"Where are you going?" Ragna snarled as she ripped her bloody axe free from another archer and let the man fall dead.
Priscilla was already heading down the stairs from the ramparts, not bothering to look back. "Just look after the women!"
"Look after the women!? Do I look like a fucking servant, you fucking-"
Priscilla didn't linger to hear the rest of what Ragna had to say, and the Berserker's angry screaming was soon lost in the mindless cacophony of battle. She knew that leaving the group of women they had saved with a blood-hungry savage like Ragna was a risk, but it was one she would have to take. With any luck, Skuld's abject stoicism in battle would help see them all through the fight to the end. Right now, though, she had other concerns that required her attention.
It had only taken a moment looking down from the ramparts to see that the Vikings had broken through the Divine Pyre's desperate defense to claim the courtyard and were now moving into the rest of the fortress. The Pyre looked to be in complete disarray as some tried to stand and fight while others ran, only for all of them to be cut down regardless by the attacking warband. She had seen Judith leading the rest of the Lion Flame toward what looked to be a mining tunnel with a number of empty cages set about it, no doubt hoping to find the remaining villagers within.
What had truly caught her attention, though, and made her give up her newly created sisterhood of desperate fighters, was the sight of Gunnar and Coal rushing off into the fortress on their own.
With Gunnar being his brother's right hand in all of this, it left no doubt in her mind as to what task Herleif had set him to, and if he was to find and capture Chaldeon alive, then she wanted to be there when it happened. There was still too much at stake for her not to have a hand in the traitorous Lawbringer's apprehension and, if necessary, what sort of physical state he was found in.
She hit the bottom of the stairs and cut straight across the yard to follow after Gunnar and Coal. The fortress had fallen into chaos, a hellscape of clashing steel and tightly packed bodies. A fire had broken out in one of the watchtowers, casting the yard in a flickering orange glow beneath the cloudy sky. Dark silhouettes of armored figures grappled and fought together for their lives, faceless figures stabbing and hacking at one another. The ground was slippery with blood, and as she dipped and swerved across the unyielding current of Northmen, she tripped over a dead body and nearly knocked her head on a passing warrior's axe. She fell hard, tried to push herself up again but was kicked in the side by someone she didn't see, only hearing the curse spat at her as they passed. Suddenly, she was grabbed by the arm and hauled up to her feet, only to be flung carelessly out of the way on the other side of the yard.
"Stay out of the way, fucking Knight!" snarled some big Raider that glared at her before moving on.
"Dammit," Priscilla groaned, clutching the side that had been kicked as she got up. "Heavenly Father, give me strength..." she muttered, spotting a ladder to an upper platform and slowly beginning to climb, "to forgive these damn heathens..."
Her ribs were still aching when she made it to the top, but she ignored the pain and pulled herself upward. She entered what appeared to be a large smithy, with the room full of workbenches cluttered with discarded tools, half-finished weapons, and pieces of unpolished armor. Piles of iron rods and plates of metal were stacked about, and on the walls were rows upon rows of freshly made axes, swords, knives, and all other manner of weapons, all polished bright and sharpened to a deadly edge. Moving around the benches, she found a doorway that led to another large room and stopped, frozen in shock at what she saw. If she had thought the battle down in the yard had been hellish, the sight before her was worse.
One side of the room was dominated by some sort of great smelting system, a series of gears and levers bringing molten metal from vats to be poured into molds, and great mechanized hammers that beat metal into shape like merciless assailants. When it was all working as it should, Priscilla had no doubt that it was quite the marvel to behold, a true triumph of mechanical ingenuity on the part of those who had built this forge for tyrants and warlords. Only, it wasn't working as it should, and the entire system had fallen into destruction and ruin.
A group of Northmen must have made their way up from the battle not long before, and a fight had broken out with the Pyre. A dead body was slumped on the floor next to a vat, its arm slung around the lever to keep it pulled down and let glowing molten metal pour out endlessly onto the corpse and across the floor. There was no telling whether it had been a Viking or a Knight, having been burned beyond recognition beneath the pouring molten flow and was nearly melted in half from head to crotch, the two halves of the body leaning to either side like split timber.
More dead warriors were cast about, more distinctly clad in black armor or fur and leather. One was caught in the gears of a hammer, crunched up and broken in a misshapen lump of gore, the bloodstained gears stuck, and the large instrument trying to slam down with a tremendous clanking racket. Another had somehow been pushed into another vat, their legs sticking limply over the rim while the rest of the torso sizzled and cooked half submerged in the glowing metal sludge. The hot liquid had spread into the middle of the room, setting fire to anything it touched and making the rising heat almost unbearable.
