received the rites deserving of those who fought and fell valiantly in battle. Their bodies were dressed the best that could be done, then laid out on pyres and set to flame while those who survived gathered around to see them off to the realm of Valhǫll and one day Vígríðr with the coming of Ragnarǫk.
Herleif had watched on silently in somber reflection, with Gunnar and the twins by his side, while Helge and Skuld conducted sacred rites that would usher the souls of the dead to either Valhǫll or Fólkvangr on a warm, heartfelt wind. The celebration that followed afterward, meant to honor the lives of those lost and the victory claimed with their sacrifice, did little to lift his spirits. In fact, even as the day passed uneventfully, and another followed much the same, he seemed to fall into an increasingly sour mood and try as he might to be rid of it, the oppressive southern heat certainly wasn't helping.
"By Skadi and Njord, what gifts I would surrender for a cool mountain breeze," Herleif groaned as he dunked his hands into the water barrel before him."I have always said that Ashfeld is too hot for decent living. Even on the shores of this lake, the sun still beats down on us like a drummer beating the rhythm of the oars. Why these people call this land a paradise I will never know." He brought his hands out of the barrel and splashed cool water over his face and hair, gasping softly as he felt the chill wash over him with refreshing relief.
In the aftermath of the battle, Herleif had set up camp in the villa of some noble that had fled long before the attack. His warriors had settled in around the small mansion, branching out through the eastern quarter of the city where many of Eitrivatnen's well-to-do citizens once dwelt, watched over by his hersir who led the many fighters offered up by important families and villages throughout his hold. Erik had taken the citadel and its lavish gardens for himself, while Ivar had settled closer by the docks to be near his ships. It went without saying that many of the city's seedier taverns and brothels were also situated down by the docks where his warriors passed their time.
Herleif was thankful for the space between the clans, having no desire to discuss tactics with the other Jarls quite yet. It had been a hard fight to take the city, and though victory was theirs, it had still come at the cost of many lives. Combine that with bad blood between Ivar and himself, along with Erik's cruel display of authority outside the church, and he had been left feeling that they had won the Eitrivatnen but lost a sense of pride in the end.
Victory should be celebrated with songs and heroic tales, but Herleif didn't feel like singing.
Nearby, Gunnar stood with a small smile on his lips, giving no acknowledgment of his brother's complaints. He stood free of his war gear and with his long hair loose from its braid around his broad shoulders, and he held an apple in one hand while stroking the snout of a handsome bay stallion with the other. After suffering through the chaos of the raid, the horse was incredibly eager for the tasty treat, making the apple disappear bite by bite from Gunnar's hand.
Herleif let out a tired sigh, spraying a fine mist from his wet beard, but was unperturbed by his brother's silence as he continued.
"I remember the first time father brought us raiding to these lands, I thought I would die sweating in my armor before we ever caught sight of the enemy. Seems like such a long time ago now. I wonder how my sons will fare when their time to take up the sword song comes," he grinned as he reminisced.
Gunnar kept his little smile as he admired the horse, not bothering to look over at Herleif as he finally spoke. "Are you sure you will ever wish to go raiding again? Certainly that would mean having to put the sword to your new tin friends, like Marcelo."
Herleif's grin quickly slipped away from his lips, replaced by an annoyed frown as he glanced at his younger brother. The day had finally been shaping up to be a pleasant one, but he could feel tension growing in the air now.
"I cannot say I have given it much thought. I expect that some things might change once this is all over, but surely not our whole way of life. Our traditions will always remain and the people of Ashfeld have always been our most ancient enemy." He eyed Gunnar carefully, catching the slight stiffness in his brother's shoulders and stance. "Something on your mind?"
Gunnar was silent for a moment longer as he let the stallion munch the last of the apple out of his open palm. Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping as he wiped his hands and turned around.
"Do you think the Lion Flame will come back to Valkenheim with us like Judith said? She made it sound like it was part of the arrangement with Erik," he asked.
Herleif stuck his bottom lip out as he pondered, wringing out his long beard of water over the barrel. "Perhaps. If that was the deal they made then I suppose they could find a home among our people. It may not be easy, but Erik has always said that his word is golden."
"Aye, that he does. And I always thought it to be true, too," Gunnar said sadly.
"Do you not believe him?"
