The body hung limp as it slowly swayed in the air.

The young woman, a commoner by her garb, had been strung up by the neck and left to hang from a post by the road. Long, dark hair fell loosely about her pale face, blowing in the wind and giving only a glimpse of her lifeless, gray eyes as they stared off into nothing. They appeared sad, those eyes, trapped in the grief of her helpless circumstance.

Gunnar had seen many dead bodies in his time. Most of them on the battlefield, some during sacrifices made to the gods. On a few occasions, he had come across some poor bastard that had perished in the wilds of the north, frozen by the harsh elements or mauled by beasts after losing the favor of the gods and the fellowship of men. He had learned to deal with each circumstance in kind, knowing when to let the pain of loss fuel his rage and how to show proper respect to the fallen.

Now, though, he felt his stomach turning as he looked up at the dead woman, his lips twisted into a harsh frown. Murder was an evil deed no matter what land a person came from. If there was justice to be had, murder would be repaid in blood or silver, but there was nothing here but cold death. His gaze went from the woman's dead eyes as they peeked through her fluttering hair and down to the wooden sign that had been slung around her neck.

"What does it say?" he asked, nodding with his chin towards the foreign words.

Priscilla didn't look up at the body as she answered, keeping her gaze northward up the road. "Heretic."

Gunnar's hands squeezed around the haft of his axe in anger, knuckles turning white. That single word was enough for him to fully understand why this woman had been hanged. Looking away, he let out a grunt of frustration before moving to stand next to Priscilla and look back up the road that his brother's warriors had marched down not long ago.

"And the rest of them?"

Lining each side of the dirt road trampled by foot and hoof prints alike stood post after post, stretching off into the distance. From each hung a body, long dead now and adorned with a sign of warning. Men and women, young and old, each left as an example to anyone who might travel through this land with thoughts of questioning the Divine Pyre's rule.

"Traitor. Blasphemer. Unworthy." It was Coal who spoke up to answer, speaking coolly. Sitting in the grass beside the road, the grim Conqueror didn't appear too bothered by the hanging bodies, but he never seemed to look up at them either. "Take your pick. They're all there. Though I'm sure the Pyre would use any excuse to string up people who cause them trouble."

Priscilla seemed to notice Gunnar's dissatisfaction with that answer, watching as he kicked at the dirt. "I thought displaying bodies and heads was a common practice among your people?"

"Sometimes," Gunnar grumbled, "A sacrifice must be displayed properly to the gods. And in war, intimidation certainly has its uses. A man should know that he may not leave behind a pretty corpse when he steps onto a battlefield. But this..." and he looked back up to the long rows of hanging bodies, "...this is wrong."

Coal's helmet rattled softly as he shook his head. "You hear that, Priscilla? This Viking says that killing and butchering people is wrong. Can you believe that? Next he'll be telling us that God and Odin have been neighbors up in the clouds this whole time."

"I came here to fight warriors, not murder townsfolk. Not all of us slaughter so needlessly while raiding," Gunnar retorted quickly. It angered him to think that he was anything like the cultists they had come to fight, but even as he said the words, he could feel how hollow they might sound to Priscilla and Coal. A reminder of the violence that had always existed between his people and theirs, and it surprised him to realize how guilty he felt at the thought.

"Truly?" Priscilla began as if reading his mind, "If only all Northmen were as kind and thoughtful as you, so many lives might have been spared before now."

Gunnar didn't like the way this conversation was going, feeling as if his honor as a warrior was being called into question.

"Do not mock me, woman," he grunted, giving an agitated jerk of his shoulders as he began pacing back and forth, "The path to Valhǫll is a bloody one strewn across the battlefield, but if you ask me, there is no glory to be found in stringing up defenseless men and women like meat."

"So you will burn and pillage but draw the line at murder?" Priscilla asked with an accusing tone, turning toward him, "How incredibly noble of you. To think that we have misjudged your people for bloodthirsty savages this whole time." Looking back up the road, she crossed her arms over her chest and continued muttering under her breath. "Fucking pathetic. I am so tired of everyone in this war acting as if they are somehow above it. We all have blood on our hands, and no amount of glory or retribution is going to absolve any of us when this is done."

"Those Berserker twins don't seem to care how bloody things get," Coal chimed in, "Them and that crazy Shaman. Maybe we should get them to spy on us instead. I bet we could teach them how to do tricks."

Priscilla actually snickered at that, though it was a harsh and bitter sound. "I think not. I doubt those three could ever be housebroken." She cocked her head in thought and turned around to look at Gunnar. "Why are you here spying on us anyway? Honestly, what could we possibly be getting up to in the middle of an empty road? Go help your brother bark orders or something."

