From the early morning and lasting long into the night, High Priest Osric Ead appeared upon the highest tower of the Walled City to preach his fanatical sermon to both his followers and the enemy at his gates.
"Repent! Repent and turn away from your heathen ways of sin!" he cried out to the Viking horde. "God is your only salvation! Only by God's Fire will you be cleansed of your blasphemous filth! Repent! Throw down your weapons and fall to your knees before the holy mountain of our Lord!"
Far below, crammed like cattle in too small a pen, the worshipers of Mount Ignis called out to their leader for salvation. They begged to be delivered from starvation and disease as the host of northern warriors closed in around them. They called out for guidance when their priests offered no insight as to when help might come and instead received only contempt for their faithless fears. They called out for mercy as the soldiers of the Divine Pyre beat them into submission, all in the name of keeping order and peace. They called out to the high priest for the promise of God's divine fire that would rid the world of all who would bring them harm, but their cries went unanswered.
Dressed in his fine purple robes, high above the squalor and filth of his neglected followers, Osric Ead only called out to the heathens who dared to challenge his rule.
"The everlasting fire of the Lord our God will burn you away like dry wilderness cleared for the fertile field! It will scar you like lepers to be cast out by the faithful! It will ignite the souls of the devout to crush you into the dirt like the snakes beneath their heels! You will face obliteration! Damnation! You, who would forsake God's grace for the shadowed halls of Hell!"
For two nights and a day, his sermons of hate continued, with each word falling on deaf ears while the Vikings worked. Hammers clanged and beat with the mending of swords. The grindstone brought forth sparks with the sharpening of axes and spears. Mail and leather were oiled for the coming fight, and any tree within sight of the towering mountain was hacked down for the crafting of ladders. It was the toil of many villages, families, and clans from the north, now bound together for a single purpose: to plunder the wealth of half a kingdom left broken.
On the morning of the second day since Herleif's arrival to the camp, Erik Golden-Shield rode out ahead of the horde, flanked by his son, his champion, and all of his hirðmen, to give an answer to the high priest's unceasing lecture. Holding a great spear of dazzling gold and silver, he waited until it seemed the entire plain had gone quiet except for Osric's rambling, and he was sure that all eyes of the horde and those on the walls were watching him.
"I am Erik Golden-Shield! King Tua Peak and ruler of the lands from Ishamar to Bilrost! You have refused my offer of surrender, and so now I say to you all, I claim every accursed soul within this fortress in the name of Óðinn Allfather!"
Charging his horse forward, Erik showed no fear as he raced toward the Walled City, coming well within arrow shot before he threw his spear at the gate. The thin weapon soared through the air in a perfect arch, the wind whistling around its sharpened point before it slammed into the surface of the sturdy wooden gate. The message was clear, and the Viking horde cheered with unrestrained blood lust as Erik rode back to them, a smile of self-righteous triumph on his face.
The fight for the Walled City had finally begun.
"To arms! To arms, I call you! With the Fire of God in one hand and the blessed sword of the devout in the other, I call you to arms against the unholy heathen and unrepentant sinner! By the power of our Lord, I bless you with God's own Holy Fire! Fear not the lies of the pagan and the heretic, for you are chosen as God's own to defend his most holy mountain of salvation! To arms! To arms and to victory, for there is only victory in God! There is only victory in the Holy Mountain!"
Under the echoes of Osric's call, the joined forces of Erik and Ivar came across the plain in a mad hurdle to launch the first assault against the high fortress walls. They rushed forward like a rolling wave of red and yellow, painted shields raised to fend off the arrows that began to fall down upon them from the ramparts. Those warriors whose fate had been sealed by the Norns fell pierced by Pyre arrow shafts, while those destined to live on carried forth the ladders needed to scale the walls with a mighty roar that would shake the very rafters of Valhǫll. The Northmen came on until they finally reached the base of the walls, shouting curses and war chants as they lifted their ladders and began to climb.