Priscilla was about to turn back and try to find another way around when she saw shapes moving across the room through the fire and smoke. She dashed in among the carnage, leaping over splatters of red hot metal, and made sure to stay clear of any flickering flames that seemed almost to reach out for her as she passed. There were more workbenches on the other side of the room with more weapons upon them. Ducking down behind a bench, she stayed out of sight for a moment before slowly peeking around the corner for a look.
Vincent Chaldeon stood tall over the bodies of no less than four Viking warriors. Around him were three other black armored Lawbringers, one holding Vincent's golden poleaxe while the commander of the Divine Pyre was busy choking the life out of a fifth victim soon to join the rest of his shield brothers in the afterlife.
"Pathetic scum," Vincent said with a menacing growl, his metal-plated fingers squeezing tight around the throat of the helpless Viking warrior who was held high up off the floor. Even through the smoke and the orange glow of the fire, Priscilla could see how purple the bearded man's face was as he struggled for air, veins clearly visible beneath tight skin, watery eyes bulging like they were about to burst from his skull. Then, with a turn of the wrist, Vincent snapped the man's neck, the crack barely heard over the clanging of hammers down the hall. Tossing the limp body away like a piece of trash, Vincent gave a grunt of disgust and took back his poleaxe from his underling.
"These barbarians think that they can swarm over us like locusts upon the field and claim what is ours," he spat at his followers. "They are but mad, senseless savages, and it has fallen to us to stamp out their kind from the earth with righteous fire. We shall show them that faith in pagan gods is no faith at all."
He began to issue orders while Priscilla tried to work out how she could get closer. Moving up from the corner of the bench, she peered over the top to see if there was any cover she could use to attack quickly enough to land a killing blow before she was noticed. She didn't spy anything that looked very promising but did find a weapon on the bench that could be helpful. A crossbow, small enough to be wielded one-handed, and a quiver of short bolts, just sitting out like they had been waiting for her to come by. It was about time she benefited from some simple dumb luck rather than struggling to get things done, and she carefully reached up to grab the small weapon and snatch up the bolts. Pulling at the string, she latched it into place, carefully sliding in the bolt and taking a peek back at the group of Lawbringers gathered about the walking ego in golden armor.
She took a breath, held it, then popped up over the bench and took aim before smoothly pulling on the weapon's trigger.
The bow released with a sharp twang, sending the bolt whizzing through the air before it slammed into one of the Lawbringers. It hit the man right between the breastplate and his pauldron, drawing forth a pained gasp of surprise as he stumbled backward, all heads snapping toward him. It was an impressive shot, as far as quick shots go, except for the fact that she had been aiming for Vincent, who was now spinning around with the rest to see where the bolt had come from.
He stiffened, spotting her behind the bench through the smoke, pointing out with one damning finger and shouting, "Take her!"
"Dammit," Priscilla hissed, leaping up and running even as she was pulling the crossbow string back to load up another bolt. The vat was still open and flowing, and she had to jump over what was quickly becoming a small lake of molten metal across the floor. Spinning about, she fired another shot. Her aim was even worse this time, hitting nothing but sturdy plate armor that sent the bolt bouncing harmlessly off the nearest pursuer. There wasn't enough time to load the crossbow again, so she stowed it on her belt and drew out her blades as the Lawbringers came at her.
The first swung with a quick attack from the right, which she backstepped to dodge but stumbled as she nearly put her foot right into a burning puddle and lost the chance to counterattack. Blocking the next blow, she moved in to stab with her sword when she was hit from the side by another. A quick jab of the poleaxe right to her helmet which had her vision swimming as she retreated to a safer distance. Coming after her, the Lawbringers spread out like black wolves on the hunt, their great hulking shapes silhouetted by the fire as they closed in.
"The Lion Flame Peacekeeper," came Vincent's imposing voice through the haze. His golden armor shone brighter than ever as he stepped forward, gleaming in the firelight as if he were the very personification of his holy volcano brought to life. "Priscilla Arentii, is it? Yes, I remember you. There was a time when people said you would become the next Silent-Blade, that there was no one among the Sisterhood of Peace more cunning or deadly."
Priscilla shifted her weight on her feet, keeping her weapons ready as she looked from one Lawbringer to another. "People exaggerate."
"Indeed they do," Vincent said with a nod. "You nearly had everything. Position and power at court, and now look how far you have fallen. Taken up with savages and traitors like a house cat tossed out onto the streets." He leaned in on his poleaxe, relaxed and easy even as the room continued to burn around them. "What was it exactly that made you give up Beaufort and a life at court? I know where it is that you came from, girl. You could have had the Lord-Warden's ear, his authority behind your every act, and you threw it all away for some war-beaten northern legion still clutching onto past glories for a purpose."
