Standing on the ridge that overlooked the battle plain, Herleif watched his warriors gather to stand against the high walls of the volcano fortress, ready to begin their first assault against the Walled City. Perhaps it was to be their last as well.
A sea of spears stretched out before him as his warriors stood in their gathered formations, the blue of their painted shields broken only by the dull tones of their armor while the sun glinted off steel helmets. He knew that every one of them was a true drengr, a fighter to the end. Whatever happened that day, the Valkyries of Óðinn would usher an entire army of the slain into Valhǫll to fight and drink until the twilight of the gods. Standing with him were Skuld and Helge, both grim and silent as they watched on, but they remained resilient before such a dangerous task.
Enemies in front, brave warriors at his back, and Bilrost banners flying high in the morning breeze. What more could a Warlord ask for at the dawn of battle?
At least, that was how things might have been, but the moment was not as glorious as it appeared to be. By the command of his new king, the fate of him and all his warriors might come to a swift and disastrous end. It was like an unseen chain weighing heavy upon all their necks. They had been commanded to succeed where others had failed and died or be doomed to die trying themselves. It was far the sort of heroic death worthy of entering Valhǫll that he had dreamed of as a younger man.
Herleif's only hope, his only option, was to overcome the enemy defenses by any means necessary. Silently, he prayed to the gods that whatever offense he had given to lose his ancestral lands to another, that today, he would find their favor once again through acts of cunning, guile, and sheer boldness.
If there was ever a time to be bold, leading his warriors on a near-suicide mission was it.
The sound of beating drums and the crunching of heavy wheels caught his attention, and Herleif looked to see the new battering ram being pushed up through the camp. It was a large, cumbersome machine of war; the simplicity of its design was matched only by how shoddy it looked after being constructed so quickly. The thick trunk of a felled tree hung suspended from the mobile frame, hammered through with spokes that acted as handholds on each side, but the roof of tanned hides and strong shields from the first ram had been replaced by a makeshift woodwork of whatever could be grabbed the quickest. Discarded crates and chests were torn apart for their planks, shattered shields taken from the fallen in the days prior, and even old helmets flattened out and hammered into the patchwork defense to fill in the gaps.
All in all, it was a far cry from the mighty siege engine used at Svengard by the Blackstone Legion years ago during Apollyon's war. Herleif could only shake his head in disappointment, but there was one thing about the sight of that second-rate door opener that still sparked a feeling of pride in his heart.
Twelve warriors pushed the ram along, six on each side. His warriors- the Berserkers under his command, filled with the Allfather's fury even after a hard night of digging. Ragnar and Ragna pushed the ram from the front, muscles straining and teeth bared from the effort, but their fierce eyes were fixed on the city gates that remained closed to them across the plain. The charred remains of the first ram still lay scattered beneath the gatehouse, a stark reminder of the terrible weapon that awaited them once they got close. Still, the Berserkers pushed the ram forward with Herleif's army gathered around it, ready to do what was necessary to gain entrance into the city.
Marching boots stamped down the dry earth as metal chainmail clinked while gleaming spears and polished helmets shined in the crisp light of the dawn. It was as mighty a host as ever raised from the hold of Bilrost, and for the trepidation in Herleif's heart for the inferno they were about to step into, he was undoubtedly proud to lead them. Unsheathing his sword, Herleif held it aloft so that it shined in the morning sun, signaling to all who saw him that he was ready to lead them in the fight. Horns sounded the call, bringing the ram and the Bilrost warriors to a halt, the air falling silent as they stood at the edge of the battle plain. No sooner had they stopped did the preaching of Osric Ead begin again.
"Thou shalt not suffer the monstrous heathen to live!" called the high priest from the city's tallest tower. His voice was like booming thunder in the sky, a sound made even more imposing by a sudden rumble from the volcano that filled the sky. Dark smoke had begun billowing from the mountain's peak in the night, casting the city in shadow against the rising sun as if to lay claim to the worshipers within. "By the power of God Almighty, thou shall smite thine enemies with the flames of righteousness! Thou shall fight! Fight! Fight! For the punishment of non-believers shall be dealt to them in hellfire and damnation!"
"Speak your hollow words while you still have a tongue, snake," Helge hissed quietly, glaring up at the distant tower.
Herleif set his jaw and ground his teeth as he listened. By the time the day was over, he would be feasting with his ancestors in the halls of Valhǫll, or the priest's head would be thrown from the balcony of his tower, with his body falling shortly after. Dozens of dark helmets poked above the city ramparts, an army of volcano worshipers ready to rain death upon them with arrows and their strange fire weapons once his warriors were close enough to the walls. Going against them was madness, but there were no other options left. He needed the enemy's attention for the plan to work.
"It must work," he muttered to himself.
Trapped at the cusp of an attack he wasn't sure he could win, Herleif almost hoped that the walls would simply burst into pieces just from the sheer tension in the air.
"Ásagrimmr, hear me. Even if you curse me as a coward, even if you leave me with no land to call my own... give me this fight. If this is the day on which the Norns have set my fate to end, then let it be an end worthy of remembrance. Hear me, Allfather, and I will sow such death among my enemies as no other Einherjar within your hall has ever done before. Give me this battle, or go and hang yourself until the Great Wolf comes to rip apart your hide."
High overhead, a flash of movement caught his eye. Looking up, he spied two black ravens flying overhead. They each let out a sharp cry, wings beating as they flew away from the dark smoke of the volcano and toward the golden rays of dawn in the east. Herleif watched as they went, looking back as the ravens flew over the camp behind him and soared off into the distance. They shrank into two little black dots in the sky and then disappeared into nothing at all. It was only when he could no longer hear their harsh cries that he set his gaze upon Erik's great tent towering among the rest of the camp and the man himself watching from afar.
It didn't surprise him to see Erik placed so far away and safe from where the fighting would be, or that he was sitting on his golden throne under the guard of his son, his champion, and closest hirðmen. Drinking from a golden-trimmed horn, the jarl-turned-king waited patiently for the attack to begin, watching in comfortable judgment from his position of total authority.
"Ignore him," came Skuld's hard voice, shaking Herleif from his trance simply from the rarity of that determined sound. How she always seemed to know his inner thoughts was a mystery, but he was not about to question the ways of a Valkyrie before a battle. Skuld's eyes shifted over to meet him, cold and blue like sea spray on a gray morning, piercing into him like the wind. "We follow you."