Gunnar scowled at the both of them, becoming more frustrated than he wanted to admit. His reasons for fighting had always been sound, his quest for honor and glory rooted in the sagas of Óðinn, Thor, and Týr. But Priscilla's words cut at him, and they cut deep. Had it been someone else, anybody else really, he might have raised his axe against them in anger, and that certainly didn't make him feel any better.

"Advising Herleif to have his scouts range further from our column turned out to work in our favor." he said, "Had he not listened, we might have never spotted this troop of Pyre dogs trying to get around behind us."

Priscilla shrugged and looked away. "A lucky guess. These lands are vast, and the Pyre has held them for some time now. I simply thought it would be smarter for them to take a better look around while we have the chance."

Gunnar stepped to stand beside her. "Well, I think I'll just stick close and see if any of that luck rubs off on me next. Be a shame if you kept it all to yourself."

Priscilla looked up at him again but said nothing. He wondered then what kind of dark scowl or face of disinterest she was giving him beneath that dark iron helmet and hood. From the chill that ran down his spine, he supposed it was not a pleasant one. Or perhaps that was simply the eerie feeling of the swaying dead bodies that surrounded them.

Things fell into an awkward, if not welcomed, silence between the three of them then, and the minutes seemed to stretch on as they stared off up the body-lined road to the north. Then at last, a hazy cloud of dust appeared over the horizon, soon followed by a number of distant dots that grew larger as they approached, forming into the shapes of people on horses.

"That them?" Coal asked, rising to his feet and dusting off his trousers before stepping beside the others. His question was soon answered as the red and white armor of Lion Flame Knights became clear as the column charged forward down the road upon their mounts led by Lady Judith at the front. "Why do they get horses and we have to walk?"

"Erik took most of the horses for himself and his clan when we departed Eitrivatnen," Priscilla said, "I suppose being the Golden Jarl's lap dog comes with its benefits."

Coal simply grunted and shook his head, "Hmph. Pompous ass."

Gunnar gave Coal a questioning glance, "Who? Erik or Judith?"

"Does it matter?" answered Priscilla.

They all stepped over to the side of the road as the Knights came riding up on them, and Judith held up her clenched fist and pulled on the reins of her horse to bring the column to a halt. Marcelo rode just behind her, having volunteered to take the news of Herleif's change of direction to Jarl Erik. Not long after, they had received a raven from Judith that she would be bringing the Lion Flame to assist. It was not mentioned in the letter whether or not Erik himself had approved this decision.

Priscilla and Coal saluted the Lion Flame commander as she turned her horse around to look back up the road they had come, glancing at the two lines of bodies to either side.

"This..." Judith hissed, "The Pyre will pay for this. Their evil shall be wiped from the face of Heathmoor, I swear it. Before God and all of his angels, I swear that they will all be punished."

"We should cut them down and bury them," Marcelo said in a strained voice as he looked about, "It would be the right thing to do."

Judith shook her head, fighting with her horse, which was clearly disturbed by the bodies. "Later. After we have dealt with that traitorous Lawbringer." She turned back to Priscilla, Coal, and Gunnar, her mount stepping up on them and snorting anxiously. "Where are we needed?"

"Jarl Herleif has already begun moving his warriors into Cinder Mill, just beyond the hill, Commander. He awaits your arrival," Priscilla answered, pointing south down the road as it sloped upward.

"You're late," Gunnar interjected, unable to keep himself from speaking up, "But I am sure that my brother has left some Pyre cowards for you to take your revenge on." Judith stared down at him for a moment, her expressionless helmet making her silence seem all the more intimidating.

"We are here now," she said at last. Jerking her horse around, she looked back to her Knights and called out to them in a clear and strong voice. "And where are Ashfeld's armies as her people are killed and enslaved?" she shouted, "Where is Beaufort? Where is the Lord-Warden and his mighty Royal Legion? Why do they cower behind their walls like scared children while our people suffer the cruelty of tyrants?"

Angry cries of agreement rose up from the Lion Flame ranks, and Gunnar couldn't help but notice how Priscilla clenched her hands into tight fists at Judith's speech. Was she angered by her commander's words, too? The woman was so closed off that it was hard to tell.

Judith drew her sword and thrust it into the air, prompting Marcelo and many of the Knights to do the same. "We must do what they cannot!" she continued, her sword glinting brightly in the sunlight. "We will do what they cannot! And if our souls are to be stained by heathen pride, then may God witness our sacrifice and grant us forgiveness as we draw swords to join with the wolves as we protect our flock!"