"Things change," Priscilla said, having to blink away sweat from her eyes beneath her helmet. "Are we going to stand here talking all day, or shall I just consider this your official surrender?"
Vincent hung his head and gave it a slow, sad shake. "Alas, if only I could make you see reason. If only I could make you understand the salvation that Ignis can provide, how it could change you into something more than this pathetic apostate I see before me now." He stood up straight and gave two loud thumps of his poleaxe against the floor. "But if you insist on continuing down this road of ignorance and destruction, then it is our duty to see you burn with all the rest of your kind. Kill her."
The nearest Lawbringer came at her with a quick chop of his poleaxe and then thrust with the spearhead as she dodged clear. She tried to take control of his weapon by deflecting the blow with her dagger and sliding in closer with her sword, but another Lawbringer grabbed her by the collar and flung her backward. She slammed hard into a burning workbench, feeling the flames lick at her back through her armor; the wind knocked out of her for a moment before she felt the strength return to her legs. The Pyre Lawbringers simply looked on and laughed. They were toying with her, and why shouldn't they? Outnumbered as she was, they showed their cruelty with vile amusement, like jackals tormenting their prey.
One made a lunge for her, which she dodged, only to be nearly skewered in the back by another. She gritted her teeth and stabbed out with her blades, giving her some space, but she had to keep moving if she didn't want to be cut down by one of their deadly axes. She ducked under the swipe of another and struck out with her sword only to have it parried, the force shaking its way up her arm to the base of her skull. The Lawbringers pressed their attack, one of them lifting his weapon high to bring crashing down on top of her head. Watching carefully, she sidestepped and deflected the blow at the last second, striking at him with her dagger, aiming for the gaps between the plates of armor. She missed, spit out a harsh curse, and jumped back again, narrowly missing the haft of the poleaxe as it was shoved in her face.
All the while, Vincent trailed behind like a weapons instructor, watching his students gang up on the weakest member and enjoying the vulgar display. "What a waste," he called out over the fight, stern voice full of righteous judgment. "All this skill and determination, only to foolishly throw yourself at something you could never defeat. You rage against the inevitable, no different from a crying child, screaming to be valued by people who never gave a shit for you to begin with. You should have died in the worthless slums that you crawled out of, heretic filth."
Priscilla grunted as she was knocked in the stomach by the butt of a poleaxe and was forced to roll up and over a blackened table to avoid the axe blade that chopped into the hard wood after her, glowing ashes flying into the air right where she had been standing. The air was stifling hot now with the pouring metal and dancing flames, and it was getting harder to breathe. She sweated under her helmet as she found her footing, blinking it away from her eyes. If there was ever a time to retreat and live to fight another day, this seemed to be it. Turning over her shoulder, she glanced toward the door she had entered through, wondering if she could make it there and back down the ladder before the Lawbringers caught her.
"Is it true that you learned to use a knife when your pimp father would offer you up to his rivals, only for you to slit their throats when they had you alone?" Vincent called after her with a disgusted sneer.
Priscilla knew that she should have run, told herself to go, but found that her feet were rooted firmly to where she stood as he went on.
"Or that when the Peacekeepers found you, you were standing guard over your whore mother's body at the mouth of a rank sewer? They say you had been there for days, gaunt and nearly turned feral, snarling at them like some wretched little demon and still trying to nuzzle against her half-rotten body for warmth."
She turned back slowly, meeting Vincent as he stood glowing in the light of the flames. His armor shook as he laughed, and her fingers clenched tight around the grip of her blades. Slowly, she began to walk back around the bench toward him.
"There were plenty of stories going around about you at court. Always the most outlandish tales. About your filthy upbringing, the sins that your father committed against you. The sins you committed in return," Vincent said, voice dropping to a growl. "To think that I might have been forced to take orders from some whelp birthed in the streets by a common whore. You and that Myre-bred bitch. The idea sickens me. It offends me. Thanks be to God that he delivered me to the light rather than waste one more day groveling to the loathsome heretic shits that fester within the Legion Council."
Priscilla gave a flourish of her sword and dagger as she came forward, feeling like she wanted to fight after all. "That makes two of us," she said in a low breath, bracing her feet and taking a low stance against the towering Lawbringers.