Another pause as Gunnar swallowed hard and dipped his head. "No, not anymore. Not after the way he put his boot to Judith's neck. I know that they are only Knights, but they are fighting on our side now. There is too much at stake to be at each other's throats."
Herleif nodded slowly, understanding Gunnar's concerns all too well.
Already they had come so far on the venture, but still, so much seemed uncertain, the path before them shrouded and unclear. Even now, he wondered what fate the Norns had weaved between him and his so-called blood brother. The troubles between him and Ivar were not over; he could feel it in his gut.
"Erik has, and always will, look to his own interests above anything else. It is why he invited us along on this raid in fact," he began, "He might say that he wishes to share the wealth and glory with us, but in truth he only seeks to have the strength needed to take the Walled City and claim the vault with as little risk to himself as possible. Tactically it is logical solution for any raid of this scale, but that does not mean we should ignore the risks that it poses for us in particular."
"You don't trust him?" asked Gunnar.
"I respect Erik and all that he has accomplished," Herleif said earnestly with a slight nod, "We will all gain much glory and renown from this endeavor, and in a way we owe Erik for that. But I will be glad once the vault has been taken and he has Apollyon's armor secure in the hold of his ship. Until then, I do not believe there is anything Erik would not do or sacrifice to claim that prize."
Gunnar sighed again as he leaned against the fence that made up the horse's paddock, his attitude seemingly no less improved. The horse let out a snort, nudging Gunnar's shoulder for more attention. "The armor of Apollyon. Do you really think it is being kept at the Walled City?" he asked as he scratched under the horse's chin.
"I truly hope so, brother. For all of our sakes." With that, Herleif grabbed a nearby cloth, wet it in the barrel, and then sat down on a wooden stool to give his armor a good cleaning and polish. Once that was done, he would see to his sword and shield as well, and soon enough, he would be feeling like a new man. Furrowing his brows, he concentrated on running the wet cloth over his lamellar cuirass, taking great care to clean any blood from between small metal plates.
"What are you going to do about Priscilla?"
The question took Herleif by surprise, and he stopped what he was doing to stare up at Gunnar with his brows raised. Again, his peace of mind was interrupted with thoughts of problematic upstarts that he would rather not think about.
"What do you mean?"
Gunnar shook his head as if his meaning was obvious, his long hair waving about his face. "Priscilla. The Peacekeeper. Are you going to turn her over to Erik for what she did at the docks?"
"Ah yes, the family business," Herleif said, pondering the question for a moment longer before he shrugged his shoulders. "No, I do not think I will. It is hardly the first time a blood feud has been brought to an end in the middle of a battle. And I have not the patience to spare any more thought on her now. Soon we will be away from this place and there is much to prepare for the march to the Walled City."
"Are you sure that is a good idea?"
Herleif gave his brother a curious look. "First Judith and now the Peacekeeper? I never thought you to be so concerned over the welfare of a couple Knights. Why the sudden change of heart?"
"That sounds like a bit much," Gunnar grumbled, but he couldn't meet Herleif's gaze.
A wry smile tugged at the corner of Herleif's lips. "Is that why you are so concerned over Judith and Erik's deal? Careful Gunnar. Show too much interest in these Ashfeld women and people will begin to talk. You remember what father used to say? A woman met on a raid is a treasure to covet and admire, but one best left behind rather than brought home. Priscilla is quite nimble though, twirling about those little blades of hers..."
"Shut up, Herleif. This is serious," Gunnar snapped, perhaps a bit more harshly than he meant to, "I do not know the full extent of what she was up to, but it was more then just a blood feud with a wayward brother. She and that Conqueror are hiding something. I told you before, I don't trust her."
"I would hardly argue against that from what you told me, but would you see Old Wolf cut off her head as well for the trouble?" Herleif asked pointedly, "There is most likely more to the story than what she told you, that is true. But so far she has done nothing to hinder our plans or made any move against us. And besides, whatever you think she might be up to, I believe she and the Conqueror are in it alone. The rest of her legion do not seem to be involved."
Gunnar pushed himself away from the stable and began to pace across the hay-covered stones, waving his hands about in the air in frustration. "Well, may they be blessed by the fucking gods for it, but that is not my point! She needs to be watched, if anything, and by us. Anyone else would just spill her blood without getting any answers."
Now Herleif really was surprised by his brother's words, realizing that the incident with the Peacekeeper was weighing on Gunnar's mind more than he had first thought. "You would rather have answers than blood? Gunnar, I do believe you have finally grown a brain inside that empty skull of yours."