"The promise of blood has been made," Helge said next, head turned up to the sky, and her eyes closed as if listening to something no one else could hear. She drew her curved knife and sharp hatchet from her belt, squeezing them tight and opening her gaze to the Walled City again, a grim smile spreading across her lips. "Now, it will be a promise fulfilled."
"No," Herleif said quickly, voice stern to hold back the rolling wave of fury building around him. "We hold. Right now, we hold for as long as we need to."
He knew that his warriors were ready. He knew that the gods were watching. He knew that Erik was ready to sacrifice them all for his personal gain. None of that mattered. For now, King Erik Golden-Shield would have to wait a little while longer to claim his prize. Everything depended on the Lion Flame, and Herleif would give them all the time he could until their part in this mad scheme was done. He just hoped they pulled through before they all discovered the true limits of Erik's patience.
Glancing around at the warriors with him, he looked past Skuld and Helge for the one person he expected at his side but was nowhere to be found. "Where in the nine realms is Gunnar?"
Priscilla moved quickly beside Coal as they walked through the camp, following behind the rest of their legion to the tent hiding the tunnel. Judith led them, the crippled eagle perched upon her helmet turning this way and that as she kept an eye out for any unwanted attention. Most of the Bilrost warriors were fine with the sight of armed Knights walking among them, but things with the Headhunter and Sea Eagle clans were still less than friendly. They passed unnoticed, however, as everyone's attention was on the impending attack, leaving only the wounded and the slaves left to tend to them in the area.
It was for that reason that Priscilla felt a jolt of fear as a strong hand fell on her shoulder while walking along, making her jump and grab for her weapons. She had nearly gotten her sword free before she turned and saw Gunnar smiling down at her.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed.
"I'm here to help," Gunnar said, his hand remaining on her shoulder. "And keeping you on your toes, it seems. I would have thought it much harder to sneak up on a Peacekeeper, but you make it easy."
"I guess you caught me on an off day," she said, slipping from his grasp and heading after the other Knights. "Why are you here? You should be with your brother at the walls."
Gunnar quickly followed her, slapping a hand on Coal's back in greeting as the Conqueror did the same to him. "I told you, I'm my own man. Herleif and I agreed on that a long time ago. So long as I never stand on the field of battle against any warriors of Bilrost, then I'm free to fight where I wish. He will be fine."
"Well, good for him," Priscilla grumbled, wondering how that little arrangement factored into Gunnar keeping life-threatening secrets from his brother, but she didn't press the issue as they came upon the jarl's tent.
Marcelo stood there holding the tent flap open, saluting Judith, and handing her a torch from a small brazier before she dipped her head and entered. He greeted the Knights that followed and handed out a few more torches, but when he saw Gunnar among the group, he seemed less than enthused, taking a quick look about as if fearful of a certain pair of Berserkers and a mischievous Shaman that might be lurking nearby. Gunnar smiled and thumped Marcelo on the shoulder as he stepped inside, making the young Warden flinch in his armor.
Everyone was quiet as they climbed down into the darkness of the tunnel. They all knew what had to be done and what was at stake if they failed. The wrath of Erik Golden-Shield hung over them like the headsman's axe, but there was a very good chance that none of them would survive long enough to face him if the battle went poorly. The mood was tense as the remnants of the once great legion made their way down below the earth, metal armor clinking in the gloom. Coal and Gunnar both had to walk stooped over and shoulders hunched, grumbling each time their helmets knocked the tunnel ceiling to shower them in the dirt, while Priscilla suffered no such issue as she went.
It could be a strange feeling, traveling in secrecy while armies gathered to face each other nearby. Priscilla could see in the way her fellow Knights moved that they were uncomfortable with the task that they had been given, sneaking in shadows when they should have been fighting bravely. They were far more used to the feeling of standing on the front lines of a battlefield with the power of entire legions at their backs. No one said anything, no one complained, but she could tell they would rather be under the open sky right now where their battle cries could be carried up to the Lord and all his angels. She was much more suited to sneaking behind enemy lines on her own, acting as a well-aimed knife rather than a heavy-handed axe or brutal mace. Slipping underneath the enemy while an entire army stood overhead, though? That was a new experience even for her.
"Halt," came Judith's order from on ahead, bringing the march of rattling of armor to an end. "Take positions."
Immediately, everyone moved into the alcoves that had been dug along each side of the tunnel, climbing onto the piles of displaced dirt and hunkering down behind shields or against the roughly carved walls. Only Judith and two other soldiers remained in the tunnel, which stopped abruptly not far ahead. The soldiers pulled out the crate of Wu Lin bombs from the nearest alcove, picking out one each and carefully taking it to the tunnel's end. Instead of placing the bombs at the last place Herleif's Berserkers had been digging, they put the explosives into small holes dug in the ceiling and laid out the fuses as they made their way back. Judith stood alone, torch in hand, appearing to her legion as a demonic statue of metal skin and red cloth in the flickering light. Then she turned to address them all.
"I will be the first to admit this was not how I imagined things would go. None of it," Judith said, her voice strong and brave beneath her helmet. "When I thought of us coming back from the brink of defeat, coming back to rescue our people and our homeland from the grip of these zealots, I imagined a battle of glorious victory under the shining sun and the very eyes of God. Yet, as it so often seems of late, the will of God has not deemed it so."
"Typical," Priscilla muttered, if only to herself.
Judith began walking back up the tunnel, holding her torch to light up the Knights clustered in each alcove as she went. "It is not our place to question what designs the Almighty has for our lives, but what we can do is give the best of ourselves to whatever task he has set before us. Today, whether it is on the battlefield above or here in this tunnel, we can still give all we have for our one true purpose. Our one true goal. Whether we stand under the watchful eyes of Heaven or dwell within the very darkness of Hell, we can still fight."
Several Knights and soldiers beat their fists upon their armor and shields, giving encouraging nods of approval as Judith passed by with her glowing torch, illuminating the darkness like a beacon of hope and pride.
"We fight! We breach the walls from beneath, fight our way to the gatehouse, and destroy that Devil-spawned weapon once and for all!" Cheers rang out from her followers this time, and as Judith made it to the alcove with Priscilla and Coal crouched inside, she paused a moment to find Gunnar there as well. "Then our northern friends above will have a clear shot at breaking down the gate without fear of Hell's fire scorching their hides before it is their time."
Gunnar scowled at her from the shadows but said nothing as he gripped his great axe and squeezed until Judith finally turned and headed back down the tunnel. "I will pray to the Spear God for good fortune this day," he growled softly. "I hold no faith in a god that turns his back on war."
"It is more often than not absolution from what is done in war that people seek God for," Priscilla said.
