The sky was dark with smoke from the fires already burning as the Viking horde breached the city. There was no sense of direction to the invasion, only forward movement toward battle and plunder. Raiding was how the northern pagans earned their wealth, found their glory, and honored their bloody gods with violent deeds. There was no holding back the horde now, no stopping the fury in their battle cries as their blades dripped red with the enemy's blood.
For the first time in her life, Priscilla didn't feel a need to put a stop to the Viking menace that plagued the city. No, not this time. Not when their enemy deserved such a brutal fate.
Dirt still clung to her hood and armor as she and the rest of her legion left the tunnel behind to run beneath the burning gatehouse and into the city. Even before they had made it inside the walls, she could hear the screams and clashing of weapons as warriors fought, along with the loud crash of burning structures crumbling to the ground. It was everything she knew a Viking raid to be, only on a nightmarish scale, and here she was, stuck in the middle of it all. The Tundra Tusk and Headhunter clans were already well inside the city, taking the fight to the Divine Pyre for every street and building. Erik's own Sea Eagle warriors had been left to follow after, desperate to join in on the raiding after remaining behind in the camp during the siege.
It seemed that all of their efforts had paid off, and Herleif's plan had worked. The gatehouse burned with the destruction of the fire weapon, and the mighty gates of the city now lay in a broken heap beneath their feet. Erik had been left scrambling to take part in the very raid he had organized, no doubt chafing at his own hubris after thinking he had sent Herleif to his doom.
Priscilla hoped the golden bastard caught an arrow to the neck as he rushed for the gate. It would be no less than what he deserved. It would undoubtedly be a more well-deserved fate than Gunnar had almost faced.
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Gunnar was still there, fearful that he might suddenly disappear like a spirit after what had happened in the tunnel. He was still following her, tall and lumbering, a stern scowl fixed beneath his horned helmet and braided beard. When he caught her looking, he glanced at her, and Priscilla felt rather foolish. He was his own man, a capable warrior in a fight. So long as no more piles of dirt fell on him, he would be fine. The pain of almost losing him simply had to be ignored for now. There was no room for that kind of weakness on the battlefield. She could take stock of everything that had happened between them later after her mission was complete.
She was so close now. So close to making sure the Divine Pyre never threatened her homeland again. There was certainly more to it than that, but this battle was a significant step forward after feeling like she was getting nowhere for so long. She had the formulae for their fire weapon; now they almost had the city. The shadow of defeat was now looming over the blasphemous cult, the burning flame of the Pyre's mad devotion beginning to fade into darkness, and in that growing sense of despair emanating from the doomed worshipers, Priscilla finally felt a tinge of hope.
Hope- Priscilla was a fool to trust in it. She always had been. It was hope that landed her in the absolute worst of situations more often than not. Somehow, it was the one lesson she never managed to learn.
None of that mattered now, not when there was still so much to do. The Pyre still had a firm hold on the city, no doubt controlling the inner keep and tall towers as the Vikings fought their way inward from the gate. The cultists would not give up easily. This city had become their home, their rock, the place of worship before their holy volcano. The cult had come to fall at the foot of Mount Ignis in worship, calling out to the smoke rising from its high peak for blessings and the power to defeat their enemies. At the command of their priests, they would not move from beneath its oppressive shadow until the fires of their doom carried their ashes up to the heavens.
The Vikings gave no care for the Pyre's devout stubbornness. The Northmen would take what they wanted by sword and axe, meeting the black-armored Knights without fear as they forced their way deeper into the city. Moving with the horde, the members of the Lion Flame rushed to meet the cultists head-on but stopped as they came upon a burning church in an open square. The firelight blazed against the surrounding buildings, burning hot and drawing their attention like a moth.
Priscilla told herself that there was no point lamenting the desecration of this holy chapel, that the true tragedy had occurred when the Divine Pyre first took control of the city to worship their false idol, and that the Vikings were merely putting an end to the sinful corruption in the only way they knew how. It was a shocking display of barbarity that, for once, was perfectly in line with her own sense of justice, no matter how dark it seemed.