They came at her with poleaxes raised. She ducked and dashed forward, moving beneath their swings and dodging clear of their outstretched hands as they grabbed for her. Where she could, she stabbed, cut, or kicked to throw them off balance. One missed her with his attack, their heavy axe slamming down onto the floor beside her, and she leaped onto him and drove her dagger down against the chainmail covering his neck, pressing hard until she felt the metal links break apart, the blade sliding in to cut flesh and sever the man's spine from his skull. He dropped without a sound as she rolled off of him and made a lunging strike for the next opponent. This one hadn't been prepared, perhaps too stunned at seeing his comrade killed so quickly, and she took full advantage by stepping inside his guard and stabbing into his groin with her sword. The man fell to one knee with a scream, which quickly turned into a high-pitched squeal as she stabbed her dagger into the eye hole of his helmet.
The last Lawbringer rushed at her, and Priscilla gave a sharp grunt of effort as she twisted the dead man's body around to use as a shield of black armor as the other crashed into her. He stumbled and tried to reach over the dead man to grab at her, but she quickly withdrew her dagger and slashed at his open palm, leaving a bloody cut through his glove. Twisting around him, she struck low to slice her sword across the back of the Lawbringer's knee and kept her momentum going to dash clear as he stumbled backward with a pained gasp.
The wounded Lawbringer fell right into his commander but found no sympathy as Vincent simply shoved him aside, sending the man tumbling right into a growing puddle of molten metal. The scream that erupted from him was inhuman, along with the strained gurgle that followed as the red-hot liquid seeped into his helmet and every other gap in the armor to burn him alive. Vincent showed no sign of remorse as he stalked toward her now or any sign of trepidation at her lethal display of skill. He simply came at her, wordless, a towering statue of golden might as he lifted his poleaxe like a metal giant come to lay waste to the world.
Priscilla knew that this fight would test all she had. She panted hotly from within her helmet, sweat trickling down the back of her neck. The fires had only grown worse, hemming them in among the burning workbenches and corpses like a hellish arena. Rather than give him the chance to attack first, she struck out with her sword, only to feint the attack and stab with her dagger instead. Much to her shock, he seemed prepared for that, knocking her dagger away and ramming the end of his poleaxe into her stomach. The breath was knocked out of her, and suddenly she wasn't on her feet anymore. Instead, she flew through the air as he twirled her around and tossed her like a rag doll. She yelped as she hit the ground and felt herself roll through licking flames before coming to a stop.
He was on her in moments, stabbing at her with the spear tip of his poleaxe. Crawling frantically, she barely managed to stay clear of his strikes, but in her haste, she put her hand right into a pile of burning debris. Pain seared through her fingers and up her arm as she screamed, leaving behind her sword in the flames as she flinched away. Rather than kill her outright, Vincent prolonged his moment of triumph by kicking her hard in the side, sending her sprawling across the floor.
"This is how it will be for all your treacherous kind once we have driven these barbarians from our lands. No mercy! Not for any of you!" Lifting his boot, he brought it down hard onto her ankle, making her scream again as he ground down with all his weight. Still clutching her burned hand to her chest, she sat up and tried to sink her dagger into his knee or thigh, but he knocked her blade away with a flick of his weapon.
"I grow tired of this pathetic display, Peacekeeper. You were never meant to take part in our ultimate salvation. You are just the filth that needs to be burned away for the world to be made pure." He struck down and drove the bottom end of his poleaxe right into her neck, pressing hard so that the jagged point was wedged tight under her jaw, cutting the breath short in her throat
Priscilla gasped desperately, grabbing hold of the haft jabbing into her neck and trying to force it away, but he was far too strong to throw off.
"Go...to Hell..." she managed to get out through gritted teeth, but already she could feel her face growing hot as she struggled to take each breath.
Vincent only laughed as he leaned forward, applying even more pressure on top of her. "You first, heretic."
Her eyelids fluttered as she gagged, and the edges of her vision began to blur. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she found herself wishing that she had a small bomb to spark off, some sort of nasty surprise to leave behind for this unhinged maniac. Her legs kicked, and the next breath she took wasn't able to escape past her lips again. Funnily enough, she had the plans to make the perfect bomb stashed away in her pouch, powerful enough to send this entire wretched fortress up in flames. That was just her rotten luck, though, same as always.
"Stop!"
Priscilla's heart skipped a beat, which didn't do her any favors considering her current predicament, but she managed to work her head back just enough to catch sight of Gunnar and Coal standing in the doorway. The big Raider stood defiantly with his axe in hand, all bold confidence and unabashed pride. Vincent seemed to freeze at their arrival but did not ease his effort to strangle the life from her, so it was safe to say that Gunnar's proclamation had accomplished nothing at all.