"I don't care if you pray to a hundred gods or your own damn hands," grumbled Coal, "just make sure you put that axe to good use when we get up there."
Judith approached the two fuses with her torch, holding it away from her for one last remark. "We must rise from below like demons to slay the traitors who have taken everything from us. Then let us fight like demons and turn fire against those who would lay claim to its power."
Lowering the torch, she held it to the ends of each fuse until they began to spark. She turned on the spot, throwing down her light and ducking into the nearest alcove further up the tunnel. Everyone took cover, hiding the best they could while the sound of sparks flying toward each bomb echoed through the tunnel.
Priscilla ducked in next to Coal and huddled behind his shield as Gunnar hugged his great arms around them both. "This better work," she said.
The sound of the fuses echoed through the tunnel like the thundering of her heart, racing to the explosives in a glitter of dazzling light.
"Wait," Coal said as he stiffened next to her, "you mean it might not?"
Then the bombs ignited like the blasting of heavenly trumpets ushering in judgment day.
"Did you hear that?" Herleif asked as the faint boom faded into nothing. Looking up to the city ramparts, he feared that the noise would have alerted the enemy into action, but from what he could see, there was no movement other than a few patrolling figures in dark armor.
Helge took an excited step forward, looking quickly between Herleif and the city. "Is it done? Do we go?"
Herleif continued to watch the walls, waiting and hoping. If there was any sign that Judith and her Knights had made it inside the city, he couldn't see it. "No, not yet."
Helge spat out a curse and turned on her heel to pace back and forth like a stalking predator. There was nothing else to do but to wait. The gathered army shifted in uncertainty at their lack of purpose, but Herleif could not commit them to the attack until he knew the gatehouse was dealt with. Until then, there was no hope of success.
Everything was still until a knock from Skuld's shield stole back his attention. She nodded behind them, and Herleif's heart sank like a stone as he saw Ivar coming toward him with the skull-capped Raider called Njáll in tow. Herleif growled low in his throat, scowling at the rival jarl. "I asked for a battle," he said privately to the Allfather, "not a pissing contest."
"What's the fucking hold up?" Ivar called out as he approached, yellow teeth bared in his black beard. "Eh? What's the matter? Are your britches too heavy from shitting yourself to move? You stand here, watching the walls like an idiot child, and now Erik has me coming up here to knock some sense into you. Show you how a real man fights a war."
Further behind Herleif's warriors stood Ivar's horde of rabid dogs. They were dressed and armed for battle, covered in their skulls and red-painted leather as if they were already splattered with the enemy's blood, but they held no formation or position to join the attack. In fact, many of them were still milling around their tents or fixing breakfast over their campfires, prepared to simply spectate the attack rather than take part in it. Ivar had been true to his word, it seemed. His warriors would have no part in this suicidal charge. After days of getting nowhere against those high walls and being devastated by the Pyre's fire weapons, Ivar had finally grown enough sense to know when not to run headlong into the fight. However, Herleif had a sneaking suspicion that if he did succeed today, then Ivar and his Headhunters would show no such delay once the looting began.
"Ivar, I have neither the patience nor the desire to trade insults with you!" Herleif exclaimed. "Go back and sit on your ass with Erik. Drink his wine and gorge yourself on his food. I hold you to no oath that would place you at my side today."
Ivar came to stand next to him anyway, perhaps just to stoke Herleif's anger, and narrowed his dark eyes at the city walls. "You say that, but evidently, you are confused about what exactly is supposed to occur here. Now, you see all of your shit-brained warriors gathered here, gawking like open-mouthed babes just waiting for their mother's tit as they stare at the enemy fortress way over there?" He pointed as if Herleif might miss the sprawling city set into the mountainside before them. "Your job, as a man who supposedly has a pair of fucking balls between his legs, is to take your warriors over here, and march them all the way the fuck over there, then you start attacking until you get us inside. Is any of this making sense to you?"
Setting his jaw, Herleif squeezed his fingers around the grip of his sword, willing himself to stay focused on the task at hand rather than let Ivar get under his skin. "We will attack on my order. That is my final word."
A small chuckle escaped Ivar's lips, his shoulders jumping as he crossed his arms over his chest. "If you say so, Herleif, if you say so... Just stand here growing roots in the ground, too fucking scared to move. I won't stop you. Guess I just couldn't resist coming up here to see if you really had it in you to pull off this farce after all. Be a real hero with a saga worth telling, and get us inside that fucking fortress." His dark eyes shifted over to Herleif, and he gave only the barest hint of a grim smile in his dark beard. "But I suppose you're still just the níðing piss-drinker I always knew you to be."
Herleif side-eyed Ivar with a hateful glare. Of all the people to test his patience, it was especially a struggle to control his temper when dealing with the Red Jarl. How could he ever be expected to consider this man to be his oath-brother? Every moment that passed waiting on the ridge was like a knife being twisted in Herleif's side, and having Ivar there as well was just adding insult to injury. There was a limit to how much misery he could take, surely there was, but for the sake of the plan, for the sake of Judith and her Knights, he needed to hold out a little longer.
He was ready to see the world burn for all that Erik and Ivar had put him through, but for now, there was no other choice but to wait.
Everything was dark, and dust was choking her lungs, but at least that meant Priscilla was still alive. Without really thinking, she rushed forward from the alcove once the earth around her seemed to stop shaking, feeling Coal and Gunnar moving next to her in the tunnel. There was a high-pitched ringing in her ears from the blast, but through it, she heard the faint call of Judith shouting at them all with a valiant cry.
"Forward!"
Priscilla rushed ahead and immediately tripped over some rubble. Strong hands caught her arms and kept her upright before she could fall on her face, and through the hazy gloom, she began to see the veiled shapes of helmets and armor in the lingering dust while she was carried along. That only meant one thing to her mind- light. It was becoming clearer now; the hole blasted through the earth and into the fortress above. It was as if the gates of Heaven had opened above them, or perhaps more aptly, the gates of Hell, allowing them to escape from below.
A ladder was brought forward and propped against the fallen rubble to grant them a way through the opening overhead. It was a miracle that it hadn't been destroyed in the blast. The first of many miracles, hopefully, Priscilla thought.
Coal hit the ladder before her and climbed after the Knight before him. Priscilla went next, hearing Gunnar's panting breath come after as they each pulled themselves up one rung at a time. There was no telling what lay above them, how many Pyre Knights might be waiting to cut them down as they appeared out of the ground one by one. She heard shouting in the space above, but it was still muffled as her ears rang. Coal was up and out, sliding his shield onto his arm and pulling his flail from his belt. Then, he was out of sight, and Priscilla was next through the breach.