That wasn't what kept her attention on the burning church, though, as the battle continued through the rest of the city without her. No, what held her frozen as she watched the dancing flames were the screams still echoing from within. She could see movement through the church entrance where the doors had burned and fallen away; figures moving in the blazing light, writhing against each other before falling still one by one. The sound of despair rising from within was utterly inhuman—brutal pain and absolute suffering. An entire congregation must have come to hide within the walls of their sanctuary, seeking the protection of their God and finding only a painful death instead.
Marcelo took a hesitant step forward, the glow of the flames reflecting off his armor. "We… we must help them," he said quietly, stunned by the fiery display of brutality. "We must do something…anything?" He glanced then at the Vikings who moved past without a care, the sight of a church burning no more of a concern to them as rain over the ocean. Marcelo marched up to Judith, fists clenched at his sides. "This cannot stand. We are here to stop a renegade legion, not watch our people be burned on holy ground!"
"We are a renegade legion," Judith said coolly, not relenting to the despair that seemed to grip Marcelo as the church crumbled and burned, "and we are too late to help them now, but perhaps we might save others. If you truly want to help these lost souls, then we must win this war and put a sword through Osric's black heart."
Priscilla could only stare and watch, not knowing if she should curse these people as fools or pity their suffering. Would their lives have turned out any different if they had not fallen for the Divine Pyre's lies, or would they have ended up in another church, in another besieged city, still burning at the hands of barbaric invaders who cared nothing for what sort of deity they prayed to? The question haunted her, especially since she had a hand in bringing the Northmen to the Walled City, but she hoped that her efforts to save her homeland would prove right in the end. There was a time when everything had made sense, and she was fighting so hard to return to that.
Gunnar stepped beside her, head bowed, great axe held across his shoulders. "Better that they die now than remain our enemy later," he said softly.
Priscilla couldn't take her eyes away from the burning church before her. "Is it? Perhaps the jarls will say the same of my legion soon." Gunnar gave that awkward shuffle he always made when uncertain of things, but Priscilla paid it no mind for once. No doubt the Legion Council thought much the same way he did, so she could not fault him for thinking so. Only time would tell.
"Keep moving!" Judith bellowed from the head of their gathering, breaking the silence that hung over the legion and sparing only a glance at the burning church and the cultists inside. "These people made their choice! We make for the keep!"
No one left quickly, horrified by such a loss of life, but the steel in their commander's voice was not to be ignored. Priscilla paused for a moment, looking back to the bodies burning in the church, but the screams had faded beneath the roar of the fire. Judith was right; there was no helping them now.
Once again, they were swept up by the horde, rushing into a fight that was long in the making. Around them, the Vikings howled for their chance to take place in the slaughter, and the distant screams of the wounded and the roar of flames answered back. Everything was chaos, but the Lion Flame ran on to claim the justice they had been robbed of. Leaving the burning church behind, the legion finally came face to face with a column of Pyre soldiers in a narrow street. The row of pikes and shields blocking the street began advancing with a steady chant that echoed off the buildings as the Lion Flame took up their position.
Judith stepped out in front, momentarily holding her longsword high above her head as she called out to her Knights. "Hold true, Lion Flame! Now, we will finally cut the head from the serpent!" With a cry, she thrust out her sword and charged the Pyre line. Her legion valiantly followed after, along with any Vikings eager for the chance to kill.
Priscilla remained quiet as she ran, keeping her focus while others gave themselves over to battle frenzy with their war cries. Gunnar shouted loudest of all, charging forward with his axe raised to cleave into the enemy line, but Priscilla skirted to the sides of the street, watching carefully as the more prideful warriors sought each other out while she slipped past the Pyre to begin cutting them to ribbons. Her blades bit, stabbed and sliced as she moved, weaving between soldiers like an elegant dancer as she found the weak points in their armor. She didn't dwell on their screams each time her dagger sunk hilt deep into someone's side or drew the edge of her sword along the back of a knee. Battle fame was not what she was after. Glory was of no interest to her; the killing was just a violent means to a necessary end. The Divine Pyre had remained a plight spreading throughout her homeland for too long, and this was their chance to end them once and for all.