Across the ramparts, the soldiers of the Divine Pyre moved to block the Viking attack. Archers unleashed death from above without pause, and where a ladder appeared along the wall, they quickly worked to push it off or tried to kill their barbarian assailants by hurling stones and striking with pikes as they climbed. Those Vikings that did make the treacherous climb to the top were met by a swarm of swords and spears brandished by the defenders. The wrath of the Vikings was met by the desperate resolve of the Pyre Knights, belting out a cacophony of hateful cries, screams of pain, and clashing weapons as each side tried to overwhelm the other. Soon, the bodies of the slain began to mount in number while the living fought on to trample over their dead comrades and foes.
Further out on the plain, drums beat out the rhythm of marching feet as bent-back warriors pushed forward a crudely constructed battering ram to the Walled City's gate. It was hardly anything so impressive as the great rams used by the Knights in their northern crusades, just a simple felled tree suspended on a harness, fitted with a roof of shields then covered by tanned hide for protection from arrow fire. Eight Viking warriors on either side pushed it along on slowly rolling wheels, grunting like beasts of burden upon the long road to war.
As the sun rose higher into the sky, chased forever by Skǫll until the end of days, so too did the fighting continue without either side gaining any advantage against the other. The dead still fell, and the living still fought on.
Herleif scowled from where he stood further back within the encampment, kept as a mere spectator by Erik and forced to watch his fellow Northmen throw themselves against sturdy walls for one man's ambition. His blood boiled just to stand and watch. It shamed him to know that others fought and died while he did nothing, but in a way, he was relieved that he had been spared the burden of ordering his warriors to take part in such a foolish and poorly orchestrated attack. The vanity of Erik Golden-Shield had truly grown beyond measure if he thought that stone walls would fall to him merely by sending men and women with ladders to bring him victory.
"Bastard," Herleif hissed under his breath, squinting across the plain at the golden-winged crown that marked Erik out among the horde, commanding from the rear and far from the danger of falling arrows while remaining surrounded by his personal guard.
Gunnar shook his head next to him, wearing a matching scowl on his face and crossing his strong arms over his broad chest. "Does Erik seriously think this will win him the day? Ladders and a trickle of warriors to overwhelm an entire city?"
"Erik thinks that the entire world now submits to his rule, and therefore any troll-shit idea that forms inside that empty golden bowl he calls a skull is the first one he acts on without any care for the consequences." Just saying Erik's name now put a bad taste in his mouth, and he spat at the ground in disgust. "And this is the fool I must now call king." Gunnar shifted uncomfortably next to him, but Herleif paid his brother no mind. There was no point in starting a fight among themselves while Vikings fought and died in droves right before their eyes.
On Herleif's other side stood Judith, with her own Knights gathered uselessly nearby like a glaring scar of crimson metal among the blue and silver-clad northmen. Judith held her helmet under one arm as she observed the siege, deep lines forming around her eyes as she frowned in grim judgment. "Attacking them like this will yield nothing but dead bodies and little gain. We have them trapped against the mountain. Driving them to starvation would be the better course of action."
"Erik is too impatient for that," Herleif said. "He wants that vault, and we are far from our ships. The Legion Council may be distracted by the Samurai incursions to the east, but we cannot stay camped here for long if we hope to return to Eitrivatnen and sail back up river without incident."
Judith side-eyed him with a glare. "The hostages you left at Eitrivatnen will make sure nothing happens to your ships. Your new king made sure of that."
"After all you have seen here since the Pyre rose to power, can you be so sure?"
The corner of Judith's eye twitched. "What does it matter? The fight goes on without us while we are commanded to simply hold back and watch like the peasantry at a joust."
Herleif closed his eyes and took a calming breath before looking to the fortress again. "Thank you for reminding me, Lady Judith. I had nearly forgotten."
Down among the clamor of clashing weapons and struggling warriors, the battering ram was finally nearing the city gates. Drums beat, and warriors moved quickly to make way for the rolling siege weapon as it rolled by. With a great cheer, the ram came to rest against the gates, the protective roof littered with arrows like the quills of a boar, and the drums changed rhythm as the ram was pulled back on its harness before driving forward against the great city door. A great boom sounded with the first heavy strike echoing off the surrounding walls and carrying back to where Herleif and his warriors stood. The gates of the Walled City shook with the impact but remained unbroken. Again, the ram was drawn back and let go against the gates with another mighty crash, hammering again and again like the rumble of Thor's thunder in the sky.
