Gunnar headed straight for the group of Sea Eagle spearmen who stood together in a tight cluster, shoulders hunched and head down like a bull ready to charge. He hadn't stopped to make a place to camp like so many of the other Bilrost warriors were doing or stopped for water and rest after a day's march under the hot sun. There was no time for that, no time for anything except making it past the guards.
It seemed he was not the only one in the vast camp intent on doing so. Commander Judith was already there arguing with two of the guards, jabbing at their chests with a finger like it might cut them down where they stood. From her scathing words and the hesitant looks of the two men, it seemed as though they were afraid that might just be the case.
"I give no shit what your jarl says. Those two are part of my legion," Judith growled. "Let me pass, or I swear to any god that will listen in these forsaken lands that I will shove those spears so far up your asses that Erik will think he has two new standards to wave around!"
Neither of the guards looked like they wanted to bear the brunt of a disgruntled Knight's wrath, but the rest of the Sea Eagle men hardly looked eager to come to their rescue. "We don't take orders from Ashfeld wenches," one said after finally mustering the courage to speak. "You want to talk to the prisoners, then talk to Golden-Shield first and get permission."
"Ashfeld wench-?" Judith hissed, suddenly grabbing the man by his shirt and yanking him close.
The rest of the guards moved quickly to brandish their spears, but Judith simply threw the man into his companion and used their confusion to step back and draw her longsword. It was a near-suicidal move, a single Knight standing against a group of Northmen in a whole camp of Vikings, but Judith braced her feet and leveled her sword at the spearmen, not seeming to care in the least.
Gunnar had no time for unruly camp brawls or trading insults. He set his jaw and glowered as he approached, not slowing his stride even as a few guards noticed him and turned their spears in his direction. "Move," he growled, walking right past Judith and her sword and shoving one man aside as he tried to step in his way.
"Just who the fuck do you think you are?" shouted another warrior who caught his shoulder from behind.
Gunnar quickly grabbed the warrior's hand and, in one fluid motion, twisted it around to force him to kneel with a sharp hiss of pain, only to slam his knee into the man's face, laying him out flat in the dirt.
"The man who will send your sniveling soul to Hel if you try to stop me again." He glared down at the groaning man, only now he gripped his axe in both hands. Fingers tightening around the wooden shaft, he lifted his eyes and looked at each guard surrounding him in turn, letting them know with his cold stare that he had absolutely no issue using his axe should he need to. Few of the guards could meet his gaze, and those who did shrank back in fear.
No one moved, no one except for Judith, who boldly walked on past the guards and Gunnar as if they were subordinates to be ignored. "Kind of you to open a door for a lady," she said smoothly before leaving him behind. Gunnar only grunted in answer, then glared around at the staring men one last time before following after.
Together, they walked around a large cart that the guards had been sequestering within their ranks and soon found who it was they so wanted to see hidden on the other side. Priscilla and Coal both looked up from where they sat on a pair of crates. They didn't look in too much distress despite the fact that their hands were clasped together in manacles and their ankles linked together by a chain. The metal links clinked as Priscilla got to her feet while Coal remained seated.
"Commander," Priscilla said with a little bow of her hooded head. "Please forgive me if I do not give a proper salute. I am afraid my hands are a bit tied in that regard." She lifted her bound wrists and glanced about as if expecting a laugh.
Judith gave none and instead shoved Priscilla back down on the crate. "Shut up," she hissed, gripping her sword tightly beneath the hilt. "This is not some courtly drama you can just talk your way out of with your snark. This is serious." She stepped in close, towering over her two subordinates as she looked between them. "Just what do you expect me to do in this situation, hm? Try and talk to Erik? Do you expect me to beg for your lives as if he would even bother to listen to me?"
Coal tilted his head up, squinting at her from beneath the cap of his helmet. "Won't know until we try, I guess?" There was a sharp clang of metal on metal, followed by a low groan as Judith smacked him over the head.
"Tell me, just when was it that you two lost any fucking brains you had in those empty skulls of yours? Was it before we left for Valkenheim, or did you leave them up north to freeze in the snow?"
Gunnar watched Priscilla look away from her commander, rolling her eyes as Judith went on. The sight made his heart race with anger. How could she be so calm when her life hung on Erik's word, one that would most likely not be spoken in her favor? He felt his body tense, his fingers tightening around the shaft of his axe. Her eyes slid up to meet his, and he found himself frowning down at her in growing displeasure. The grin slipped from her lips, and she looked away.
"What were you thinking, Priscilla?" Judith demanded, not missing how the Peacekeeper's attention had drifted elsewhere. "Going after Vincent with these two? Why this one has any interest in your well-being still escapes me," she said, waving a hand at Gunnar.