She held her breath, ready to duck or to run, to get to a place of safety and free her blades from their scabbards to get in the fight. Gripping the last rung of the ladder, she pulled herself out of the tunnel, moving into an open space within the city's wall… and that was it.
"Go! Go! Up the ladder!" cried Judith from across the room.
Priscilla looked to see the commander ushering everyone up yet another ladder to another room above. They had come into a storage room in the lower levels of the fortress, still far from the gatehouse, but at least there was less dust to choke on. The room was a mess after the blast, with broken stone, shattered crates, and weapons fallen from their racks scattered all around.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit," Priscilla hissed. Willing herself forward, she took one step and slid off something hard and slippery. Looking down, she first took the object for a piece of broken stone but then saw it was a dented helmet dripping with blood from the head crushed within. Another glance around revealed more bodies under the rubble; Pyre Knights, caught unaware by the explosion from below, turned now into the first victims of their surprise attack.
Gunnar came up behind her, with more still following after him. "Let's go!" he urged, seeing no enemies around them and therefore no reason to stay put. He was already holding his axe again, and a hard frown cut into his dusty beard, no doubt displeased by the lack of bloodshed so far. Together, they followed Coal to the next ladder.
Priscilla rushed past Judith as she continued to shout her commands, and then up, up the next ladder, up into the room above, and she heard the clashing of steel and yells of violence coming clear as day from above.
Ivar looked up to the sky and squinted at the sun as it slipped behind the dark plumes of volcanic smoke. "What a waste of a fucking day." he sighed.
Herleif scowled as he looked over his restless warriors. They had suffered much already without ever participating in the siege, but at least they were alive. He could see their impatience in the way they shuffled and looked around, and on more than one occasion, he caught a warrior looking his way, seeking guidance. It pained him to know that he was the cause of their misfortune. He was the one holding them back, robbing them of their chance to fight for honor and glory, to fight for a death worthy of entering Valhǫll.
Standing before an Ashfeld fortress, so far away from their homeland, his troubles were the same as ever. He was the jarl who was too weak to take his warriors raiding—the Warlord who was too much of a coward to find his death in battle. There was no end to it.
His family was waiting for him back in Bilrost. A wife who awaited his return promised, while his sons and his daughter waved from the docks as his ship sailed into the sound. They called to him- called him to come home.
But was it a call he could ever truly answer?
"Whatever happens here today, it has nothing to do with you," he said to Ivar over his shoulder. "You have chosen to remain behind with your warriors. I was never given a choice."
Ivar shrugged. "It's one thing to have a good death in battle. Quite another to go out screaming like a little girl in a puff of smoke and fire. One way or another, though, that's exactly what will happen when you go against that gate."
It angered Herleif to think that his warriors might die at the whims of a tyrant while bastards like Ivar were allowed to live. It certainly wasn't fair, but it was the fate they had been dealt. "My warriors have lost enough already. I will not condemn them to Helheim by marching to a pitiful end."
"Are you so sure?" Ivar asked smoothly, glancing behind them at the camp with a little nod of his head. "A pitiful end might just be all you get out of this fucking deal with your new king."
Herleif followed his gaze and felt his stomach drop as he spotted Old Wolf marching up the ridge with claymore in hand and a host of Erik's warriors behind him. The old Highlander had a deeply creased frown set into his white beard, but his aggravation didn't seem directed at the well-fortified city across the battle plain. No, those grim eyes were looking at only Herleif. Further back at the extravagant tent, Erik had risen from his seat, glaring with a burning anger that could still be felt over the entire breadth of the camp.
Like a ship sailing home across the sea, it seemed that Herleif was finally nearing the limits of Erik's patience by stalling, and time was not on his side.
Ivar grinned. "Right now, I'd say you better get moving before Erik's lap dog sinks his teeth into your useless hide. You made a promise to Erik, and now he will see it delivered."
"A promise of blood," Herleif said softly, feeling his stomach twist into knots, "the enemy's or mine."
Ivar took a step closer; head bowed slightly as if they were sharing some sort of precious secret. "I don't know what you were thinking by offering yourself up like a lamb for the slaughter, but it seems either way you turn, there is still a blade at your back."
Herleif stiffened, glancing over to Helge, and from the suspicion in the Shaman's eyes, the words of her prophecy had not been missed. He turned back to look at Old Wolf, the army of glittering spears and helmets behind him, and the Golden Jarl sitting easily on his throne beyond.
"It would seem that you're out of options," Ivar continued, "I must say, I'm a bit surprised. I always did think you were a fool, Herleif, but never this much of a fool. Unless…" his dark eyes narrowed beneath the brow of his tri-horned helmet, and a wicked grin spread across his lips "...you aren't as foolish as you fucking look. What have you got planned here, eh? Don't forget, I know you. I know what a homesick bastard you truly are. You're not one to leap feet first into the jaws of death just because some coward sitting on his polished ass told you to. What fucking game are you playing at?"
Herleif closed his eyes and took a breath, nodding gently as he gripped his sword and shield and turned to look back to the Walled City. It seemed that all his planning had been for nothing. He would lead his warriors to their doom against the accursed fire of the enemy, or he would hold them back just to be cut down by their own heartless kin. Perhaps the gods truly had abandoned him now.
"You are right, Ivar. I have always been a fool for thinking I could trust men who are more vicious than dogs and as greedy as dragons. The path before us has been set, and now we will march and die at the whims of a madman. I can only guess that this is what I get for listening to my goat-brained brother. This is the fate I have been dealt." Paying Ivar no more mind, he walked away toward the ram, beating Sólareldur against his shield, and called out in a triumphant voice as if he were king of the horde and not a puppet. "Warriors of Bilrost! Prepare for battle!"
The echo of his voice was drowned beneath the sound of horns splitting the air, and Herleif's warriors quickly readied themselves to march. They stamped their spears against the ground, knocked their swords and axes against their shields to draw up the thunderous sound of Thor's hammer and let loose their war cries to break like waves of fury over the enemy walls. A bestial cry of adulation rang up from the Berserkers at the ram, having stayed motionless for far too long. With deep, laboring grunts, they set their shoulders and pushed with all of their bestial strength, making the great wheels of the ram turn with a dull groan. As one, they began to move, the warband marching in tightly packed ranks along either side of the lumbering ram.
"What are you doing? Attacking that gate is certain death!" came Ivar's hoarse shout over the growing clamor. "You're mad, Herleif! You're fucking mad!"