Gunnar stepped forward into the room, looking like some sort of horned hell-beast among the flames. "I said stop!"
Vincent glanced down at Priscilla, then back to the strange barbarian who dared try to command him.
"No?" he said, and pressed down harder upon his weapon as if he meant to make Priscilla's head pop right off her neck.
Coal shouldered his way around Gunnar and broke into a run toward the Pyre commander. "Did you really think that would work?" he shouted, jumping over dead bodies and glowing molten flows. Lifting his shield, he charged at Vincent like an angry guard dog on the attack.
Vincent gave a growl of frustration, keeping the end of his poleaxe pressed against Priscilla's throat until the last possible moment, fully intent on making her suffer to the very end. It was only when Coal leaped into the air with his full weight behind his shield that Vincent lifted his weapon to try and block the attack, but he reacted too late and was knocked to the ground as Coal crashed into him like a falling hammer.
Coal stumbled a bit himself as his feet hit the ground again, but he was quick enough to bring his flail up and around in a powerful swing that made the studded metal head crash against Vincent's helmet like the clang of a church bell. The Pyre commander was sent reeling back, lifting his arm defensively to try and stop the fury of blows Coal was raining down upon him. Coal's flail swung back and forth, back and forth, catching Vincent in the head, shoulder, arms, or chest as he tried to rise from the ground, leaving white scrapes in his golden armor with every hit.
Priscilla heard all of this as she lay staring up at the ceiling, but it sounded muffled as if it were happening somewhere far away. As soon as the poleaxe was lifted free of her throat, she sucked in a desperate breath to fill her lungs, choked, coughed horribly inside of her helmet, then had to try and fight for every breath after. Her neck felt like it had just been stabbed, and each breath she took was like the rasp of an old crone that had just inhaled fire smoke. She couldn't even bring herself to sit up, helpless upon the ground, until suddenly she felt a strong pair of hands grabbing her shoulders and helping her upwards.
"Easy," said Gunnar as he crouched next to her, his voice sounding much clearer even as she fell into another fit of retching coughs. He put a hand to her back, giving her a firm pat to help clear her throat. "Easy now. Just breathe."
Priscilla tore off her hood and helmet and spat dark blood on the ground before taking a few more deep gulps of air. "Did you... honestly th-think... that would work?" she growled at him, glaring over her shoulder with red, watery eyes.
Gunnar gave a somewhat bashful frown, like a child being scolded for something he should have known better than to try. "Maybe not my best idea, but it was the first thing that came to mind." Then the look in his eyes became one of embarrassed awkwardness and instead changed to something closer to genuine worry. "Forgive my foolishness."
Priscilla took an easier breath, feeling terribly tired and worn out, then fell back against him with a heavy sigh. The pain in her neck was still quite persistent, but her anger quickly faded as she looked at him.
"Help me up," she commanded, voice low and hoarse, and she let Gunnar take her by the arm and pull her up onto her feet.
Not sure of her own strength just yet, she leaned against Gunnar for support and looked over to see Vincent also getting to his feet even as Coal kept up his attack. Utilizing his heavy armor, Vincent ducked inside of Coal's next swing and shoved him hard before attacking with a chop and then a stab of his poleaxe. Coal blocked, taking both attacks on his shield, and seeing that Priscilla was up again, he quickly stepped backward to regroup. Vincent took the moment to fall back as well, looking between the three of them as he took a defensive guard with his poleaxe raised above his head. He looked battered and beaten, but still very much ready for a fight.
Stepping away from Gunnar, Priscilla refused to show how much pain she was in to her enemy, bending down for her helmet and slipping it back on her head. "Spread out," she said, pulling up her hood. "Now it is his turn to fight alone."
Coal took a step over one of the dead Pyre Lawbringers, moving left around Vincent. "You good?" he asked, taking a quick glance toward her.
Priscilla gave a small nod. "I will be a lot better once I stick this pious bastard full of holes," she said, moving along Vincent's right. She spotted her sword still lying in the fire where she had lost it and kicked it clear, but left it knowing that it would still be too hot to touch for now.
"No," said Gunnar, standing off against Vincent in the center. All of the fretting awkwardness had left him now, and he stood poised for the attack, axe ready and shoulders lowered like a great bull digging its hoof into the dirt to charge. "We take him alive. Herleif's orders."
Vincent stood against their advance, slowly backing away and trying to put the fires between them. "Insolent fool. As if I would give you the satisfaction. God has blessed me with the divine enlightenment of the Holy Mountain. I fear no death at the hands of pagan scum such as you. Whatever fate I am to meet this day, I take satisfaction in knowing that your wretched souls are already condemned to the pits of Hell!"