He simply grunted at the commander again, still not taking his eyes off of Priscilla.
Judith waited for some kind of response, but as the silence went on, her shoulders sagged ever so slightly, and she sheathed her sword before removing her helmet from her head. Loose strands of silver-blonde hair waved about her tired face, and her voice seemed to lose some of its bite, even daring to take on a hint of sadness when she spoke again.
"What happened to the time when you used to talk to me? We could never have accomplished any of this without you. Now I feel as if you are lost, and I could not tell you the reason why." She paused for a moment, perhaps to give Priscilla a chance to reply, to plead her case, to say anything that would make sense of how ruined things had become. Priscilla remained silent, her eyes fixed on the ground between her feet. Somehow, Gunnar knew it was on purpose, and it seemed so did Judith. "Is this how things are to be, then? Even when I only seek the truth, all you are willing to give me is silence? Well, I will tell you another truth then… That hurts me, Priscilla. It hurts deeply."
Priscilla didn't so much as blink. Whatever issue she had with Judith ran deeper than Gunnar had thought. It may be that the promise of Apollyon's armor was a lie and that the truth could put the Lion Flame in more danger than it already was, but at what point could they keep it a secret any longer? He touched the Thor's amulet hanging from his neck and told himself that he would have to trust Priscilla's judgment. He had stuck with her this long, so he had to believe that she knew what she was doing, that she had a way out of this. If she did not, then she would have to trust that he would do it for her.
"I know that things were not easy when you were training with the Sisterhood. I know that you struggled to overcome the tragedies of your past only to be treated so cruelly by your peers. But you have always been a part of our legion from the moment you first joined us. None of this gives me any pleasure, no matter what you might think of me."
Priscilla's fists clenched tight. It was a small gesture, but Gunnar saw. He had half a mind to ask what Judith was talking about, but Priscilla finally opened her mouth to speak before he could.
"War..." Priscilla began, her voice cracking at first before she swallowed and went on, "...has a way of making what we want matter for very little. We may fight as hard as we can for what we think is right, and still, we may not meet that valiant end we might deserve. No matter how good we might seem." Her eyes finally turned up to Judith but soon drifted to rest on Gunnar, her gaze heartfelt and unyielding, just as he had come to know her.
Gunnar swallowed hard, feeling a strange sense of desperation welling in his chest, and there was a stinging heat behind his eyes at the sadness in her words. "That will not happen. Not to you," he said at last, growling the words like a challenge.
Priscilla sat up straighter against the wagon, a little grin forming at the corners of her lips. "Ever the resilient fool. If this persists, then you will end up sorely disappointed with how poorly the world lives up to your expectations."
"If it is a sad and unfitting end that Erik wishes for the both of you, then he will have to face me to see it done." Without even realizing it, Gunnar puffed up his chest, standing tall and sturdy before the three of them with the surety of his great axe gripped firmly in his hands. "If he demands your lives for Chaldeon's, then I will challenge him to single combat. Him or that old mutt of a champion he keeps. Blood for blood, but it will be his own spilling the ground if I have anything to say about it."
"You are mad, boy," Judith said, eyeing him sideways. "How can you be sure he would even give you the chance? Erik does not seem like the type to give up a prize when he holds all the cards."
"Honor demands it if he is any kind of man," Gunnar growled. "If he is a true Viking."
"We're betting our chances for survival on a greedy jarl's so-called honor?" Coal asked, then let his helmet tap back against the wagon. "Yeah, we're doomed."
Priscilla shrugged, looking no less concerned or hopeful since the conversation had begun. "We appreciate the effort, but I question how well it would work out in execution. Your life is not at stake here, so I hardly see the point in putting you in harm's way in a duel that you could very well lose."
"Do you doubt me!?" Gunnar shouted angrily, unable to keep his growing anger in check any longer. It seemed to him that he was the only one who cared about what was happening, or at the very least, was the only one willing to act. "I may not know anything about fancy courts and the games of nobles, but this is how things are done in Valkenheim! I swear to you, the only judgment given out today will come from the blade of my axe when I challenge Erik to a hólmgang!"
His sharp words made Priscilla flinch, but she scowled at him from where she sat, still unwilling to accept help. "I did not fight through the siege of two cities just for you to be put to death on Erik's order before a third. He will not accept the challenge, not for the likes of us. He will think it beneath him to do so."
Gunnar was somewhat taken back by her words, by how personal they sounded in the company of her commander, but he did not let that surprise deter him. "And so I must simply stand idle while Erik claims your lives? I had just as much a hand in Chaldeon's death as either of you. Perhaps you would think differently if I was being kept in chains as well?"