Herleif ignored him as he followed behind the ram with Helge and Skuld, keeping his gaze fixed upon the Walled City looming ahead. There was no turning back now, but strangely, that realization didn't bother him as much as it should have. He had made his choices, as foolish or as well-meaning as they were, and now he would live with the consequences. To be a Warlord meant living in service to his people for life, and so if he must die fighting by their side, not as a jarl or a king, but as a warrior proud and true, he would consider it a life well spent. In the end, his family would simply have to keep his memory close to their hearts and be content that he would watch over them from now on in the Allfather's hall.
The ram moved quickly, pushed on by Ragnar, Ragna, and the rest of the Berserkers. As soon as they were within range, dark feathered arrows began to fall from above, loosed from the ramparts to rain death upon the attacking Northmen. Shields were raised to block the incoming missiles, but the screams of those hit soon rang out into the air as Pyre arrows found the gaps in their defense. Still, they marched on, knowing that a few falling arrows were nothing compared to the true power of the Divine Pyre that still awaited them. Even now, the doors above the gate were pushed open, revealing the bronze eagle within. It slowly rolled outward beneath the shadow of rising smoke rising from Mount Ignis, like a beast emerging from its dark lair ready to lay waste to yet another ram as it drew close.
A small part of Herleif still hoped that such a terrible fate would not come to pass. Looking up toward the ramparts again, he could see black-armored Pyre Knights rushing to the gatehouse, making his heart skip a beat. Something was happening up on the wall high above their heads, but he could not be sure of what.
The hissing of the fire weapon quickly rose over the sound of marching feet, and suddenly, flames erupted from the eagle's mouth, scorching the ground before the gate as the weapon went off faster than expected. The approaching warriors quickly stopped in surprise, only to realize that the flames had landed far out of reach, striking nothing but dirt and open ground. Herleif had never seen the weapon fired so quickly before. It had missed the ram entirely, blackening the earth before its advance rather than waiting until it was just below the eagle's open beak.
Flames danced upon dirt, catching where normal fire would have never burned. The Pyre's magic was as strong as ever, it seemed, creating a wall of fire to protect the gate. But still, it was odd for the Pyre not to go for the kill as they usually did, and the ram was only getting closer, pushed by the Berserkers while the weapon still needed time to be fired again.
"They panicked," Herleif whispered to himself in amazement. Now, he could see that the gatehouse was indeed under attack as Pyre Knights rushed to its defense, and in the chaos, the weapon had been fired before they were ready.
The plan was working.
Gripping his sword and knocking the blade against his trusty shield, Herleif let out a mighty roar of challenge as he led his warriors closer to the gates. "Onward, drengir of the north! For honor! For the gods! For Bilrost! Onward!"
Priscilla ducked and deflected the Pyre Warden's sword as it slashed down at her, coming up again clear of the blade and thrusting her dagger into the woman's side. The Warden let out a cry of pain as she stumbled sideways. Her misery was quickly ended, however, as Gunnar cleaved his axe into her helmet and split her skull clean in two. There was no time to rest, though, as they fought to eliminate the Pyre Knights that remained in the gatehouse as quickly as possible.
"Keep fighting!" came Judith's cry over the clamor of clashing blades and screeching armor. The gatehouse floor was slick with blood and already cluttered with bodies. While the Vikings outside took their time marching outside the walls, the Lion Flame were caught in a fight for their lives. "They are trying to fire the weapon again!" called the commander, striking one assailant with the haft of her sword and then shoving another with her shoulder before cutting them down.
The Pyre Knights were trying to create a defensive barrier between the Lion Flame and the engineers operating the weapon. Even over all the screams and shouts, the telltale hissing of the weapon could be heard slowly rising in the room. The whole room had become a brawl of black and silver armor as the Divine Pyre grew more desperate to fight off the surge of Lion Flame Knights that had sprung up unexpectedly from beneath their feet. Outside the walls, the Viking horde continued to march on the city, and the cultists knew what would happen if the ram being pushed by the Northmen reached the gate.
Priscilla did her best to try and push her way forward in the fray but only met shields and sharp metal blocking her advance. She cut at someone's legs and stabbed at their gut, hearing a scream as they fell, but as soon as enough space to slip by was made, another Pyre Knight stepped in to cut her off.
"Coal! Clear us a path!" she shouted in frustration.
"On it!" said Coal. Pressing himself back against his companions, Coal left just enough room to entice one of the Pyre Knights to come after him, and their reward was a swift punch of the Conqueror's shield back into the enemy line. Coal didn't hesitate to press forward through the gap, blocking with his shield and bludgeoning foes with his flail, with Priscilla and Gunnar following at his heels. A quick swipe of Gunnar's axe saw an enemy soldier brought to their knees with their jaw cut open and another nearly beheaded, giving room for more of the Lion Flame soldiers to move in and turn the tide of the fight.
Priscilla kept low, slashing at legs and feet where she could. Through the pressing crowd, she caught a glimpse of the engineers working over the weapon and knew that she was close. Stabbing her dagger into a Pyre soldier, she tried to push him aside and force her way through the press of bodies but gasped as a gauntleted hand grabbed her from behind and didn't let go. The world spun around her as she was grappled by someone she couldn't see, and she stabbed desperately at her assailant's arm, only for her blade to scrape harmlessly against black metal. She caught a glimpse of merciless eyes through the soldier's helmet just before Coal's flail skillfully wrapped around their neck, spiked head whipping around to smack the soldier in the face. The soldier fell lifeless with the crack of Coal's shield slamming into their neck, the sharp noise going almost unheard beneath the clashing of weapons and armor. Priscilla didn't stop to count her blessings once she was free; experience had taught her that it was usually a waste of time.
Launching herself toward the weapon, Priscilla slammed into an engineer who had both of their hands on a polished wooden lever. She didn't know what that lever did, whether it would fire the weapon, simply adjust its aim, or perhaps it was the lever that would shoot nicely scented flower petals from the eagle's mouth instead of all-consuming fire, but she did not have time to ponder the possibilities. Her sword slid easily into the engineer's side, eliciting a pained grunt that caused his entire body to stiffen. A stab of her dagger to the neck let her slam their head down against the weapon, ensuring they would never be pulling the lever again, whatever function it served.
"Secure the weapon!" she cried as the rest of her legion handled the few remaining Pyre Knights in the room.