"Enough of your preaching, you Pyre maggot," Gunnar smirked. He stood up straight and pointed accusingly at Vincent with his axe. "By evening this day, you will be our thrall, and we shall wreck you for all you know about the Walled City and the armor of Apollyon kept within. Even if we must cut the truth out of you, slowly…"
There was a pause, and Vincent's shoulders slackened just a bit as he cocked his head.
"What would I know of Apollyon's armor?"
The pause continued. Priscilla felt an icy chill run down her spine, and she saw Coal look at her briefly out of the corner of her eye.
"Because you have it?" Gunnar asked, still trying to keep his smirk, but his voice carried a bit less confidence than before. "Or, you had it. You stole it from Beaufort and took it to be kept in the vault at the Walled City with the rest of the treasure stolen from your people. When you fled and betrayed your Lord-Warden for this damned volcano."
Vincent slowly began to lower his weapon. "Yes, I remember the day clearly, you dolt. But why do you think that of all Beaufort's many treasures worth claiming, I would waste my time on a pile of old, rusty armor worn by a warlord who died years ago?"
That question seemed to give Gunnar pause, his mouth opening and closing for a moment as he tried to work things out in his head. Likewise, Priscilla was also trying to make sense of this new revelation and could already feel her stomach twisting into knots from all the undesirable possibilities racing through her mind. Gunnar gave an agitated thump of his axe against the ground.
"Because of legacy! And pride, and... and it's a precious relic! Tell him, Priscilla," he said, quickly gesturing from her to Vincent, more than happy to let her explain things in a way that made sense. "Tell him what you told Erik about the War Wolf's armor and the vault. Go on and tell him."
Priscilla looked to Gunnar, wishing that she had an answer ready to give. "I..."
She was stunned. Of all the ways the fight could have gone, this revelation was the last thing she would have thought could keep them from coming to blows. She saw that Coal was looking at her again, and so was Vincent. All three of them just stared at her, waiting for an explanation as to where a useless set of armor was being kept and why it was so incredibly important to have it.
"I was told..."
Her mind raced for an answer. Apollyon's armor was meant to be an offering, an incentive to entice any jarl into listening to Judith's plea for help without cutting their legion down on sight. It had worked on Erik Golden-Shield like a charm, but news of the stolen armor had not come from Priscilla's intelligence gathering like she had told Judith before they had abandoned their fortress for Valkenheim.
It had been provided to her as a token by the Silent-Blade; by Elise. Her old friend had sent her this information as a tool to be used for their benefit, as part of their greater plan, and Priscilla had been so lost, so desperate for help as the cultists closed in that she had believed it all without question and without proof. She had taken Elise at her word, which was a foolish mistake she should have learned from a long, long time ago.
Elise was right. After all these years, hope would again be her downfall.
"Oh no," she whispered to herself.
Gunnar stared at her, eyes blinking beneath his helmet like he couldn't believe what she had said. "No..." he gasped softly, turning away from Vincent to focus solely on her. "No... No, he must have it." He took a step toward her and roared, body tense as if ready for a fight. "You said he has the armor! You told us!"
Priscilla flinched but said nothing. There was nothing she could say. Before them, Vincent's armor rattled as he slowly began to laugh, the sound quickly rising to mingle with the crackling flames surrounding them.
"You fools!" he exclaimed, taking a deep delight in their disappointment. "What makes you think that armor is worth anything at all? It is nothing but a hollow symbol of a mad woman's failure. Mount Ignis is all that matters now! It is the power of God made real upon this earth, and not even a hundred armies could see it conquered!"
He laughed again, a deep and maniacal sound, not even bothering to hold his guard against them anymore. "How many warriors have you lost on this accursed raid of yours already for this false reward? How many men and women have died all for your greed? Your sinful quest for a treasure that you will never claim? How many pagan souls now burn in Hell for eternity, all because you promised them something based on one woman's lie?"
Gunnar gritted his teeth and gave a harsh growl, taking up his axe in both hands again. "Be quiet, you sack of cow piss!"
Vincent only shook his head and laughed again. "Such is the feeble mind of heretics. You will forever damn yourselves when salvation could so easily be yours. It is so simple... All you must do is kneel."
"I said be quiet!" Gunnar shouted like a snarling wolf.
"Easy," Priscilla urged, returning the sentiment Gunnar had given her earlier. "He is just trying to rile you up."