"A fair point," Judith said quietly, narrowing her eyes at him.
He gave Judith a sneer in return and hunched his shoulders in agitation, knowing deep down that her annoyance with his absolution in this matter was not without warrant. "I take no pride in my current freedom. I would not have the skalds sing of how Gunnar the Bear lived on while his friends were sacrificed like pigs to serve one man's ego." He turned his gaze back to Priscilla and Coal, desperate to make them see reason, to show them there was no other choice. He had to fight. "I told you, true drengr fight for those who stand with them. Now let me stand for you."
They all looked at him as he fell silent, but it was Priscilla's hard stare that captivated him the most. Those dark pools of brown, watching him, studying him, looking through him. His heart ached in his chest, and at once, he knew that she was about to refuse, watching as her lips had already parted to say the words. By the gods, this woman was stubborn, so headstrong and determined to see whatever course of action she was on through to the end, even if it meant her doom. He had no idea such a person could exist among people he had always seen as nothing more than cowards. Perhaps that was why he could never seem to get her out of his mind.
Priscilla opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She sat frozen like that for a moment longer, then pressed her lips together into a hard line as she stared angrily up at him, no doubt confronted by the same stubbornness he saw in her. That suited Gunnar just fine. If this was a contest of stubbornness, then it was a contest he intended to win.
Coal glanced over at Priscilla, filling the open silence. "Not like we have a better plan in mind," he said, looking up at Gunnar next. "If the big man wants to fight, I say let him fight. Seems pretty good at it, from what I've seen."
Gunnar gave an appreciative nod, glad to know that at least someone trusted him. Priscilla still looked up at him, though, silent and unreadable as she was so practiced at being. Her eyes narrowed at him, and he simply stared back until, at last, she looked away and spoke. "What do we have to lose?"
Judith lowered her head and gave a soft sigh. "More than you realize, I fear."
The sound of approaching footsteps caught their attention before anything more could be said, and Gunnar turned around and felt what little sense of hope he still had snuffed out as Herleif came walking around the wagon. He frowned at his brother, feeling no great pleasure at seeing him, but Herleif simply glanced around at all present with his own disgruntled glare.
"Are you done harassing the guards?" he said, then turned his ire down at Priscilla. "We have been summoned."
Escorted by the Sea Eagle spearmen, Herleif kept his eyes forward as they made their way through the encampment. The Walled City lay nestled against the mountainside off in the distance. The stalwart fortress he had come to help sack, a physical manifestation of the fame and fortune he had come to claim for his people, and yet here he was being paraded like some thrall to the selling block. Dozens stood along the path watching him. Dour-faced warriors from his own hold, sneering red-colored Headhunters, and prideful Sea Eagle men and women who were used to seeing such displays of humility toward their master. Herleif refused to look at any of them, kept his chin high, and moved forward with a purposeful stride.
Gunnar walked closely behind him with his head lowered, but Herleif could feel his brother's glare burning against his back as they went. Priscilla and Coal followed after, with Coal carefully holding the long chain that bound their ankles together so they would have an easier time walking in step without it dragging behind, insisting that he had some experience in such matters. Last came Judith, who, like Herleif, did her best to remain tall and unaffected by the air of impending doom that hung over them. He was impressed she managed it with such grace, considering that the surrounding Vikings had no problem throwing their insults and jeers at her as opposed to the cold silence they gave him.
There was no mistaking where they were headed. Ever a man who wished his status and reputation to be made clear to the whole of Miðgarðr, Erik's tent of white canvas in a sea of dusty color was the largest structure in the camp. It rose above all others with three towering spires, from which waved Sea Eagle banners in the wind, and was surrounded by enough armed guards to be considered a small fortress unto itself. That was to say nothing of the whole separate tent that acted as a stable for Erik's horse, a tent large enough to fit two families inside with room to spare.
Herleif felt his anger rising as they drew nearer, jaw going tight at the arrogance of it all. Every warrior had their pride, a ruler even more so, but the gall with which Erik seemed to openly command everyone around him was testing the limits of his patience. He had not ruled over the lands of his father and his father's father and on only to pay homage to some stuffed-up would-be king who had done nothing to earn the title, and yet that was exactly what was happening.
Prophecy and fate be damned, his hands had been bound as surely as the Knights that had forced him to this point. Priscilla and Coal were two problems that he had let go unchecked for far too long, and now his own brother was caught up in the mix. He would do all he could to protect Gunnar from this mess, but he was not so blind to his brother's self-indulgent impulses that he believed they were in the clear. He would have to make sure that Gunnar did not step a foot out of line when speaking with Erik. Both of their lives might depend on it.