Another courageous cry of agreement echoed into the air, and even the bodies seemed to be moved by Judith's determination as they swayed bent-necked from their ropes. Turning about, Judith's horse reared back, kicking its front hooves into the air as she posed majestically with her sword pointed up the hill.

"Lion Flame! Forward!"

The column charged forward in a thunderous rumble of galloping hooves and mighty cries, rushing headlong up the hill as Judith led the way. Dirt from the road was kicked up around them, leaving Gunnar, Priscilla, and Coal coughing in their wake.

"We'll just catch up then!" Coal called after the departing legion as the last of the riders rode up the hill. "Ah, I hate dramatic speeches. Just what I need before a battle, someone else screaming at me..." He dusted himself off again, knocked dirt off his helmet, and began to trudge off down the road.

Priscilla patted herself down and drew both her blades just to make sure they didn't stick in their sheaths before following after. "Come on," she said over her shoulder, "Perhaps if I am as lucky as you think, then maybe the fighting will all be over by the time we make it over the hill."

Gunnar gave a cough, fanning away the dust with his broad axe blade as he stepped after her. "So I have to listen to you go on about how honor is pointless, but you simply stand there with your mouth shut as Judith goes on about pride and forgiveness? Seems a bit one-sided if you ask me."

"Lady Judith is my commander and not exactly my greatest supporter at the moment," Priscilla said sharply, "Voicing my opinion on her notions of justice would most likely not go in my favor."

"Can I be so sure?" Gunnar bit back, "Perhaps this simply comes down to what you believe, being an Ashfeld woman trapped among savages, as your kind likes to say. What is your plan, then? Are you just waiting for your God to save you from what you don't understand?"

Priscilla turned back and thrust out her arm, letting him walk straight into her finger as she pressed it into his chest. "Allow me to make this absolutely clear to you, Gunnar. I give no shit for what Judith believes in right now. And if you need to have your name put into a song so that you can feel good about all the lives that have been destroyed here, then by all means sing away. But I need you to understand, nothing about what we are doing here can be considered good, or glorious, or great. This is my home, and right now it is being torn apart by these cultists, your people, and my very own legion."

She lifted her hand and gestured to the hanging bodies around them, the many dead eyes looking down as if accusing them both of complacent in this tragedy. "I am not proud of what is going on here. I am not happy with what has to be done to fix it. I am hurt, and I am very angry. So please, Gunnar, tell me where is the glory in all of this. Show me where it is."

"Priscilla, I..." Gunnar tried to begin, but his voice was weak.

"Does anything matter to you beyond the thrill of battle?" she continued, a slight strain to her voice wavering through her helmet, "Is it all just so you can die with your axe in hand and wake up in your golden hall? That does nothing to help me. It does nothing to help my people." She took a step toward him, reaching up to grab hold of the leather straps across his chest, giving them a light tug as if testing that they were fitted tight. "If you are going to stick with me like my shadow, then I need you to help me. So please, just shut up about the glory and help me get my home back."

At first, Gunnar didn't know what to say. A small, prideful part of him wanted to toss her aside and tell her she knew nothing of what it meant to be Viking, to live and die by the sword for the honor of entering Valhǫll. But he immediately hated himself for that thought. Her plea was too earnest, too desperate to look down on simply because they each held different beliefs than the other. He could feel she was being truthful with him, and for that, he could not help but want to give her his utmost respect.

"Aye," he said softly, placing his hand over hers as she clung to him, "I can do that."

She looked up at him then, and for a moment, he thought that she would say something more, almost hoping for it. Then, a call from Coal further up the hill startled both of them; the moment shattered as his impatient voice rang out.

"What are you doing?" he called, shield and flail held out at his sides expectantly, "The battle is starting without us."

Priscilla gave an annoyed shake of her head and slipped her hand from under his, only to pat his chest before she turned away. "Thank you."

That was all she said as she left him standing there, walking up the hill after Coal without looking back.

Gunnar felt a storm of emotions raging within him, wondering if this moment would earn him the favor of the gods or their ire. He was treading on dangerous ground with this woman, he knew, but he still needed to keep an eye on her no matter what trepidation he felt. This was becoming more than just a mere raid. Her plea had struck him more greatly than any promise of plunder or glory ever had, and he felt himself yearning to fight by her side more and more.

"It was a good speech," he muttered to himself, glancing up at the still bodies around him, "The right one to give."

He shuddered as he stared into the blank eyes that seemed to look through him, feeling nothing but the chill of death upon this road, the plight of a cruel world needing to be put right. Starting up off the hill, the sound of creaking ropes soon became drowned out by the growing din of battle.