Again, Gunnar shot him with a dirty look. "If you won't do something about this then perhaps I will and you can go lay with a troll!"
"Will you now?" Herleif challenged, his temper beginning to flare. It was too hot to argue about Knights and their schemes, and he was not in the mood to worry about one woman's family issues when he had a war to wage. "Very well then. Go try to spy on the little spy, and let me know how that works out for you."
"I will! And I'll be more than ready to accept your apology when I save us all from getting stabbed in the back!" Gunnar retorted.
"Truly your legend knows no bounds, brother. I can already hear the skalds singing of how you sat and watched poor little Priscilla from dawn until dusk for the good of all Valkenheim. If anyone can get to the bottom of this Loki's trick, it is you."
"Finally you speak sense! All the better that I do this alone. More glory in the end for me that way."
"Well by all means then, be on your way," Herleif growled, gesturing over at the entrance to the courtyard.
"Gladly," Gunnar huffed, grabbing up his helmet and war gear before walking off.
"Good. I was tired of looking at you anyway."
Gunnar stopped in the archway of the courtyard and turned back towards his brother, standing there as the two of them stared at each other for a quiet moment.
"Goat turd," he muttered under his breath, then slipped away from sight.
"Horse's ass!" Herleif called after him, craning his neck for any sign that Gunnar might have heard him before he was too far gone. There was only silence, though, until the stallion in the stable gave a disgruntled snort. "My apologies," he said to the horse, "That was an insult to horses everywhere."
Alone at last, he wet the cloth again and set to work cleaning his armor. The sun beat down hot overhead, and already he could feel new drops of sweat beading on his forehead.
"Gods above. A cool mountain breeze and a good drink, that is what I need," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow and refusing to waste any more thought on Jarls, Peacekeepers, and unruly Raiders.
Priscilla was in a foul mood.
Stuck alone in some tightly packed storeroom of a spice market, she sat hunched over in the dark with a single candle and the pungent smell of spices stinging her nose. She wanted to be glad that it was at least quiet but then remembered that she could have found silence anywhere in the market, given that the rest of her legion wanted nothing to do with her at the moment. It was one thing to be a reclusive spy, but another thing entirely to be outright shunned.
"Dammit," she hissed under her breath as she flipped through the withered and burned pages of Li Qiang's notes.
During the fight, she had tried to grab anything that had not been a total loss, but even this handful of pages had come out barely legible. Problematic, to be sure, but nothing that couldn't be solved with some deductive thinking and logic based on what information the incomplete formula did provide. At least, that was what she hoped.
Her true frustrations, however, still lay with the fracture forming between her and the other Knights. The one caused by that bastard Erik Golden-Shield and his compulsive need to hold everyone around him under his control. Funny how they had all come seeking the Viking's aid together when they had been desperate, but now that the Golden Jarl had singled her out with his little gift outside of the church, it was as if she was somehow more in league with their former enemies then the rest of the legion.
If only the rest of them knew that nothing could be further from the truth.
At the time of their flight from Ashfeld, and the Divine Pyre's complete takeover of the north, Jarl Erik had seemed like the best option for seeking sanctuary in a land of barbarians. Any other Jarl might have simply killed them on the spot, and even a well-natured man like Herleif would most likely have turned them away principle. But Erik Golden-Shield was a man who would find a particular delight in having a host of Knights kept under his care to possess something unique to him alone among his peers. It was dehumanizing, to say the least, coveted like jewels for the treasury, but such had been the depth of their desperation. It was safe to say that he had not been their first choice of allies, but their only choice given the circumstances.
Priscilla had explained as much to Judith before they left across the sea, and the Commander had held onto that notion like a castaway clinging to driftwood on a stormy sea. It still hurt a bit to think back on that conversation and remember the trust Judith had bestowed her without question. She only hoped she could earn that trust back in the end, or at the very least, her forgiveness.
Now, Judith barely addressed her other than to give a direct order while the legion secured themselves in the market district. Everything between them was cold now, but none of that mattered so long as Judith held to the plan that they had orchestrated together. The same plan that she had taken to the Legion Council behind Judith's back. The very same plan that only grew more complicated and deadly as time went on.
"Are you done yet?" came Coal's gruff voice from outside the small door to the room.