"Feels like it worked, if you ask me," said Coal, already beginning to swing his flail to build up momentum for an attack. "Are we just going to stand here listening to this golden prick, or are we going to shut him up?"
"Now that's more of what I like to hear!" shouted Gunnar, and he lifted his axe into the air and charged at Vincent, letting out his war cry with a mighty bellow. Coal went after him, stepping around to come at Vincent from the side.
"Damn fool Viking," Priscilla muttered, then went in low to try and stab at the Lawbringer with her dagger.
Vincent stood unflinching against them, showing no fear against the unfavorable odds. He lifted his poleaxe to parry Gunnar's attack, then jabbed at Coal to stagger him before he could swing his flail. Stepping backward, he narrowly dodged Priscilla's first thrust, turned his knee so that her dagger hit his armor on the next, then bashed her about the head before she could even think about trying again.
Gunnar gave a loud roar as he came on for another attack, swinging his axe in a great arc to take off Vincent's head, but a quick stab of the poleaxe made him stop before he could follow through. Thankfully, the sharp spear glanced off his helmet, but the ringing in his head made him fall back as he blinked to clear his vision. Priscilla stepped in to fill the gap, still stabbing at Vincent wherever she could. Without her sword, she had to get in close, inside of Vincent's guard, but he was quick for such a big man, parrying and shoving her away no matter how swiftly she tried to dance around him.
"Is this the best you can do?" Vincent roared, swinging his poleaxe around him to keep all three of them at bay. "Pathetic! You will never breach the Walled City if this is all the strength you can muster!"
Enraged by the Lawbringer's goading, Gunnar let out a mighty yell and charged headlong at the armored man. Vincent made to swing his axe down upon Gunnar's back as he came on, but Coal got to him first. He bashed into Vincent with his shield, throwing him off balance and giving Gunnar the chance to sweep the Lawbringer off his feet and carry him through fire and debris to crash into the far wall of the room. Armor thudded and clanked against stone, and Vincent gave a pained groan as he was dropped to the floor, only to have Gunnar strike him about the head with the barbed end of his axe.
"Stay down!" Gunner urged, kicking away the poleaxe so it was out of reach. As soon as his foot came down, though, Vincent suddenly caught him by his ankle and yanked his leg out from under him. Gunnar gave a surprised whoop, hit the floor with a breathtaking thud, and then Vincent was on him. One punch of his gauntleted fist sent blood spraying from Gunnar's mouth, and then his fingers were closing around his throat.
"Take me alive, will you!?" Vincent growled, his voice echoing with terrible delight from within his helmet. "Take me alive, you savage mongrel!?" Gunnar punched up at him in return, too close to use his great axe now, but against all that armor, his fists did nothing. Vincent's hands only tightened around his throat, squeezing into flesh and making Gunnar cough and gasp as he was pinned.
Coal rushed in and swung a heavy-handed blow of his flail on top of Vincent's head, leaving a dent and nearly knocking it clear from the man's head. Vincent roared in anger but managed to keep a hold on Gunnar while also making a grab for the flail on the next swing. He caught the chain in his hand, letting the studded head wrap around his wrist, and pulled on it hard, drawing Coal to him where they each punched and scuffled, the big Lawbringer wrestling with Conqueror and Raider both. Coal bashed with his shield, and Gunnar nearly made it up off the floor before Vincent elbowed him in the chin and sent him sprawling back down again.
Making a blind grab for Coal, Vincent managed to snag hold of his belt, yanking him down onto one knee and landing a nose-cracking headbutt before the Conqueror could get his shield up. Coal toppled over, and now Vincent was on top of them both, strong hands locked tight around each of their throats as he kept them down with the full weight of his armored body. Still, they struggled, and Coal threw his hand up to grab at Vincent's dented helmet while Gunnar's punches grew weaker with each passing moment.
"The... helmet..." Coal wheezed, and Gunnar seemed to have just enough sense left about him to understand what he meant.
With growls of desperate fury, they each grabbed Vincent's helmet, somehow finding purchase with numb fingers under the rim and tugging on it hard until it began to come loose. Vincent cursed and tried to pull his head back from their grasp, but close in as he was, and with both his hands clasped around their throats, there was nothing he could do but let them tear the helmet off. It fell to the ground and bounced away, Vincent's once echoing voice now vibrant and clear as he laughed at the futility of their efforts.
A man of middle years, Vincent had a bald head and cleanly shaven face and might have been handsome had his features not been marred by the grim and vicious smile he wore, making him appear all the more threatening.