At one end of the gatehouse, Marcelo and several soldiers were valiantly defending one of the two doors leading out onto the walls. "There are more trying to get in from the ramparts!" he called out, narrowly sidestepping the thrust of a spear and stabbing his assailant over their shield in return.
"Good! My axe has only begun to feast on Ashfeld blood!" smiled Gunnar as he quickly stepped forward to reinforce the defenders and keep the encroaching Pyre Knights at bay, pushing his way right to the front of the fight.
"Normally, I would take issue with such a statement," Marcelo said, grabbing hold of another spear and hauling the person on the other end into the fray for Gunnar to split them open from shoulder to belly with his axe, "but given the circumstances, I'm willing to look past it!" He thrust his longsword at another cultist, but a tall, black-armored Lawbringer appeared above the enemy ranks and stabbed down with their pike, striking the sharpened point against Marcelo's helmet.
Gunnar let out a roar of fury as he jumped at the Pyre Lawbringer, attacking with the barbed end of his axe in the press, giving no thought to the dozens of spears and swords cutting at his un-armored form and showing no fear. Blood ran freely from the many cuts and wounds that bit into him, but he saw only the black-armored giant as his Raider's fury took hold. In a wild frenzy, Gunnar struck at the Lawbringer's helmet again and again, forcing them back before swinging his great axe around with saga-worthy strength to take his foe's head clean from their shoulders in a bloody arc.
"Marcelo!" Gunnar roared, grabbing the young Warden and pulling him away from the fighting. "You'll not see your paradise today! Get up, boy!"
Marcelo groaned as he shook his head but was able to stand on his own two feet as Gunnar supported him. "I'm alright," he said, tracing his gloved fingers along the long gash struck across his helmet. "I'm not out of this fight yet, God willing. We need to get this entrance closed off."
"The doors, you fools!" cried Judith from across the room, pointing at the heavy doors tied back on their hinges on either side of the room's entrance. Nearby, Coal and a few other soldiers were already working on closing the doors on the opposite side of the gatehouse while Lion Flame Lawbringers kept the Pyre at bay with their deadly poleaxes. "Save the glory for later and get those doors shut!"
"Yes, commander!" Marcelo shouted back, stumbling once on shaky legs as he moved to carry out her orders.
Gunnar didn't bother to acknowledge Judith's authority as he rushed back to the fighting. "I'll hold them off!" he snarled, throwing himself forward and devastating the Pyre line with one great sweep of his axe. Blood flowed off the edge of his blade like a rushing river as the enemy screamed and fell, only for more to fall dead on top of them as Gunnar fought with all the brutality and strength of a mighty bear.
"The commander said to get the doors, you crazy bastard!" Marcelo called after Gunnar. He and the other soldiers had the large doors unbound and were pushing them closed, slowly working them forward on old rusty hinges as Gunnar continued to hold the attacking Knights at bay, and with no one to stop them, the gap between the doors was closing fast. "Get in! We've almost got it!" Marcelo called again, but there was no answer from Gunnar as he hacked and chopped at one foe after another. He was lost to his battle frenzy, howling like a beast, stepping over bloody bodies as he began to push the enemy back from the closing doors all on his own. "Gunnar!"
"I got him!" Coal swiftly leaped through the shrinking gap after Gunnar out on the wall, grabbing him by a leather pauldron and pulling him back to the gatehouse. "Come on, big man! This is no time to die like an animal!" Gunnar tried to get free and strike at yet another black-armored figure, but Coal held firm as he bodily forced his Viking companion back inside just as Marcelo and the others slammed the doors closed.
"Lock them up!" Judith ordered. A heavy crossbar was set across each set of doors to keep them from opening again. A moment later, the Pyre Knights out on the ramparts began to hack and bang with their weapons to try and break their way in.
Priscilla drew her dagger across the throat of the last Pyre engineer to be guarding the weapon, spilling his life's blood over their chest before he fell with the rest and cleared the gatehouse completely. The shouting outside became a dull, muffled drone while the air was filled with a haze of dust and the smell of blood, and Priscilla felt like she could finally take a breath as she stood before the great weapon that had been the sum of all their fears.
It was much larger than the ones used on the Pyre triremes at Eitrivatnen, but it had multiple small tanks for its foul alchemical solution instead of just one large vat. On closer inspection, it seemed that the whole weapon could be rotated and elevated to varying degrees aiming outside the open portal, giving it a greater range for attack over the plain outside. Priscilla shuddered at the idea that the Divine Pyre might have ever created a mobile version of such a weapon, turning battlefields into infernos all across Heathmoor. There may have been no hope of stopping them at that point, which made her ultimate goal all the more troubling to bear.
"We have little time," said Judith as she moved through the room, stepping carefully over the fallen bodies. "How many did we lose?"
Marcelo knelt over a Lion Flame soldier who had been speared through the gut, gently placing their sword over their chest. "Six. There will be nothing left of us by the end of this," he said bitterly.
"It could have been seven," Priscilla added, glaring at Gunnar from under her hood as he approached, covered head to toe in bloody cuts. "What were you thinking, going out there like that? Without armor, no less. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
Gunnar frowned down at her as he leaned with both hands against his axe for support, panting hard but still not free of the battle frenzy just yet. "Valhǫll calls to me, woman, whether I owe you my life or not. When the Valkyries come for me, try not to chase them away with your tiny little knives."
Priscilla felt a spark of anger flash hot inside her, though she knew that it was neither the time nor place to let such thoughts bubble to the surface. Still, the angry words spilled out of her before she could stop them. "You have no idea what you owe me, you fucking barbarian."
She had spared his life once already and would not watch him throw his life away now. It shouldn't have mattered, but whatever foolish delusion she suffered that made her think Gunnar was actually worth having around was beginning to feel dangerously close to longing. It was a distraction she didn't need, so she told herself again that none of it was real. For the two of them, such a dream could never be real.
Coal glanced between them as the tension grew hotter than the Pyre's uncanny fire and quickly gave Gunnar a brotherly shove to try and lighten the mood. "I'd say you owe me a drink after that little stunt. How's that sound for a debt?" Gunnar looked as if he wouldn't relent, but he soon relaxed and gave an appreciative nod and a smirk, nudging Coal back with his shoulder. Priscilla hardly felt any better to see how well they were getting along.
"Enough," snapped Judith, stepping past them as the crate of Wu Lin explosives was brought up the ladder from the floor below. "Focus. Get these bombs set before the Pyre breaks down the doors and kill us all. We must finish this before the ram reaches the gate."
They worked as quickly, placing bombs around the weapon. There were only five bombs left in total, but each had enough power to blow a small hole into a mountain. Each was set with a firing line stretching as close as possible to the ladder across the floor, tied carefully at the end to connect them.