Priscilla glanced over to the pale line of light that stretched across the floor beneath the door to the storeroom, making sure that the two dark shadows of feet standing just beyond remained there.
"Be quiet and keep watch," she hissed before returning to the notes.
"People will think it odd to see me standing outside this door all day."
"And they will think it even more so to hear you speaking to a door, so shut your trap."
There was no reply from the other side, and for a moment, it seemed like her words had been taken to heart. Giving a small sigh, she slipped a hand through her short brown hair, tucking a strand behind one ear while her hood lay down around her shoulders and her helmet was sitting on the floor by her foot. Then, there was jostling at the door, and it suddenly swung open, washing the dark room in bright sunlight and surprising her with an agitated fright.
"Dammit Coal! What part of stealth is so impossible for you to understand?"
"Relax, there's no one out there anyway," said the Conqueror as he dipped his head and stepped into the small room to join her.
Priscilla scrunched up her nose as she glared at her partner. "You were just complaining about people seeing you!"
Coal gave a dismissive wave of his hand as he squeezed in against the wall across from her, hunkering down with his flail and shield across his lap. "So, what does it all say?" he asked, nodding at the burned notes in Priscilla's hands.
Her displeasure lingered in the silence that hung between them for a moment longer.
"Nothing much," she said at last, "It is only a part of what we need. There is not much concerning the weapon that discharges the flames, but the chemical formula is here. Mostly. I was only able to save a handful of notes from that damn fire magic, no doubt another invention of our dear Pilgrim. Some of the translations were burned as well, so what we do have will need to be transcribed and translated again." Shuffling through the charred pieces of paper, Priscilla sighed with growing disappointment. All this effort of putting her life on the line, only to come away with so little.
"So it's all useless then?" Coal asked, clearly disgruntled. "We risked our lives for nothing?"
She shot him an angry look in the dim candlelight. "No. It is not the complete formula, but it is enough. Barely enough. With any luck the alchemists in Beaufort should be able to piece together the missing components on their own to complete it. Not like they will be getting any competition from the original inventor ever again."
"Still trusting in luck? I thought you would have learned that lesson out on the lake?"
"I prefer to call it hope, actually."
Coal reached up and slipped his helmet off his head, setting it on the floor next to him. "Yeah? And how is that working out for you?"
Priscilla was actually taken aback for a moment as she looked him over. Ever the solitary figure, as was her Peacekeeper nature, she was somewhat unfamiliar with some of her fellow legionaries on a more personal level, Coal being among them.
Now, he seemed like the only person that she could really trust; their fates bound together by the messages carried by him from Beaufort and given to her to decode and carry out, setting them on this insane mission for their lords and masters. An outright ridiculous predicament, in her opinion. Having to trust someone she hardly knew was just extra baggage she needed to carry, but unfortunately, the stakes were far too high for her to do this all on her own, so for the time being, at least, she was stuck with the cynical Conqueror.
Besides that, though, she stared at him because she just hadn't been expecting his hair to be quite so curly. It was jet black and curled every which way around his brow and ears, so much that he had to run his hand through the unruly mess to comb away from his vibrant blue eyes. He was rather tan, with a strong jaw covered in dark stubble, and had a handsome look about him, but he had a long white scar stretching from his upper lip and along his left cheek. She had no idea if he had received it before, during, or after his time spent in prison, and she wasn't about to ask.
They stared at each other in the small, quiet space - her at him, and him at her, the only two Knights with any sense of where this wild fiasco of greed and vengeance was truly heading.
"Pretty, I know," Coal grinned, gesturing at the scar across his face, "It's actually done wonders for my self confidence these past few years. No one cared to look my way when I was a mere peasant, but now that I have this I suppose that it gives me a sense of warrior's credibility. Almost like I was actually born a true and noble Knight."
Priscilla smiled at that and even dared to laugh at his little joke.
"You? A noble? Just like the Myre is cold and Valkenheim is muggy, I am sure."
She laughed again despite herself, but then her smile faded as she realized what was happening. This was the first time she had talked to him since he first arrived at their legion stronghold before the fall. Really talked to him about more than just their mission or what was at stake if they should fail.
"Shame that we had to meet like this really. Would you agree?" she asked softly, inquiring a bit more. At best, she would get a more intimate glimpse into the mind of the person she was meant to be working so closely with, and at worst, they could at least say that they shared one meaningful conversation between them before they met their end. "I can only imagine how far simpler your life was before imprisonment and being pressed into service. If you could go back and stop yourself from joining that gang of thieves, would you?"