Minutes passed, and Herleif remained rooted to where he stood while great warriors and shield maidens alike fought and died without him.
The humiliation before the gods was nearly unbearable, a coward's fate unjustly forced upon him while the battle raged on right before his eyes. He glared at the shuddering gate with each blow of the ram, willing it to break, willing it to burst into a thousand splintering pieces so that those warriors stuck waiting beneath a storm of arrows could rush in and put an end to this madness once and for all. He willed it with all of his strength, with all of his hate and regret, but still, the city gates held firm.
"Come on, keep hitting them," Gunnar uttered in a tense whisper, giving voice to the thoughts in Herleif's mind. "Break... Just fucking break."
Higher up on the gatehouse, just below the fortified ramparts where the great banners of the Divine Pyre blew regally in the wind, a pair of doors were pushed open directly over the ram, followed by the sharp clanking of turning gears and wheels as something began to emerge. Herleif felt his heart drop into his stomach as a bronze eagle slid into the sun from the gatehouse, its sharp beak open in a silent scream. It was too far away from where he was standing, but Herleif could imagine the telltale hiss emitting from within the eagle's throat and the sheer terror of those trapped in the crowd below.
"Hel take us," Gunnar said as they all watched in horror at what was surely about to happen.
Among the attacking horde, panic surged through the warriors close enough to the gatehouse to be within reach of the eagle's fire, but those working the ram beneath the roof of shields knew nothing of the danger that now was perched above them. Others called to them to flee and find cover, but the din of battle was too loud, and the booming of the ram against the gates too great for them to hear. They were set to their purpose, determined to break down the gates that stood before them or enter through the gates of Valhǫll.
High upon the tallest tower, Osric Ead lifted his arms to the volcano's peak and called out wrathfully to God. "Almighty God! Ruler of the heavens and this mortal realm! Let your divine retribution burn true! Let loose your wrath in blessed fire and lay waste to the enemies!"
Fire erupted from the eagle's beak, engulfing the ram in an inferno of orange and yellow flame. The only warriors able to scream were the ones caught at the edge of the blast, but all trapped within were set ablaze in mere moments. Black smoke belched from the eagle's deathly scream while the ram crumbled and collapsed in a heap of burning wood and bodies. Somehow, the gates of the Walled City remained unharmed, still firmly closed shut in the face of the barbaric invaders.
Herleif's face went cold, and numbness spread through him from his fingertips to his toes. The light of the flames danced and flickered before his eyes while he watched Erik and Ivar's warriors turn and run as fast as they could from the burning flames. Just as it had done upon the lake, the fire seemed to catch where it should not have been possible, spreading across empty dirt and sand as the Divine Pyre's uncanny sorcery spurred it on. Those trying to flee were blocked by those still trying to make it to the walls, crashing against each other with shields and weapons clattering, stalling each other, and leaving themselves vulnerable to arrows and magic fire alike. The screams of anguish began anew, rising in pitch until they mingled with Osric's mad sermon to echo through the air.
"Damn them!" Judith cried out in a rage she could not contain, throwing her helmet into the dirt. "Damn the Pyre and damn the Wu Lin! Pitiless snakes and dogs! They all belong in the pits of Hell!"
"Shut up and look!" Gunnar shouted, directing everyone's attention to the walls as he pointed.
All across the city, ladders were being pushed away from the walls as the ramparts were flooded with a surge of Pyre Knights. Black-armored soldiers overwhelmed any Vikings who had made it to the top, cutting them down in a haze of red that hung in the air. As the walls were cleared of attackers, more cultists appeared with new weapons in hand. It was hard to make out from such a distance, but the long and thin devices glinted in the firelight with a metallic sheen, and each had a number of Pyre Knights working to aim them over the ramparts. They were smaller than the eagle at the gatehouse, but the truth of their purpose quickly became clear as jets of streaming fire shot forth over the encroaching horde, spreading death from above to burn through the Viking ranks.