She had to keep herself from straying too far from her legion as the fight continued. The Pyre still crowded the street before her, even as several of their soldiers and Knights lay dead or bleeding on the ground. Doubling back, she was stopped short by a Pyre Warden striking at her from the surge of black armor. She ducked and deflected the blow, quickly counter attacking with two quick stabs of her dagger to the Warden's gut. The Knight grunted as they began to bleed, but any suffering they might have endured was put to a swift and sudden end as Gunnar's axe severed their head with a sweeping arc. The blood-leaking helmet rolled from the Knight's shoulders and landed square on Priscilla's head, leaving a splatter of red dripping from her hood.
"Ugh!" she groaned indignantly, flicking blood from her sword at Gunnar without thinking. "Who asked you for help?"
Gunnar grinned as the crimson droplets colored his shoulder but then dodged as a pike jabbed at his head, punishing the attacker for missing with a quick chop of his axe. "Quit your teasing and focus, woman!" he laughed as he got back into the fight, "My blood is up enough as is…" Priscilla felt herself blush hot beneath her helmet, glad that Gunnar couldn't witness it, but a hard knock from Coal startled her back to attention.
"No wooing each other on the battlefield," Coal grumbled, bringing his shield up to herd her back into formation. There was blood leaking from beneath his pauldron, a crimson river trickling over the metal plates along his arm.
"You are hurt," Priscilla muttered, pushing back against his shield to try and get a better look.
Coal grunted and shoved her away before swinging his flail overhand at a Pyre soldier who lunged forward for them, slamming the spiked head into the enemy's helmet with a loud crack. "Just a poke. Left a lot worse behind me."
As the fight raged on, more Pyre soldiers came at them, but Judith called out her orders so that the legion fought as one perfect unit despite their diminished number. "Protect our flank!" Judith shouted as more enemy pike-men appeared from an alley to cut off the Lion Flame's advance.
Surprisingly, the host of Viking warriors crowding the streets answered the commander's call as well, quickly locking their shields together into a protective wall around the small legion. They followed Judith's instruction without argument, standing alongside the renegade Knights and bellowing their challenges as the Pyre crashed into them with pikes and shields. The sound of clashing weapons and crushing blows rang out through the air, and the Lion Flame quickly took up their part in the chaos once again, throwing themselves at the enemy with a righteous fury that had been burning in their hearts since they had been driven from their home in the north.
With Judith leading the way, the Lion Flame forced the enemy soldiers back up the street. The Divine Pyre fought savagely beneath the shadow of their holy volcano, but for the Lion Flame, the fight was personal. Pushed to the brink of defeat and driven from their homeland in shame, they had surely been branded as traitors simply for taking the fight to the cultists by any means necessary. Sacred oaths and ancient blood feuds no longer held sway over the wayward legion now dispossessed of their titles, duties, and land. As the Lion Flame fought relentlessly against the corruption and tyranny of their foe, they fought through sheer force of will and by the grace of God alone.
The looming threat of a slumbering volcano counted for nothing as the Divine Pyre was forced back against the Lion Flame's righteous fury- first faltering and then breaking before the onslaught of iron and steel as Knight and Viking fought together. Justice would be theirs to deal with impunity; God's righteousness was dealt out by the sword and the iron fist of the Lion Flame Legion, or they would die in the attempt.
Marcelo let loose a valiant cry as he charged forward with his shoulder and slammed a Pyre soldier off balance. He took them down with two quick slashes of his longsword before they could recover, then lifted his weapon for the next attack. Panting hard, he was ready to defend, ready to attack, ready to kill his foe to rid Ashfeld of tyranny- but he suddenly found that there was no one left to fight. Instead, all he saw were the backs of Pyre soldiers as they broke and retreated up the street. "Ha! Turn and run, you filthy cowards! There is nowhere for you to go now! The Lion Flame will have your heads this day!" he called, lifting his bloody sword triumphantly into the air as the dark figures disappeared behind buildings and smoke.