"Does it matter?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders and giving a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "I'm not the man I used to be, and there's no changing that now. Our mighty and wise leaders have made sure of that. When they put me on the front line of their battles I learned that life was simply about survival, and now that's all I'm focused on. It's all any of us can do really, in these dark times. That's what this is all about, isn't it?" he nodded at the burned notes in Priscilla's hands, "Right now it feels like we're all just animals trying to run from the fire that's burning through the forest."
It struck Priscilla how calm Coal was about all this. It was clear that he had no problem speaking his mind, but he wasn't getting emotional about it either. Truly, it seemed that he had come to some sort of peace about his situation, that perhaps life spent on the battlefield was better than one spent in a cage. Priscilla actually felt pity for him, for anyone who would have to be put in that kind of situation, but she kept her face still and expressionless rather than show it.
"Unfortunately the fire is what we are running towards," she said grimly, "I hate to think what that does for our chances of survival."
Coal's eyes flashed in the candlelight as he gave a short laugh. "Well, we could always take the notes and run. Make our escape and head south to friendlier territory. Truthfully I don't see how taking them all the way to the Walled City made any sense in the first place."
Priscilla glared at him in the dim light, laying the notes down on the small table and pressing her hand over them. "No."
"Priscilla..."
"I said no," she snapped. "This is the only thing Beaufort would accept in return for granting Judith and the Lion Flame amnesty for joining with the Vikings. If we take it to them before the Pyre of the Vikings are dealt with then there will be no reason for the Lord-Warden to spare the legion after the fight to come. We cannot hand over the notes until we have assurance from the Legion Council that we will all be welcomed back without penalty. "
Coal gave her a look that told her he didn't share her certainty. "And if we die before we get that far, what then? The key to such terrible power just sits inside a pouch on your corpse? You're carrying an awful lot of this on your shoulders alone, you know."
Priscilla shrugged, sorting through the notes again as if hoping that the burned pages and faded ink would suddenly become whole if she looked at them long enough. "If we die, then we die, and the rest of the world is not our problem. One of the perks of not making it through, I guess. The problems you leave behind are no longer yours to deal with. Besides, if Judith had not been so damn hateful towards the Legion Council, then maybe I could have made her see reason and include her in all of this. Right now, though, I expect she would just as soon burn these notes to spite the Lord-Warden rather than see them given over to Beaufort's alchemists. She would much rather ask us to trade our armor for leather and fur instead."
"She really expects us to go live with a bunch of godless savages when this is done then?" Coal asked, "Start drinking out of cow horns and dressing like primitives and all that?"
"Hard to say at this point. For a long time Ashfeld was everything that Judith fought for, lived for even. She believed that our people needed to be defended at any cost, and that everyone under her command should be prepared to lay everything on the line to see it done. But when the council decided to pull back from the coast and leave the north to the Pyre she was... shaken, to say the least," Priscilla said sourly, "She will never see what they did as anything less than a complete betrayal. To her mind, it was not us who broke our oath to serve and protect Ashfeld. She will never trust the Legion Council again."
Coal quietly looked at her from across the small table, the seriousness in his gaze giving way to bitter understanding. He let out a long sigh, running his hand over his face and through his dark locks.
"I'm pretty sure I have been stuck on the front line of battles with better looking outcomes than this," he grumbled in the gloom. "It's ridiculous. Everything was just simpler when I was in-"
He never got to finish his thought as the sound of heavy footfalls coming down the hall sure and steady could be heard outside the door. At once, they both glanced towards the thin line of light that stretched on the floor, seeing it become obscured by the shadow of someone approaching. Together, they sat frozen as their minds processed the implications if they were found out and then simultaneously burst into a flurry of movement and commotion.
"Fucking move!" Priscilla hissed under her breath, shoving the small table crammed between them away from her so she could spring up.
Coal let out a grunt of pain as the table slammed into his stomach, gritting his teeth as he pushed it back against Priscilla's knees as she tried to stand. "That hurt!"
Priscilla stumbled, nearly cracking her tailbone on her metal helmet as she dropped down on top of it.
"Ow!" she yelped, surely breaking their cover if it hadn't been blown already. The warm light of the candle flickered and waved as the table was jostled between them, and Priscilla gave a defiant shove back into Coal's gut.