"Isn't this a lot of firepower to blow up even more firepower?" Coal asked as he tied a line to the last bomb.
"We take no chances," Priscilla said. "As long as this weapon is operable, then it is a threat to Herleif below." Her gaze shifted over toward Gunnar, who stood facing the besieged doors. The way his shoulders stiffened at the mention of his brother did not go unmissed.
Marcelo gave a dutiful look over the firing lines, then a much more frightful glance at the shaking doors as another hard slam rattled the hinges. "Everything is set, commander," he said with a salute.
Judith gave an affirming nod, then began waving her legion back to the ladder. "Pull back. I want everyone out of the room before we light this thing."
The Lion Flame soldiers moved quickly, leaving their dead and scrambling back down the ladder to the lower level. Marcelo and Coal did as commanded without looking back, but Gunnar seemed to regard the shaking doors with some sense of regret before heading down, no doubt wishing to stay and fight within a room full of undying fire like some mythic figure of legend.
Priscilla lingered, however, stepping up to Judith just as she retrieved some flint stones from a pouch on her belt. "With respect, commander," Priscilla said, "I would like to request the honor."
Judith paused, cupping the flint in her hand as if weighing them against Priscilla's request. "Feel like you have something to prove?" she asked.
Silence lingered between them despite the constant pounding of the Divine Pyre trying to break inside. There was a sharp splintering of wood, broken shards clattering to the floor as an axe put a slim hole in the door. Priscilla regarded the way that the dust hung in the light for a moment before speaking, imagining how it would swirl around the dance of flames. "No. It is more a sense of absolution that I am after."
Judith regarded her silently for a moment, fingers closing around the flint. "As are we all," she said, then handed over the pieces before turning to head down the ladder.
Priscilla didn't wait for the commander to go before she knelt and began striking the two pieces together to make a spark. She supposed, in the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter who struck the flame. Everything would burn in the end, and unless the Pyre suddenly had weapons that dispensed water with ease, then there was nothing they could do to stop it. She just wanted the satisfaction of destroying one of these weapons herself before handing the formula over to Beaufort. Surely, that would help her sleep a bit better at night, assuming she survived to enjoy another night's sleep at all.
Another strike of the stones and a spark lit up on the knot of firing lines, the dazzling lights racing their way to each bomb like rabbits running from a swooping hawk. Priscilla dropped the flint and ran, sliding her legs down the opening to the lower level just as the doors to the gatehouse began to crack and break. The last thing she saw before nearly falling her way down the ladder was darkly armored figures tripping over themselves to get in and the spark of the fuses nearly reaching the bombs.
She hoped the Divine Pyre enjoyed the feeling of being blown into a hundred burning bits. It seemed like something they deserved, given their love of retribution through fire.
"Priscilla, let's go!"
The shout from Gunnar, still standing in the lower room, nearly sent Priscilla's heart jumping into her throat. "What are you still doing here?" she hissed at him as soon as her feet hit the broken stone littering the floor.
"I wasn't going to leave you behind," Gunnar said, that familiar frown set into his beard, only this time he didn't seem angry or upset. Everything about him, from his wide-set shoulders and puffed-out chest to the stern way he looked at her from behind his horned helmet, signaled his determination to see her safely from the fortress before the bombs went off. That, or he would die trying.
It was that exact thought that ran swiftly through her mind as she looked back at him. Here, alone with Gunnar in that small, broken room. It could just be as she had said- another warrior lost in battle, like so many others before him."You waited?" she asked in disbelief as she tottered on a loose stone. "Why?"
He could be just another dead body on another bloody battlefield, lost among a sea of corpses. No one would ever know. The palm of her hand slid against the pommel of her dagger ever so slightly
Gunnar blinked, all his rugged bravado and grim determination melting away as his frown changed into an awkward smile right before her eyes. "You know why."
She knew why, and that scared her more than ever. Gunnar knew too much, and it had to be done. It would be utterly stupid of her to leave him alive. Strangely, though, despite every part of her screaming just to get it done and over with, the idea of going through whatever lay ahead without him scared her even more. She moved her hand away from her dagger and reached out for him instead as she took a step closer.
"You big oaf," she chided, his hand held out for her to take, fingers almost touching as she stepped carefully over the rubble. "Come on, we need to- Ah!" Her scream was cut short when she hit the ground hard, knocked forward by something heavy landing on top of her. She heard Gunnar cry out in rage even through the pain in her head, followed swiftly by the clash of weapons just nearby. Pushing herself up, she was already drawing her dagger when she saw a small dark figure ducking and sliding within the swings of Gunnar's axe, slicing at his bare chest with their own dagger and sword of black steel.
Another Peacekeeper, a Sister turned traitor, had come down the ladder to bring them both to a swift end before they could flee. In that tight space, Gunnar's great axe was next to useless, and the Peacekeeper used that to her full advantage as she first slashed at his forearm and then cut at his side. Gunnar stumbled back with an angry roar, fighting through the pain and swiping at the woman with the barbed end of his axe. She ducked before it could hit, springing forward on her toes with her sword outstretched to take Gunnar in the gut.
"No!" Priscilla screamed, jumping up and hurling herself at the Peacekeeper with all her strength. Their bodies collided, Priscilla bringing one arm up and around the woman's neck, the other driving her dagger into their side. There was a sharp breath, a pained cry of metal piercing flesh.
Then, the world exploded for the second time that day.
Priscilla lost sight of the woman right in front of her. She lost sight of Gunnar just at her side. She had lost sight of everything, along with all sound and any sense of what was real and what was a nightmare. She was just lost.
The ground hit her hard again, knocking the wind from her lungs. She could feel her dagger still gripped in her hands, lucky that she hadn't fallen on it, and was then assaulted by the rain of sharp rocks and cutting dust scraping over her armor. The roar in her head was deafening, terrible, and unrelenting. Next came the heat. She couldn't see the fire, but she could feel it. She could feel everything, every stone, every cut, every cold wave of nauseating fear that washed over her in that moment. She felt the one strong hand that gripped her by the arm and moved her away somewhere. Somewhere that wasn't an avalanche of rock and fire falling around her like a closing tomb. Somewhere down, down, down, where the rumble of beasts and demons chased her like vicious hounds after the scent of blood.
"Priscilla!" Gunnar's voice was faint and far away, but the urgency in its tone was clear. "Priscilla! Wake up!"