The Northmen below raised their shields in a desperate attempt to defend themselves, only to be covered in liquid fire they could not put out. Panic and confusion took hold, sending the Vikings into disarray as the defenders picked them off with more arrows and fire from above. For all their numbers, it seemed that the strength of the horde counted for nothing against the solid walls of the besieged fanatics, now more than ever as their heinous weapons were unleashed upon them without restraint.
A cry of despair rose from the Bilrost warriors as they watched on, helpless to do anything as their kinsmen suffered beneath falling arrows and burning death. One cry stood out among the rest, a cry of such insufferable hate that it chilled the blood of all who heard it. Standing out in front of the watching crowd, Ragna screamed out her wrath to all the gods, flanked by Ragnar and Helge, whose anger was merely a pale shadow in comparison. Ragna's knuckles were bone white as she squeezed her twin axes, her teeth were bared in a vicious snarl, and her entire body shook with a terrible rage as she stood on the cusp of berserkergang.
Tearing her gaze away from the battle, Ragna thrashed and cut at the air with her axes in anger, causing all around her to quickly spring away to safety. Her behavior was wild and erratic, acting more like a rabid beast than a woman- right up until she caught Herleif's eye and set her focus solely on him.
"Herleif!" she roared, her voice like the howl of the Fenris Wolf himself. She came at him wide-eyed, teeth bared, and Ragnar and Helge barely came up behind her in time to stop her short as she pressed one axe blade against Herleif's neck. "What the fuck are you doing!?" she shouted, spit flying from her lips.
Gunnar and Judith both stepped forward at Ragna's outburst, but Herleif put out his arms to stop them and showed no fear as the metal edge pressed against his skin. "Still your tongue, Ragna! It pleases me no more than you to watch, but if you wish to rush forth and add your body to the slaughter, then I will not allow it."
"Watch? Fucking watch!?" Ragna's eyes were alight with fire, just like the ram still burning before the city gate. The axe blade against his throat pressed tighter as she seethed, barely held back by her brother and companion from going over the edge. "You do more than just watch! You're letting it fucking happen! Our brothers and sisters die before our eyes, and you order us to stand here and watch!? You would do nothing, just like the fucking coward you are!"
Axe blade or no, Herleif could not allow such an outburst to stand. He threw his head forward faster than Ragna could react, slamming the crown of his helmet into her face and dropping her flat on the ground. He could not let her speak to him that way and do nothing in return, not with all his warriors watching. Honor would not permit it, and his dwindling power as a ruler could not allow it. He had not brought his warriors to this accursed battle just to have them challenge his authority now.
Ragna's eyes fluttered as she snorted blood from her crushed nose, but in moments her vision cleared, and she was cursing and snarling like a mad woman as she scrambled to her feet. Ragnar and Helge barely kept a hold of her as she raged, grappling with her arms to keep her deadly axes away from Herleif's face.
"Easy, sister! Easy!" Ragnar urged, digging his heels into the dirt and still struggling to hold Ragna back.
"Níðing troll fucker!" Ragna screamed, giving no sign that she was in any pain while she fought to get free. "Fight me then, you bastard! You are nothing! The gods spit on you, and so do I!"
Herleif narrowed his eyes, having no wish for any of this to go any further. Being called a coward could only be met with a show of strength, which he had given, but he had no wish to start killing his own warriors even as Ragna carried on. "I am your jarl, regardless of who I may bend the knee to myself. I am still the ruler of Bilrost, and my word is still the last one you will heed if you wish to walk away from this with your life, Ragna."
Ragna barked out a laugh of pure contempt. "You are just a coward jarl! You rule nothing now but piss and shit!" Finally, she shook off Ragnar and Helge, but rather than striking at Herleif with her axes, she pointed past him with one outstretched blade. "If you are any kind of true ruler, then why the fuck is she still alive?"
All eyes turned to the group of Lion Flame Knights standing among the brooding warband. There, within the ranks of metal and red tabards, Priscilla stood lurking behind Coal like a small rabbit trying to hide among the tall grass from a hawk.