"Stop it!" Coal groaned, pushing back in Priscilla's direction.
"You stop it!" Priscilla shot back, the two of them gripping the table now and fighting against each other to get free, "You fool! We need to-"
The door burst open, slamming against the wall and flooding the small storeroom with light once again. Before either Priscilla or Coal could react, a hulking figure stooped down to block the doorway, their shadowed figure looming before them. Priscilla's heart thundered in her chest, having no thought other than being found out by one of their comrades and the consequences that would follow. She thought it was a Lawbringer, perhaps, judging by the size of them. Then the figure spoke, and she realized that things were so much worse than that.
"Heimdall's pretty eyes, why are you two hiding in here?" Gunnar said as he half-stepped into the storeroom to look at them.
Priscilla instantly reached for the dagger on her belt with one hand, the other slamming down on top of the notes to shield them from Gunnar's gaze.
"You heathen bastard!" she growled, her anger sparking to new heights. "Take your hairy hide away from here! You are not welcome!" She gave the confining table a sharp kick just as Coal was trying to get up, pinning him against the wall with a wheeze as she stood and stormed towards the intruder. She slapped and pushed at Gunnar's broad chest and sturdy shoulders, willing herself not to take the easy way out and just draw her dagger to stab him in his gut. "You accursed oaf! Go! Get out! Out!"
Gunnar gave an affronted grunt, then grabbed Priscilla by her hood and dragged her away even as she continued to strike at him. "Easy now! Is this any way to greet a friend?"
"We are not friends! Unhand me!" Priscilla cried, kicking at his shins as she was pulled through the air. Quick as a viper's strike, she reached out and slapped him across the cheek, realizing that he was without his helmet and most of his armor so that he stood bare from the waist up. She dropped down against the table as Gunnar reeled from the slap and released her, slamming it into Coal again just as he was getting free.
"Can we handle this out in the hall? Please..?" Coal groaned, not bothering to get up from under the table again.
Priscilla turned and grabbed up her helmet and the alchemist notes off the table, clutching them against her chest. Spinning around, she slammed her helm into Gunnar's belly with a dull smack of metal on flesh, forcing him back out of the doorway so she could escape.
"Out of my way!" She slid past him and out into the open hall, not pausing or looking back as she quickly walked away.
"Oh no you don't," Gunnar growled, following after. It only took a few strides of his long legs to catch up, and he easily reached over her smaller stature to snatch the collected notes right out of her hands.
Now Priscilla did draw her dagger, the sharp blade glimmering in the light as she dropped her helmet and whirled on him.
"Give them back!" she snarled, her lips curled and teeth bared like a snarling wolf.
Gunnar didn't even flinch at the dagger pointed at him, his attention on the brittle notes as he held them high up out of her reach. "What's all this?" he asked, flipping through one page after another. He frowned down at them, eyes squinting from beneath a shaggy mane of brown hair. "This a book?"
Priscilla gritted her teeth, lowering her dagger and stepping up to Gunnar as she tried to jump and snatch the notes from his hand but only caught air as he lifted them out of the way. "This has nothing to do with you! Give them back if you value keeping your organs inside your body!"
Taking a step back, Gunnar selected a sheet of paper from the collection and held it out for Priscilla to see. "What does this say?" he asked her calmly, his interest seemingly genuine.
Priscilla stared at the sheet, looking over the neat lines of Ashfeld and Wu Lin script side by side, marred by the damage of the fire that had almost caused her mission to quite literally go up in smoke. Then she looked up at Gunnar, seeing that his question was no joke nor a ruse to get her to divulge more than she wanted to, and she realized why the Viking's curiosity seemed so innocent.
"What is the matter? Can you not read it yourself?" she spat, not bothering to hold her tongue just to spare a barbarian's feelings.
"No," Gunnar retorted, somewhere between shrouded hurt and feigned indifference. "I know the runes of protection and of strength, but I never saw the point of learning the words of my enemies. My axe carries a stern message for me just fine."
The very idea of being ignorant of an enemy's customs, language, and written word was totally bizarre to Priscilla. As a Peacekeeper, she had been trained to learn everything she could about the people of Valkenheim, the Myre, and more recently, the Wu Lin, though she was still learning. The better you knew your enemy, the easier it was to defeat them, after all.
"Are you not the son of a Jarl? Did he not see to it that you were educated growing up?"