"I hope you are not planning to do anything stupid in there," Herleif said just loud enough for Gunnar to hear him over his shoulder. The silence that followed did not put him at ease. "Just keep your mouth shut then. As far as I am concerned, you have nothing to say on the matter. Do you understand?" More silence, and Herleif squeezed his hands tight into fists before he spun around on the spot, stabbing a finger into Gunnar's chest as the entire procession came to a halt. "Gunnar, do you understand?" he growled.
His brother glared back at him, open resentment burning in his eyes like shimmering hoarfrost. "As you command, my jarl," he answered back after a moment's pause.
Herleif was not used to his brother addressing him so formally, but knew in this instance that Gunnar was just trying to make a point, to use his title as a weapon and hurt him just as he felt he had been hurt. Herleif bore it without response, not even giving his brother a nod in answer, but as he made to turn back to the path, he caught sight of Priscilla watching him over Gunnar's shoulder.
It wasn't a glare she gave him. There was nothing wrathful about the look in her eyes, but it still caught him off guard. It was almost as if, up until that moment, she had never truly taken a personal interest in him before and that whatever issue he had with her had been unknowingly one-sided all along. Now, though, the look she gave him seemed to be her way of letting him know that had changed.
Gritting his teeth, Herleif shook off the feeling and turned his back on his brother and all the rest.
One of the warriors guarding the tent stepped forward as they approached; a tall and broad-chested Raider with curved ram horns and a horse hair plume decorating his helmet. He eyed them all cautiously, an ornate axe held easy in his hands yet still ready to be wielded with vicious intent at a moment's notice. Herleif stepped up to the Sea Eagle warrior without concern, but the man did not get out of his way.
"I will need to take your weapons before you enter," said the Raider, trying to put as much confidence into his voice as he could while staring down a jarl.
Herleif was more annoyed than surprised by the request. This show of power was no doubt typical of a man who thought himself above all others. In truth, the only surprise was that it had taken Erik so long to demand such a thing in the first place. This little joint raid of theirs was beginning to feel more and more like he was fighting in service to a king he had not sworn loyalty to.
Scowling at the Sea Eagle Raider, he unsheathed Sólareldur and carefully handed it over, having left his shield back at his own tent, then stepped past. Gunnar stepped up next but attempted to keep walking with his great axe in hand, ignoring the other Raider completely.
"Hand over the axe," the warrior demanded, backing up to try and put himself in Gunnar's path.
Gunnar only shoved him away, snarling in his face."I would rather spill your putrid guts right here, you níðing ass-licker."
Immediately, the surrounding guards turned on them, lowering their spears while their dark scowls peered out from under golden helmets. Gunnar quickly fell into a defensive stance and gave another loud snarl, baring his teeth and bringing up his axe while Priscilla, Coal, and Judith all tensed behind him.
Herleif took a deep breath and held it for a moment before he sighed and looked back. "Enough of this foolishness. You are not a petulant child anymore, Gunnar," he said firmly, looking over the shoulders of the Sea Eagle warriors that now stood between him and his brother. "Hand over your axe, and let us be done with this."
Gunnar glared at the surrounding guards, showing no fear before their row of pointed spears. He stood at the ready for a moment longer, every muscle in his body tense and poised to strike should anyone make a move. Herleif watched him, feeling a growing sense of worry that his brother might actually do something stupid before they even made it into the tent.
"Gunnar!" he shouted, letting the bite in his voice ring out into the air.
With an indignant snort, Gunnar gripped his axe tight, hefting the weight of the metal blade as if trying to decide whether to surrender it to the guard or cleave it into his skull. In the end, though, he finally relaxed his stance and handed over his weapon.
"Keep it close," Gunnar muttered so that Herleif almost didn't catch it. "I'll be needing this very soon." Then he marched past the Raider clutching their weapons, though not without giving him a hard knock with his shoulder as he went.
Herleif eyed Gunnar for a moment longer, wondering what his brother had meant. Gunnar would give him no clues, however, as he simply stalked past him and on into the tent, his eyes downcast and refusing to look up from the ground. Herleif could only shake his head, feeling a stone's weight in the pit of his stomach before following after.
Priscilla and Coal stepped quickly after them, their chains rattling as they moved under the watchful eyes of the guards. Judith came last and shoved her longsword against the Raider's chest to fumble and catch.
"I know the drill," the commander said grumpily before following everyone else inside.