"These Knights are under my protection now," Herleif said, knowing full well that any reason he gave for allowing Priscilla to live would mean nothing to his people, all except one, that is. In truth, he asked himself why he had allowed the Peacekeeper to escape judgment every day since her so-called trial but knew the answer already. He shared an anxious look with Gunnar before turning back to Ragna and putting on a brave face. "Nothing is to happen to them without my express word, and I will say no more on the matter. Do I make myself clear?"
"That is not the true reason, and you know it! We deserve an answer!"
Herleif took a step forward and gently rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. "The next time you make demands of me, I promise, I will answer you with steel."
Ragna's lip curled in a dismissive smile, letting her axes drop to her sides as she stepped back. "Worthless troll shit," she said, shoving away any touch from Ragnar and Helge as they tried to usher her away. "The gods have forsaken us, and it is all your fault, coward jarl." With one last glance of pure disdain, she spat blood at Herleif's feet, then gave her back to him before shouting at the surrounding crowd to clear out of her way.
Watching her go, Ragna's anger was almost enough to make Herleif forget about the battle going on right in front of him, but the continued war cries of his people mingling with the constant jets of fire shooting from the walls soon captured his attention again. Always, there was the constant sound of the high priest preaching above all of this violence and death, unperturbed by the black smoke rising up around his mighty tower. The air was filled with the scent of charred flesh and burning wood, and it made Herleif's stomach turn as he watched the bronze eagle above the gate let loose another gout of flame to scare off any warriors who dared try to get close.
Then, after so many had given their lives, horns blew clear over the battle din, sounding out a pattern that saw the attacking force turn about and quickly make their way back across the plain toward the camp.
"Finally, they are retreating," Herleif said quietly, looking out over the scene of abandoned ladders and mutilated bodies left before the city walls. A great cheer rose from the ramparts as black-armored Pyre Knights raised their weapons in victory and shouted insults after the fleeing horde. "Erik will not be pleased, but there is no more that can be done this day."
Judith glanced up at the high tower where Osric Ead's sermon had transformed into a speech of jeers and curses that he would have everyone believe was ordained by the Lord. "It is for the best," she said. "It was madness to attack the city head-on. We should have known that the Pyre would have had more of those fire weapons at the ready. There was no way of knowing about the smaller weapons, though."
"They knew what they were doing," Herleif said begrudgingly. "We chased them all the way back to the place where they are the strongest, to where we will have to work the most to hurt them. As long as they have those weapons, there is no way we can take the walls or get close to the gate, but Erik is exactly the kind of vain fool who will try anyway."
"And get all of us killed while he sits in his tent and drinks, no doubt," Gunnar grumbled bitterly.
His brother's remark set off a spark of realization in Herleif's mind, and suddenly, the notion of following Erik's orders seemed to him the same as embracing his own death with open arms. Today, he had been commanded to sit and wait, an insult and a punishment for daring to make the Golden Jarl look like a fool. Tomorrow, though, an altogether different command might be bestowed upon him. A command not meant as insult or punishment but merely a means to an end for a ruler who saw every man as expendable.
Anger and fear swelled within his chest in equal measure, and he rounded on Judith so quickly that she nearly drew her sword in surprise as he gripped her shoulders.
"Judith! If you are to be of any help to me, then let it be now," he frantically urged. "I know Erik will try again! He will throw everything he has at that city until it falls! I tell you now, the next time he attacks that gate, it will be my people pushing the ram, and if my warriors are forced to make that sacrifice, then I swear your Knights will be right there beside them!"
Judith blinked as realization set in, and her confusion quickly turned to resolute determination as she frowned. "What are you proposing we do then? Disobey Erik's orders if he commands another attack? He would have us both put to death."
Herleif thumped his fist against one of her pauldrons, making the metal rattle. "This is one of your cities. This is your homeland. Like it or not, these bastards we are fighting are your people! Erik has done the only thing he knows how to do, send men to die until he gets what he wants. Now I want you to tell me, how do we succeed where he has failed?"