Gunnar shrugged, this time with an almost proud smile sliding across his lips. "It didn't take. My path was always to travel the wilds of my homeland. Reading and politics were things more to Herleif's liking. Now answer the question, woman."
Priscilla's fingers tightened around the grip of her dagger as she snarled, "What do you think they are, you hairy giant? They are notes from my family. All I have left from that fire."
She watched carefully for Gunnar's reaction. If he could believe her story once, perhaps she could make him believe again so long as she kept her facts straight. Coal seemed willing enough to play along with her last time, so at least they could put up a defense together if Gunnar continued to stick his nose where it didn't belong.
Unfortunately, though, Gunnar did not seem totally convinced.
"Oh not this again," he grumbled, rolling his eyes before looking through the notes again, "Herleif may not care to wonder what you two are up to, but you should know that I am wise to your Loki tricks, shadow woman."
Now, it was Gunnar who was revealing more than he probably meant to with his casual remarks. Not only had he stated that Jarl Herleif was more concerned with other affairs than her and Coal's disappearance during the attack, but also that Gunnar couldn't tell the difference between Ashfeld script and Wu Lin. Both were written clear as day on the pieces of paper, but to the illiterate Viking, it was all gibberish, so Priscilla had a better chance of getting away with her ruse. Changing tactics, she tried to appeal to the emotional side he had shown back at the warehouse, hoping that if it worked once, it could work again.
"Please Gunnar," she asked much more softly this time, her prickly demeanor deflating to forlorn anguish with practiced ease, "This whole ordeal has been more painful then any physical wound I could endure. I beg you, torment me no longer and let me hold onto what little of my family that I have left." Looking up at Gunnar with wide eyes, she allowed carefully crafted expressions of hope and empathy to cross her face.
"Come on man, have a heart," Coal chimed in as he appeared in the open door of the storeroom, rubbing his sore stomach tenderly while he leaned against the door frame. His voice echoed lightly from beneath his helmet, which was again placed firmly over his head.
Gunnar frowned deeply, his mustache drooping over his lips as he looked between the Knights. "Grouping up on a man like this hardly seems fair," he grumbled. Cocking a brow down at Priscilla, he let out a low rumble as he fiddled with the papers in his hands.
"Fine," he said, holding the notes out with a flick of his wrist, "Take this as a kindness, Peacekeeper, but this does not mean I trust you. Know that I will be keeping an eye on the two of you from now on, hmm?" He leaned down to give Priscilla a grim look, touching his finger just under one eye that was opened wide.
Priscilla quickly snatched away the notes before Gunnar could change his mind, carefully folding them up without letting them crumble and break before slipping them into a pouch on her belt. "Who said anything about trust, Raider? But still, you have my thanks."
Stepping out from the doorway, Coal stooped down and picked up Priscilla's helmet to hand it to her. "Yes, yes, much thanks all around. Three times over and all the rest. Now if you will excuse us, I think I hear the call to prayer and we must be off." Taking Priscilla by the arm, he turned and tried to guide her away from the overbearing barbarian, but they hadn't taken two steps before Gunnar's strong hands clapped down on both of their shoulders.
"Nonsense! Why waste your words when there is drinking to be done?" Gunnar laughed heartily.
Priscilla glanced over her shoulder and frowned at the giant Viking, the corner of one eye twitching. "Surely you jest?"
"Not at all," Gunnar winked, "Keeping you both under watch doesn't mean I intend to miss out on my ale. So, until we find ourselves rulers of the Walled City or feasting in the golden hall, consider us all to be the best of drinking companions from now on! You look like a man who can go for a few rounds, eh?"
Coal hung his head and groaned. "Do I have to drink out of a cow horn?" Gunnar simply laughed, clapping them both on the shoulders again and directing them forward down the hall.
Priscilla remained quiet as she was marched off to guzzle unseemly amounts of alcohol at the whims of a wild Northman. As annoying as that might be, it was a small price to pay for how things could have gone.
The prospect of having Gunnar looming over her shoulder at any given moment was hardly ideal, but fortunately, the man's skill as a hot-headed Raider didn't carry over into any sense of tact or slyness. If he insisted on proclaiming each and every one of his intentions, then she would at least be able to stay a few steps ahead of him at any turn. If she couldn't outsmart a lumbering, oafish barbarian at her own game, then she had no business calling herself a true Peacekeeper.
There was simply no substitute for good spycraft.