If Erik's tent had looked lavish on the outside, it had done little to convey the utter splendor the Golden Jarl enjoyed within. It was as if he had brought his entire mead hall with him halfway across the world so he might sit on this desolate spit of land in luxury. The ground had been covered in fur pelts and finely embroidered rugs, some of which had surely been taken directly from Eitrivatnen after the city was sacked. Three long tables were set out before them, crowded with hirðmen and loyal warriors sitting shoulder to shoulder, a blockade of yellow cloth and gold ornamented armor that sounded with raucous laughter and boasts that knew no end.
Pitchers full of mead and ale were passed back and forth to be poured into curved horns and jeweled goblets fit for high lords, and there was food enough to feed the whole encampment hoarded like a king's ransom among these few, with perhaps enough even left over for their enemy trapped behind their sturdy walls. They all ignored Herleif and the others as they walked in, feasting on the bounty of their jarl's wealth like pigs too busy gorging themselves to notice the flies buzzing about their heads.
Then came a single voice that called out in greeting.
"Finally, the mighty heroes arrive!" Erik exclaimed from the ornately carved throne of gilded oak that he lounged upon. He held a silver chalice in one hand as he stared across the large tent, and when he brought it to his lips for a drink, red rivulets of wine dripped down into his blonde beard like glittering rubies before he wiped them away with the back of his hand. "I have gathered this army to sail across the sea and fight our way downriver, sacking a city that once stood as a symbol of shame and defeat to our people. Now, I have marched that army across the land of our ancient enemy to the sight of perhaps the greatest treasure horde our people have ever known, at the base of a mountain that spits fire into the sky and holds a wicked spell over weak-minded fools. And while you were off ousting vermin from their rat holes, I have already spoken to the leader of these fire worshipers from atop those high walls, their so-called high priest who names himself Osric Ead, and whose fortress commander stood with him looming over his shoulder like some dark jǫtunn encased in metal plate and chainmail. Blast it… what was that bastard's accursed name again?"
"Kazamir," answered Old Wolf, looming beside Erik's throne with his bright claymore in hand. He glared at Herleif and the rest as they came closer to stand before the Golden Jarl, staring through narrowed eyes as he regarded them each in kind with suspicion and open animosity.
"Right! This brooding cretin Kazamir," Erik continued with a snap of his fingers. "After I so benevolently offered all inside this Walled City a chance to surrender to us peaceably, these cult leaders hurled insults at me from the safety of their tall gatehouse. Barbarian, they called me! A heathen and an inbred oaf! As if I have not crushed their forces each step of the way to this wretched mountain!" Caught up in his growing anger, Erik hurled his silver cup to the ground, giving no care for the waste of good wine as it splashed over the rugs. At his feet, Magnús sat gnawing a haunch of beef down to the bone, but he paid no mind to the red splatter as it coated his fine boots, seemingly used to such outbursts as his father raged on.
"I should be laying waste to these sniveling whoresons! Tearing down their holy city brick by brick until there is nothing left but dust to be carried off on the wind, and yet here I sit wasting time pondering unfortunate news!" He slammed his fist on the arm of his golden throne as he pushed himself up to his feet to roar out his frustration for the entire tent to hear. "Apollyon's armor should be mine already!"
Herleif sighed as he glared back at Erik, not caring for the way that his fellow jarl looked down at him as if he were some dull-witted húskarl caught lacking in his duties or, worse, an insignificant thrall. "I have brought the prisoners, as you requested, Erik," he growled softly, desperately trying to control his anger. The last thing he needed now was to speak without thought and make the situation go from bad to worse.
Erik seemed to revel in his barely concealed resentment, staring Herleif down with narrowed eyes. He dropped himself back onto his throne and sat back, lifting one foot onto the seat so his knee stood in the air, legs spread wide. He looked about at the rest of the group that stood with Herleif, fingers drumming on his cuirass as he let his gaze linger on Priscilla, Coal, Gunnar, and Judith in kind.
"These are not the prisoners I asked for. I recall only asking that you bring me one prisoner," Erik said after a moment, a little grin playing at his lips beneath his yellow beard. "Where is Chaldeon, Herleif? Where is the man who has stolen the War Wolf's armor and hidden it away in the city's vault? That is the only prisoner I wish to see brought before me right now. Where is he?"
"He is dead," Herleif said. There was no point in trying to hide it, especially since he was sure Erik very well knew the answer already. It only took a glance at Old Wolf's smirking face to know his suspicions were correct.
Erik again looked down toward Priscilla and Coal, the chains connecting them rattling as they shifted under the weight of his scrutiny. "And so you thought to placate me with those responsible for killing him? Are you hoping that I will accept them as payment so that I will somehow just overlook your..." he paused again, waving his hand in the air as if searching for the right word, "...failure?"