"You wish to look upon the man who kills you, is that it?" he laughed in their faces, delighting in how they choked and struggled beneath his iron grip. "Now that is a gift I will gladly grant you wretched heathens! Look into my eyes! Witness the ultimate power of God's judgment as I send you both to Hell!" His eyes were wide and crazed as they reflected the firelight around them, teeth bared in a bestial snarl as his hands clamped down tighter, ready to crush their throats at any moment.
"No..." Gunnar grunted, wearing the ghost of a smile upon his grimacing face.
Coal coughed, then raised a hand and pointed up and away from where they lay. "You... look... there..."
Vincent's cruel smile turned into an unsure frown as he looked up to see where Coal was pointing and found Priscilla standing not two strides away, her loaded crossbow pointed right at him.
"Wha-?" he began, just before the bow string snapped and the black bolt took him just below his right eye. His head flew back with a jolt, and he dropped with the clatter of armored plates, falling like a stone upon Gunnar and Coal, who groaned with frustration and relief in equal measure.
"Fucking hell, Prisc…" Coal groaned, taking a moment to simply lay there and catch his breath now that he wasn't having the air choked out of him. "You sure took your time with that."
"Had to make sure to get my aim right," Priscilla answered calmly.
Coal took an up-close look at Vincent's mangled and bloody face, blood dripping down the bolt to dribble on the ground. "I'd say you got it pretty damn perfect."
Priscilla regarded the small crossbow, turning it around in her hand. "I was aiming between his eyes. I might not be so good with this thing after all."
Gunnar gave a heavy groan as he lifted Vincent's dead weight off of him and rolled the body away. He sat up with another groan of effort; teeth bared in frustration as he stared hatefully at the dead man beside him.
"Fenrir take us!" He ripped the bolt free of Vincent's head only to stab it down again into his brow. "You useless goat fucker!" He punched and kicked the body, venting his anger until he was left panting and rubbing at his sore throat, finger marks still red against his skin. "We were supposed to take him alive!" he shouted accusingly, turning to stare icily at Priscilla.
"It was only a rumor that he had the armor at all," she bit back, knowing that the lie barely had any merit to stand on, but tried to deflect the blame all the same. "And I just saved your life right now. You should be thanking me."
Gunnar waved his hand dismissively at her, too caught up in his anger to argue. "We wanted him to talk! For the ransom!"
Coal sat up, removing his helmet to better rub at the bruised muscles of his own throat. His dark hair was matted to his head with sweat, and dark blood trickled from his smashed nose. "About what?" he asked. "You heard what he said. He never had the armor to begin with."
Gunnar rounded on him next, clearly not wanting to be the one to concede in this matter. "It could have been a lie! How do we know? Herleif wanted him alive, and now I must bring him news of this?" He slapped his hand against Vincent's pale face like it had just given him one last insult. "And tell him that the armor was never there to begin with! Worse yet, we will have to tell Erik, and he will most certainly not be pleased. He will not be pleased at all…"
He was not wrong; the thought was like a stone dropping into Priscilla's stomach, and her mind quickly began to work on how to take control of the situation before it became worse.
Coal got up to his feet and picked up his fallen flail before wiping sweat from his brow. "I don't think any of that will matter if we don't get out of here," he said, casting an eye at the fire spreading around them. Some of the bodies that had been burning before were now charred black, and the room was becoming so hot it was a wonder they had lasted so long there already. He knocked Gunnar on the shoulder and helped the man to his feet. "Come on. Let's get out of here before we end up burned without even setting foot in Hell."
Gunnar still didn't look pleased but nodded in agreement. He picked up his axe, rolled his great shoulders, then spat at Vincent's corpse before leading the way through the fire and smoke back to the door they had all come from.
Priscilla followed behind them both, her heart hammering in her chest. She stopped to pick up her sword where she had left it, finding the grip burned but not overly damaged. As she held its familiar weight in her hand, she felt her instincts screaming what she had to do next, on what she should do to make sure that Vincent's news never made its way to any of the Jarls. It wasn't anything she hadn't done before, nothing she hadn't sworn to do in order to see her mission complete. Only everything felt so muddled now; the things she believed in were shaken by the lies of the people she had trusted and the help of people she had been taught to fight against.
None of this was what she wanted, and the painful feeling of guilt that was becoming all too familiar returned to her as she glanced up just in time to see Gunnar slipping through the door to the next room.
When had her life become so complicated? Or had it always been this aggravating, and she just hadn't noticed because it was too terrible to think that it couldn't change? Sheathing her sword and dagger, she made her way quickly after Coal and Gunnar, leaving Vincent's lifeless body to be consumed by the fire with pagans and traitors alike.