"The boy has a bit of savage in him after all!" smiled Gunnar, standing over a dead Pyre Lawbringer and yanking his axe free of bloody plate armor. "Now you sound like a true drengr!"
Marcelo flinched, glancing between Gunnar and the rest of his legion as they dispatched the few remaining enemies with cold efficiency. "Surely not. It is an honor to simply fight for what is right, even if there is a certain pleasure in sending these bastards to Hell where they belong." He shivered, armor clinking as if shrugging off a strange euphoria that had gripped him. When next he had complete control of his senses, he stepped over the fallen corpses and took in the newest dilemma that presented itself. Before them rose a tower that loomed over the surrounding buildings, causing the street they were on to split in two different directions. "Which way, Commander?"
Judith was checking to see if any of her own Knights were wounded or if any lay silently among the dead but paused long enough to take stock of the situation before giving more orders. "Spread out and secure this junction! Vikings, make a shield wall across each of those streets! No one gets past while we tend to the wounded. If the Pyre returns, slaughter them like pigs! Marcelo! Search these surrounding buildings and make sure no surprises are waiting for us inside."
The members of the Lion Flame quickly sprang into action at Judith's command. Marcelo snapped a salute before picking out a few soldiers to aid him, ordering some to search the buildings on one side of the street while he took the rest to clear the other. However, the gathered Vikings lingered for a moment now that the fighting had lulled. They looked at Gunnar in question, frowning beneath their beards and holding their weapons loosely, unwilling to carry out orders given to them by a Knight on a whim.
Gunnar glared back at each disgruntled warrior as he looked about. "Well, what are you looking at me for? You heard the commander... Shield wall!" he roared. A series of grunts and grumbles came from the Vikings, but they hefted their shields and stepped quickly into formation across each street around the tower, closing off the main road from any potential counterattack.
Judith handed off a wounded soldier to the care of another before making her way over to where Priscilla was wrapping a bandage around Coal's arm. "I need you to go to the top of that tower and pick out the best way to the keep. The city will never surrender unless we eliminate the Pyre's leadership. Look for Herleif's banners. We will need to regroup if we want any chance at storming the inner fortress."
Priscilla didn't look up as she tied the bandage and made sure the blood didn't seep through too severely. "Not afraid I will just cause another incident if you let me out of sight, Commander?" she asked.
"Deathly afraid," Judith said without skipping a beat, "but the city is already burning down around us. I struggle to imagine how you could make things any worse."
"One shudders at the possibilities," Priscilla muttered. She gave a half-hearted salute before heading off, not looking back as she set both hands to the hilt of her weapons and stepped over the Pyre bodies toward the tower. Gunnar was waiting for her, axe in hand and a determined look in his eye. They said nothing to each other, but she gave the tower door an extra push as she entered to leave it open for him to follow.
Coal remained where he stood, shifting awkwardly on his feet and rolling his aching shoulder as he was left standing next to the commander. "So, join the shield wall, or should I just...?" he asked, gesturing hesitantly after Priscilla and Gunnar. Judith gave a tired sigh but then jerked her head to the tower, broken eagle bobbing atop her helmet. Coal didn't need to ask again before he quickly moved to catch up.
Things grew quiet as Priscilla ascended to the top of the tower until the battle throughout the city seemed a distant and far away thing. The smell of fire smoke was heavy in the air, dark clouds billowing from burning buildings as the flames spread. Something would have to be done about the fires soon, or else the entire horde might be caught within the inferno, but the focus of the attack remained fixed on reaching the Pyre leaders within the city's keep. Priscilla turned her attention to where the keep was built into the rising slope of the volcano, an imposing fortress of carved battlements set behind a second defensive wall, and with the tallest tower of the city rising high into the sky.