Judith closed her eyes and sighed as she thought. As a veteran commander, she knew full well that her life and the lives of her Knights depended on what she said. She turned and looked out over the plain where the ravages of the fire lay beneath black smoke and gently falling ash. Her face softened for a moment, and then she looked back to Herleif with a knowing grin.
"Marcelo!" she called, knocking Herleif's hands away as the young Warden stepped forward. "The crate of Wu Lin bombs we took from the Great Forge, did you hide it as I instructed?" she asked him.
Marcelo gave a curt bow of his head. "Yes, commander. They are secure."
"Good," Judith said, her grin spreading out into a full smile. "I think I have an idea for how we can use them."
Two more days had passed.
Two more days of Osric Ead's incessant preaching. Two more days of ladders and fire, where the only results were more dead bodies on either side. The sky was made dark with smoke as the weapons of the Divine Pyre spit fire down upon the heads of desperate Vikings, and the battle plain was left a ruin of blackened carnage before the ashen-smeared walls.
So far, Herleif and his warriors had been spared the burden of joining in on the attack. Erik had yet to summon his presence since last commanding that he sit and do nothing, seemingly so enraged that he had not taken the city on the first day that he had forgotten all about his existence. Herleif was not about to remind him of it now. At any other time, he would have taken further exclusion from the siege as an insult to his honor, but for now, it served his purpose to be overlooked and ignored.
On the evening of the third day, after yet another failed attempt to take the walls, Herleif and Gunnar were summoned to Erik's tent to attend his war council. When they arrived, things were going about as well as could be expected.
"That city should be mine already!" Erik roared, throwing over a table laid out with wine and food to crash over the floor. The thralls who had laid out the fine meal scattered before their master's wrath but not before Erik caught a cowering young man by his iron collar and hauled him across the tent to toss at Old Wolf's feet. "Have my Shaman sacrifice this one to Óðinn. Take more if you must, but I want my strongest warriors anointed with fresh blood come morning!"
"As you wish, my king," Old Wolf said, addressing Erik by his new title before grabbing up the whimpering thrall and shoving him out of the tent.
"You'll get no favors from the gods by sending them weak thrall's blood. The gods will want something of worth," said Ivar, who was nursing a goblet of wine as he lounged in his high seat, still covered in dirt and grime from the days fighting. Unlike Erik, Ivar had led his warriors into the thick of the fight without a second thought and had somehow come away from each assault unscathed. Even now, he seemed perfectly comfortable still smelling of death and smoke rather than get himself cleaned up. "Sacrifice Magnús. Giving a son will catch the Allfather's attention."
"I thought you said they wanted something of worth?" Erik snapped without thought, walking right past his son to his own high seat and dropping himself down onto the ornate throne with a heavy sigh.
Magnús tried to laugh off the comment as if it were a joke, even while his father remained grimly silent. "The new ram is almost finished, Father. Stronger this time, too. We will drench the hides and shields with water before it is sent against the gate tomorrow, and this time it will not fail. I am sure of it!"
"And who are going to be the poor bastards sent to carry out this fool's mission, hmm?" Ivar asked, looking from Magnús to Erik. "It won't be my fucking warriors, I promise you that. I am not so stupid as to buy into your son's shit-brained optimism, Erik. And do not think you can go waving your finger around ordering me to do so, either. I may be here fighting your fucking battles for you, but I do not call you king."
Erik leaned over on his throne toward Ivar, pointing a finger with the ghost of a smile on his lips and a greedy glint in his blue eyes. "There may come a day, Ivar. There may yet come a day." He sat back again and rested his head against his seat, looking down his nose at all in attendance until he found who he was looking for. "But no. There is one here who already calls me his king. Is that not true, my loyal friend?"
Herleif looked up at Erik from where he sat among the rest of his warriors, no longer given the honor of his own high seat, a privilege that even a dog like Ivar was still allowed. Soon, everyone else was looking at him, too, and he willed himself to show no emotion as he stood up to address his new ruler.