Herleif bristled in anger, tight fists shaking at his side as he struggled to keep himself in check. "Failure? My warriors have eliminated an enemy force that sought to flank us! And at the peril of their own lives! We have safeguarded our camp against a rear attack so that we might carry out this siege in safety, and you call it a failure?"
"Don't hold it against him, Erik," came a voice in a rough and gravelly drone. Ivar the Red stood over by one of the tables, loading a plate of food as if he was getting ready to take in a performance. He looked up from a platter of roasted goat that he was slicing with a golden-handled knife and winked at Herleif, shaggy dark hair hanging all about his face. "Least we finally know our dear friend here actually has some balls. He'd sure need a big pair to come back empty-handed like this, looking to shift the blame to a few níðingr troll-shits." He chuckled to himself as he laid a slice of meat on his plate and licked the grease from his fingertips, then took a seat to enjoy his meal. "I always wondered how you somehow sired three brats with that beautiful wife of yours while suffering the absence of anything manly between your legs, but I guess we know now that they are yours after all. Maybe."
A fiery temper was something Herleif had struggled with all of his life, and he prided himself on learning to control it better with more time and experience under his belt, but an insult toward his wife and children was something that never failed to set him off. It took every ounce of his being to keep himself composed now, but his closed fists shook at his sides with the want to choke the life from Ivar's dark eyes.
"On another day, when there is no more need for peace between us, we can revisit that remark. But I fear I will have no wish to listen to you spill filth from your vile mouth then unless it is the sound of you choking on your own blood while my sword pierces your heart," he said in a calm and hateful rumble that he could muster. Ivar simply gave a snort of laughter, filling a goblet with ale as if the threat wasn't worth his attention.
"Enough," Erik droned, unimpressed by what he was hearing. "I have already brought an end to your senseless feud, and still you squabble and bicker like children. Herleif, you were to bring Chaldeon back to me alive, but all you return with are excuses and a pair of Knights in chains. Is this truly all you have to show for your efforts?"
Herleif let his wrathful gaze linger on Ivar for a moment longer before he finally turned and gestured at Priscilla and Coal. "I gave express orders that Vincent Chaldeon was to be captured alive. I trusted this task to my brother and this Conqueror, but while I led my warriors against the Pyre Knights holding the Great Forge, Priscilla Arentii took it upon herself to find and kill Chaldeon before that could happen."
Judith's armor clinked as she stepped forward, a low echo coming from under her helmet as she spoke up. "You have no idea what truly happened. The only thing any of us can be certain of is that Vincent would not have given himself up without a fight. This outcome should have been expected and certainly not come as a surprise to any of us."
"She's right," Gunnar said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "We fought the Pyre Lawbringer, all three of us, and a powerful opponent he was. I have no shame in saying so. If it were not for Priscilla, then I would be dead right now, feasting in Valhǫll and laughing at the lot of you while you toil here in the dirt and sand. She saved me, me and Coal, and I say that to lay the blame at her feet is to lay it at mine as well."
Herleif felt his blood run cold as his brother spoke. A quick look up at Erik's frowning face was all the reason he needed to cut Gunnar off and take back control of the conversation. "She has confessed! She has taken the blame upon herself, and she will be the one to face judgment. The only one," he added with a pointed stare at his brother.
Coal shifted on his feet and rattled the chain in his hand. "I guess I just count a bonus, then?"
Herleif stepped closer to Gunnar, lowering his head as he spoke softly. "Say no more. I told you not to do anything stupid."
"Whatever stupidity you fear I will speak is nothing compared to what now comes out of your own mouth," Gunnar hissed back, his eyes burning wrathfully beneath his helmet. "You know what it is she did for me, and yet here you stand, throwing her to the wolves to save your skin like a fucking coward."
Herleif blinked in surprise, feeling as if Gunnar had just punched the wind from his gut. He opened his mouth to bite back with his own retort but knew deep down that there was nothing he could say that would make Gunnar see sense, that he was just trying to protect him from facing whatever fate would befall Priscilla. "So you will follow her to your doom while I am forced to watch?" he said at last. "Is she truly worth that? Because I think not."
Gunnar's eyes flared angrily as he stared back, but he did not respond. Instead, he glanced away. Herleif looked with him and found Priscilla watching the both of them, those dark brown eyes impassive and her lips pressed into a thin, hard line. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking, and Herleif forced himself not to care.
Sensing a lull in the conversation, Judith took a step forward and put herself in front of Priscilla and Coal as she looked up to the Golden Jarl sitting on his throne. "Erik, I will not stand for this. I care not for whatever confessions that have been made. These two are my soldiers, and I will take any act of punishment carried out on them as an act of hostility toward my legion."