Her senses returned with the rush of surfacing from deep water, and the sharp ringing in her head became separate from the roar in her ears. "Gu-nnar?" They were moving, but she couldn't feel her feet against the ground, and she quickly realized that he was carrying her through the tunnel. It took an effort, but she got her legs moving and pulled free of his grasp. There was a weak light ahead of them from the exit far away, but from the shaking crash still rumbling at their heels, it was clear that they weren't free from danger yet. Dirt and rock flew up around them, lashing at their running feet as the tunnel caved in behind.
"Come on! We can make it!" Priscilla cried desperately, trying not to choke on the dust as she panted for breath. She kept her head low from the fracturing ceiling, but behind her, Gunnar had more trouble running with bent legs and hunched back to fit through the low passage. "Keep going!"
Gunnar tried to keep up with her, but a large chunk of falling earth hit him like a punch thrown in a brawl, making him stumble and waste precious time as he fell to a knee. "Go!" he cried, nearly disappearing into the dark even as he tried to run. "Just go!"
The desperation in his faint voice turned Priscilla's heart to ice. She turned on the spot, fully intent on grabbing him and hauling his heavy northern hide straight out of the tunnel if she had to, only to receive a hard slam of Gunnar's hand to her chest, sending her tumbling backward. The last she saw of him was the shine of his eyes falling into blackness as the tunnel swallowed him whole. Priscilla fell back onto her ass, barely clear of the heavy layer of dirt that crashed down before her, letting out a shriek as she scrambled away, her legs covered in a slide of earth before it finally came to a halt. The shaking stopped, and the catastrophe of the explosion reduced to just a few tumbling pebbles as the tunnel filled in just before her, amplifying one horrifying truth that struck Priscilla dumb where she lay.
Gunnar was gone.
His hulking form, his warm smile, his stupid booming laugh, gone. Swallowed up by the earth and buried where no one would see how hard he had fought, how he had fought for her. Suddenly, the very thought that he might never appear at her side again to drive her up a wall made the world seem like an unbearably lonely place. It was too terrible to be true. He was just gone.
The tunnel was quiet now, the rumble of the explosion above a distant echo like a battle happening far away. Everything was far away now. Time stood still, and nothing else but the silence mattered.
"No..." The small word shuddered in her voice, fingers digging into the dirt as she pushed herself up. "No, no, no, no..." The dirt was heavy on her legs, but she fought to get free anyway, kicking and thrashing until she got up and threw herself at the wall of earth, clawing and digging with increasing frenzy as she cried. "No! Gunnar! Gunnar!?" More dirt rolled down each time she dug it away, rendering her efforts useless, not that it stopped her in the slightest. "Help! Please! Someone, help!"
She had to get him out. She had to get him free or die trying, alone in the tunnel while the world burned above her head. This was not his Valhǫll. This was not the warrior's death that he believed always awaited him, that she knew he deserved. She had to fight for him. He would have done the same for her without a doubt.
"Please! Please, God, show mercy... God in Heaven, show your mercy! Please, God!" Her tears flowed unrestrained as she cried. All her defenses, all her training simply crumbled away in an instant. There was no Sisterhood of Peace, no Lion Flame Legion or Divine Pyre. She did not belong to Ashfeld, to Valkenheim, or even Heathmoor. She gave no care for the oaths of Knights, and no thought was spared for the long traditions of Vikings.
She was alone in the dark, digging in the dirt for something that had been real.
Coal fell beside her so suddenly that she nearly screamed at his arrival as he set to work digging away with the bottom of his shield. "Keep digging!" he shouted at her, working his arms as if trying to tread water in all that armor.
Taking hold of her senses, Priscilla set back to work alongside him, digging beside the one man she could count on when she was alone. Then Judith appeared next to her and quickly joined in. Marcelo was at the commander's shoulder, clearing away the rubble the best he could, and together they all dug- four Ashfeld Knights, trying their damnedest to save one Valkenheim heathen from certain death.
"Watch the ceiling," Judith said, panting as she scooped great handfuls of dirt away with her gauntlets.
"Do you see him?" questioned Marcelo.
Coal grunted as he pulled a chunk of earth away and set aside his shield. "There's a hand! We got him!"
"Gunnar! Gunnar, can you hear me?" Priscilla exclaimed, pulling at him with all that remained of her strength.
Judith dug frantically until she had his other hand, pulling so that Gunnar's big arm came free, shifting dirt revealing the gleam of his metal helmet. "Pull! As one, pull!"
They all took hold, gripping Gunnar tight as they slowly began to free him from the cave-in. There was a low rumble as the earth started to shift, but Priscilla couldn't bring herself to care. She held onto Gunnar and didn't let go, feeling him come free bit by bit until she suddenly pitched backward with his full weight falling on top of her. She still didn't let go.
"We got him," Coal cried triumphantly as he slumped back against the tunnel wall. "We got him!
"Is he alive?" Judith asked. Gunnar lay unmoving and heavy on top of them, as still as the solid earth around them.
Priscilla clung onto Gunnar's limp form, the top of his helmet pressed just beneath her chin, his head cradled against her chest. "Please, please, God," she whispered, staring at the tunnel ceiling in the gloom. "Please, God..." Taking a small breath, she closed her eyes and let the next name slip forth from her lips without a single shred of guilt. "Odin... You will not take him from me like this. Not like this."
Each quick heartbeat stretched on into an unbearable eternity. Priscilla felt new tears sting hotly at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to cry out. There was no more use in crying. There was only silence in that dark tunnel. He was gone
Still, she would not let him go.
Gunnar sucked in a life-affirming breath and shuddered as he coughed dust and dirt from his lungs. His fingers clawed at the ground, back arching as he tried to rise, unsure of where he was or what was going on. Priscilla finally let out a gasp of excitement and worry as she squeezed him with all her might.
"Oh, God be praised," Marcelo sighed with delight, giving no care for what Gunnar might have felt about it. Judith and Coal both laughed and clapped, shaking their heads at the clear miracle before them.
Priscilla didn't move. She didn't try to get up or care about the small horns of Gunnar's helmet pressing against her. She just held him until he settled. She held him and thanked his gods, along with her own, for finally giving a damn for once in her pitiful life. Her arms squeezed tight around him, perhaps a bit too tight for how he groaned against her, but he would just have to deal with it.
"You owe me," she said quietly enough for him alone to hear, holding him with no intention of letting go. "You still owe me."
Gunnar took in each breath slowly until his body settled, making no move to pull himself away from her embrace as they lay together in the dirt. He took in another deep breath and sighed into her chest. "I know."