"Aye, my king. The warriors of clan Tundra Tusk are yours to command." He heard Gunnar give a disgruntled sigh behind him but kept his gaze locked firmly ahead as he watched for Erik's reaction.
"I am pleased to hear it," Erik smiled. Allowing himself to relax upon his throne, he slid his hands forward to grip the carved eagle heads at the end of each arm, taking a moment to revel in his grand self-importance after days of being kept from the treasure that was destined to be his. "And for your loyalty, I will give your warriors the honor of driving the new ram against the city's gate tomorrow. You will break down the doors that stand between me and what I am owed, and you will not fail. You will see to it personally, leading your warriors from the front like a true jarl. Do I make myself clear?"
Herleif's jaw clenched tight, but he answered with a respectful bow of his head. "Perfectly clear, my king. I will see it done, and tomorrow, you will walk through the broken gates of the Walled City in triumph. This I swear to you before all the gods."
Laughter rose up all around him, including from Erik himself, seemingly amused by the notion that he believed himself capable of success against such terrible odds, enough to make an oath with the gods no less. Herleif appeared to remain ignorant of the joke, eyes downcast as he waited for Erik to continue. After a moment, though, he looked up again and noticed that there was at least one person who did not laugh along with all the rest.
Ivar stared at him silently, dark eyes narrowed and full of suspicion. Herleif ignored him, not caring if Ivar suspected treachery or cowardice. He would give the man nothing to go on if he could help it.
Erik slapped an open hand on the arm of his throne in approval. "Very good! I bid you to go and prepare your warriors then. I look forward to your success, my friend, and if you can deliver on what you have promised me, then tomorrow will truly be a day worthy of sagas. Let us all give thanks to Jarl Herleif, a bold and dependable man as there ever was!"
The rest of the warriors beat the tables and raised their horns in mock recognition of Herleif's efforts, but still they smiled and whispered among themselves, knowing full well that their king owed him no respect. Erik was sending him and his warriors to their doom, and gladly so if it meant a chance at breaking down the gates of the Walled City.
Herleif gave a small bow as Erik laughed on, then glanced at his brother before they both headed out of the tent. As he turned, Herleif caught Ivar's eye once again, still suspicious as ever. There was no telling what he was thinking, but in truth, Herleif did not want to know. He had other concerns now; chief among them was making sure he and the rest of his warriors survived tomorrow's assault and made good on his promise.
An oath made before the gods was not something to be taken lightly unless, of course, it was an oath made with a worthless dog like Ivar.
Stepping out into the night, the preaching of Osric Ead began to echo down from the dark once again, tormenting the entire camp and drawing forth another angry outburst from Erik just before Herleif and Gunnar got out of earshot.
"By Hel's frozen tits, I will give my own weight in gold to any man who brings me that shit-eating priest's head on a fucking pike!"
Together, Herleif and Gunnar walked in silence through the camp beneath the night sky, passing among the tents that belonged to Erik's warriors, then Ivar's, and then finally Herleif's own. There, nestled in the Bilrost portion of the camp, stood Herleif's own large tent surrounded by five of his guards. They stood at attention when they saw him and Gunnar approach, with one lifting the tent flap for them to pass inside.
It was no joy to lose one's place to sleep for the night, but in this case, Herleif considered the sacrifice acceptable. Inside the tent were none of his things; the stand for his armor, bed, and trunk with tools to clean his weapons. Instead, there was only dirt. Mounds of dirt and the tools needed to dig up all that dirt, along with a gaping hole in the ground that now opened up at their feet. From down within the empty darkness came the unending sound of bestial grunts and ferocious digging, and so it was only with a moment's hesitation that Herleif and Gunnar looked at each other before dipping their heads and descending the thin ladder and into the tunnel beneath the earth.
Herleif had to feel his way through the dark as he led, pressing one hand to the roughly dug wall. The tunnel was wide enough for him and Gunnar to walk side by side if they wanted but low enough that his head scraped against the ceiling even as he stooped over like an old man. Every so often, a shower of dirt would fall over him, and he willed himself not to think about all that rock and earth hanging over his head as they went. It was a long way, with nothing but the sound of their breathing and the clamor of digging off in the stark blackness before them.