Erik chuckled, appearing to just notice Judith for the first time. "If I sought the opinion of a whining bitch, I would go searching for it among my kennels back home. Still your tongue, woman. I am in no mood to feel its pathetic sting."
Judith squared her shoulders and lifted her chin in defiance of her would-be ruler, refusing to cower even while standing alone in a den of wolves. "I will not be silent! You seem to enjoy ordering us about as if this were all some sort of game or a play to be directed, but you merely toy with our lives like an arrogant child! This is our homeland that we have come to save, to fight for liberation, or to die trying. I have forsaken my oaths of honor for it, and you dare to think that I am afraid of what you might do? Tear me down before your warriors if you wish. Kill us all here and now if it makes you feel like any more of a fucking man. But if you do, then I swear on God's holy name that what remains of my legion will tear such a wound in you before the end that your funeral pyres will be seen all the way back at the gates of Eitrivatnen, and the whole world will know that the Golden Jarl had at least one dog that was not afraid to bite the hand of its master!"
The tent fell silent as all eyes fell on Judith standing tall and alone. There was only the faint clinking of her armor as her helmet tilted upward, beckoning forth any challenge to her declaration. Then, the tent erupted into unbridled laughter.
"Oh, my dear Lady Judith! If there was ever a Knight whose fiery spirit I have come to admire more, then I have surely already killed them by now!" Erik exclaimed as he laughed, grinning ear to ear as Old Wolf gave a soft rumble of amusement beside him, and Magnús fell into such hysteria at his father's feet that he nearly fell over and rolled across the floor. Even as Erik laughed along with the rest of his warriors, he still managed to land a swift kick to Magnús' side to focus his attention. "Pull yourself together, boy! Our Legion Commander has issued a challenge for the life of this overzealous Peacekeeper. How do you think we should answer?"
Magnús coughed and hacked on a bit of meat he had been chewing on, spit it onto the fine carpet covering the floor, then got to his feet. "I say dogs that bite need to be put down." He sneered at Judith as he strode toward her, twin axes swaying in the rings on his belt, and flicked the beef bone at her so that it bounced against the shield plate strapped to her chest with a dull thunk. Then he rounded on Priscilla next.
"And this one..." he began, but was stopped by Gunnar stepping in his way. Their bodies collided together, Gunnar towering over Magnús by more than a head, but the Berserker merely peered around him as he stared Priscilla down with a savage grin. "This one we take outside and lash to a pole. Strip off her hood, her pretty little skirt, and leggings, and carve the eagle into her back." His gaze turned up to Gunnar, in no way flinching beneath his malevolent glare. "Get a peek at that lovely pale hide before we slice it open and bleed her dry."
"Suits me fine," Ivar added from where he sat, not looking up from his plate as he stuffed his mouth with food. "Seems like a lot of useless talk's been said over a problem that has a pretty simple solution."
Gunnar's knuckle bones cracked as he balled his hands into tight fists at his sides. "Touch her, and there will be nowhere in this realm that you can run from me," he said softly but with a voice as hard as steel. "Not even Thor himself could stop me from tearing out your wretched heart with my bare hands."
"Mm, see, your first mistake is thinking that I would run," Magnús grinned, letting his fingers dance over the golden axe heads hanging from his belt, almost twitching against the smooth metal, wanting to pull them loose and start swinging.
"I will kill any man who tries to touch her," Gunnar said, returning Magnús' wicked smile with one of his own. Then his head shot up to lock eyes with Erik, voice booming in the tent for all to hear. "I'll kill any man! Be they a savage prince of Óðinn, an old mongrel dog, a jarl, or a king! I say to you all, whatever fate you think the Norns have spun for you will be torn asunder by my wrath! Touch her, and I will see to it that your life ends here and now by my hand!"
"Gunnar..." Priscilla whispered, her small voice barely noticeable next to Gunnar's booming call. A look of pained dismay contorted her face, breaking the stony calmness she had presented since first setting foot in the tent.
Herleif's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. He was such a fool to think his brother would stand idle through all of this. He should never have let Gunnar come and was beginning to think that he should never have listened to his brother when Gunnar had told him of Erik's invitation in the first place.
"No, Gunnar!" Herleif hissed, grabbing his brother's arms to try and pull him back, but Magnús was already lifting his axes free while many of Erik's warriors were rising from the tables with knives or swords in hand. Herleif looked about to see if there was any chance of fleeing the tent with his brother, but the spear men from outside were already blocking the entrance, their attention drawn by the growing commotion in the tent. Feeling the tension rising in the air, Herleif knew he had to act quickly to save his brother from Erik's judgment. "What are you doing? Stop this madness before you get yourself killed!"
"By the gods, boy, what has come over you?" Erik cut in, leaning forward with his elbow on one knee and looking at Gunnar as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head upon his shoulders. "I see no reason why you would wish to quarrel with me, not after I have been so generous with my hospitality toward you and your brother. Have I not been kind and generous in dealing with you? After all, it is only because of me that either of you have a chance to reap such honor and riches for yourselves and your people." Any and all sympathy suddenly fell away from his face as he frowned across the tent, and all that was left was the face of a man who had no patience for the wants of others. "I would hate to think that you intend me any disrespect after all we have shared together. Least of all for the sake of some worthless Ashfeld cunt."
Gunnar let out a roar of anger as he tore his arm free from Herleif's grasp, moving as if he meant to charge right at Erik before Magnús got in his way. "Bring me my axe, and I will show you how far the depths of my respect for you goes, bastard jarl!" he howled, spit flying as he raged. Herleif barely got his hands on Gunnar again to wrestle him back before Magnús raised the blade of one axe toward his brother's throat, laughing at the growing chaos.
"Find yourself another girl to rut," Erik said as he leaned back on his throne. "You will have your choice once we take the city. Do not ruin our friendship over what is so easily replaced."
"Bring me my axe!" Gunnar cried again, ignoring the axe blade already at his throat as he fought against Herleif like a rabid hound struggling against its leash.
Old Wolf lifted his claymore over one shoulder and stepped down from behind his master's throne, white-bearded chin held up so that he looked down at Gunnar as he approached. "Allow me to remind this young whelp of where he belongs, my jarl. I promise to keep him in one piece if that pleases you. Mostly in one piece, that is."
"Fuck that," snapped Magnús, practically salivating at the chance to spill fresh blood as he grinned. "Let me have him, father. I'll tear him to pieces, and Herleif can carry whatever is left back to Bilrost in a sack!"
"Bring me my axe!" Gunnar bellowed again. "I challenge-"
Herleif looped his arm around his brother's head, cutting off his words so that only a muffled growl of anger followed after. "Enough! You will say no more!" he commanded, still trying to pull his brother away from Magnús' axe and toward the tent entrance, spear men be damned. But fighting against Gunnar now was like trying to take down an enraged bull, and Herleif cursed himself and all the gods for ever allowing things to get this far.
Erik gave a disappointed shake of his head as he watched. "You should give your brother a lesson in showing proper respect, Herleif. Otherwise he may end up saying something he will not be able to take back."
As Herleif and Gunnar squabbled, Judith tried to usher Priscilla and Coal behind her, standing with her arms spread wide before them as Erik's warriors spread out with weapons in hand. "Is this all that your honor amounts to?" she shouted over the growing noise. "Barbaric swine! The Devil will be waiting for the lot of you in Hell when this is done!"
"Let him go!" Magnús howled, pointing one axe at Gunnar while Herleif restrained him and twirled the other in his hand, ready for the bloodletting. "Let him fight! I want him... I'll skin him alive! I'll tear him to pieces! I'll rip out his heart and devour it whole!"
Herleif hissed through clenched teeth as he tried to turn Gunnar away, to put himself between his brother and Erik, but it was an effort just to keep a hold of him, let alone drag him through the tent. "Erik! This is not our fault! Call off your men, and let us talk sense!" he pleaded.
"Control your brother, Herleif!" was Erik's answer. "Do not let him do something he will regret!"
"What part of killing one chained-up Peacekeeper is so fucking hard to accomplish?" Ivar called out from his seat, watching Herleif and Gunnar struggle with feigned interest. He picked up the knife he had used to cut the roast goat and stabbed it into the table. "If it is too much of a problem for the rest of you, then just say so! I'll cut the bitch's throat myself if it will bring an end to all this fuss."
Gunnar managed to slip an arm free from Herleif's grasp, quickly jabbing it into his gut. Herleif let out a pained grunt from the hit, his grip loosening just enough for Gunnar to push himself up and call out again. "I challenge Jarl-"
"No!" Herleif exclaimed with what breath he still had, throwing himself fully at his brother so they both tumbled onto the floor. "I will not let you do it! I will not let you throw away your life!" he said, scrambling to get control as Gunnar punched and kicked at him from below.
In all of the confusion and hysteria, Priscilla took a step forward around Judith's outstretched arm without notice, stepping out into the middle of the tent as far as the chain around her ankle would allow her to go. Standing as tall as she could and caring nothing for the chaos around her, she lifted her chin and called out in a loud voice to slice through the rabble like a knife splitting skin.
"I challenge Erik Golden-Shield to single combat!"
Not even Erik's own cunning words could steal back anyone's attention after that.