Soon, an orange light appeared in the distance, and he saw shapes moving about in the gloom. They moved past him now, figures caked in a thick layer of dirt, faces covered by torn cloth around their noses and mouths for protection from the dust. They carried shovels full of dirt, depositing them in little alcoves dug into the tunnel that Herleif could now see in the dim light. There could only be one torch at a time down here due to the smoke, but as long as the tunnel remained straight, they would hit the base of the wall soon enough, and that was all that mattered.
One figure set down their shovel and came toward him, and if they had not lowered the cloth covering their face, Herleif may not have recognized Judith for her complete lack of armor and the dirty pair of shirt and trousers she was wearing.
"We are almost done," she said after giving a quick cough. Her silver blonde hair had been turned entirely brown, much like her clothing, which at one point had been white beneath her armor. "Should be sometime tomorrow, I think."
Herleif gazed past her into the glow of the torchlight, seeing the reason for why the tunnel had been dug so far in such a short amount of time.
Cutting at the dirt with pickaxes and shovels just as ferociously as they would cut at their hated enemies with axes, his loyal Berserkers dug away with a determination fit for any battlefield frenzy. They were all stripped naked in the dust and heat, muscular bodies glistening with sweat, but they gave no care. Berserkergang had taken hold of their spirits, the hard work sparking their fury to dig without pause or fatigue. They snarled and snapped their teeth at each other whenever they got too close or growled like angry beasts at any poor Knight whose job it was to clear away the loose dirt as they left it.
Among the wild warriors, Ragna and Ragnar led the way, carving away at the tunnel with no signs of slowing until they reached their goal. Then, as if alerted to their presence, Ragna stiffened and turned. Herleif could just make out the gleam of the torchlight shining in her eyes. After their last encounter, he half expected her to come charging again, ready for a fight, but instead, she simply gave a small nod of her head and then got back to work, attacking the end of the tunnel with all of her mad strength. It seemed that she had her purpose now, strange as it was, and would no longer be left standing idle while Vikings fought and died without her.
Herleif coughed in the choking dust. "Do you have everything you need?" he asked Judith over the commotion of the Berserkers digging away.
Judith glanced down to something at their feet, taking hold of a heavy blanket and lifting it up to reveal the crate of Wu Lin bombs barely visible in the gloom. "This must be the dumbest idea I have ever had, and I looked for help in Valkenheim, of all places. But we will be ready."
"It needs to get done tonight."
"Tonight?" Judith asked in surprise, glancing back over her shoulder at the crazed Northmen digging away. "Do you think they can do it?"
Herleif nodded and gave her a reassuring smile, trusting in the fury of his Berserkers. "They will get it done tonight. Tomorrow, we walk into Hel. Keep them working, commander!" He clapped Judith once on the shoulder, then turned to move past Gunnar and head back up the tunnel. There was still more to prepare for, and he had to make sure the rest of his warriors were ready for the fight of their lives come morning.
Making their way into the dark again, Herleif stopped short when he spotted none other than Priscilla and Coal sitting in one of the dirt-filled alcoves along the tunnel wall. "What are you two doing?" he barked over the noise.
The two Knights looked haggard and exhausted, caked in dirt from head to toe, but most of all, they looked absolutely dismayed to see him, of all people, coming out of the darkness like an unwanted demon coming to torment their souls.
Coal ran a hand through his mop of dark hair, sending a shower of dirt down over his shoulders. "We're on a break," he said.
"A break? Ha!" Herleif didn't care if the dust choked him as he laughed. "Get these two back to work, Gunnar! Let the Berserkers put some enthusiasm back into their weary bones!"
Gunnar gave an apologetic frown but reached out and took Priscilla's hand and then Coal's arm to help them to their feet before ushering them back down the tunnel. Priscilla grumbled something under her breath that Herleif didn't hear, and for once, he could not be bothered to care.
"A break, you say? This is war, my friends!" he called out after them as they melted into the haze of dust. "You can have a break when you are dead!