Leaning out over the tower's edge, she cocked her head toward the smoke-hidden sun and listened to the desperate voice that was being carried on the wind.
"What are you doing, you useless worms!? Fight them! Fight them, I command you!" shouted Osric Ead from his tower above the keep. "They are nothing but primitive savages! Stop them! The volcano demands it! The volcano commands you to cease this desecration of God's holy city! Do you hear me!? Do you hear me, you fucking idiots!? Do not let them reach the keep! Fight, or God will curse all your useless, bitch-sired souls to the deepest pits of Hell! Do you fucking hear me!? Fuck!"
"I don't remember any scripture verses sounding quite so... verbose," said Coal as he came up the ladder just behind Gunnar.
"The city falls, and his all-powerful deity remains dormant," Priscilla said. "Sounds like his usual material no longer holds sway over his followers, and so he struggles to come up with something more striking while his influence slips away like smoke on the wind."
Gunnar grunted angrily as he went to the wall and looked out over the city toward the keep. "I give no shit for impotent priests who cower on top of their tall towers. We need to find my brother. With the entire horde fighting together, we can take the keep and bring these cultists to a swift end. You will have your homeland back, and we will have our treasure. Just not the armor we were promised."
Priscilla tried her best not to dwell on his words. Besides the complication of needing to deal with Erik if he learned that the Divine Pyre never had Apollyon's armor in the first place, the fact that she had also been given a false story to set these tragic events in motion meant that her troubles far exceeded just ending the war. She would certainly be having words with Elise if she survived.
"Is that him?" Coal called from the other side of the tower. Priscilla and Gunnar came to stand by his side, peering through the smoke and flicker of rising flames to see Herleif's banners waving in the narrow streets below, cutting through the city's center and heading further west, away from the keep.
"It looks like he is trying to get around the fires," Priscilla muttered.
Coal nodded, then pointed out ahead of the direction Herleif's warriors were moving. "And right into a damn trap. Look."
From their high vantage point above the intersecting streets of the Walled City, it was impossible to miss the gathering forces of Divine Pyre Knights preparing to block off Herleif's advance, a far larger host of enemy soldiers than any of them had seen within the city so far. It seemed that the fires had not been part of a desperate ploy to stop the invaders but a sacrifice knowingly made to direct the flow of battle to their liking. All Herleif's efforts to bring the city to its knees were about to come to a devastating halt as he led his warriors right into the jaws of death.
"Curse these black-hearted bastards!" Gunnar growled. "They're nearly on the other side of the city! We'll never get to him in time. Where are those dogs, Ivar and Erik? They should be helping push the attack."
Together, they searched over the city until Coal gestured again with his shield away from the burning buildings. "There! It's Ivar," he said, pointing out the red skull banners moving to intersect with Herleif's path. "Looks like he's moving in to assist. Your brother won't be fighting alone, at least."
Gunnar sneered and spat over the tower's edge. "There's no trusting that Thurshamrar dog. His warriors will be tearing at anything that moves, whether they are friend or foe. We need to let Judith know what is happening and move quickly. Where in all the realms is Erik?"
"I see him," Priscilla said, although she hardly spoke with any sense of relief.
She had turned to look behind them, away from the impending fight between Herleif and the gathering Pyre counterattack, pointing off in the opposite direction. The three of them stepped across to look over the parapet, watching the great mass of golden warriors surge through the city toward what looked to be a well-fortified tower built into the mountainside. At the head of the horde, where, surprisingly enough, the fighting seemed to be the thickest, the Sea Eagle banners of Erik Golden-Shield waved among the fire and smoke, cleaving a wedge into the Pyre forces and making a mad dash for the tower. There was no need to think long about what was driving Erik forward with such urgency. Every street in the city seemed to run red with the blood of Knights and Vikings alike, but for the Golden Jarl, there was only one true goal to the siege, one true prize to be claimed.
Priscilla shook her head in disgust. "That must be the vault. The Pyre still fights against us for control of the city, and already he is going after the treasure."
"And leaving our asses hanging in the wind!" Gunnar snarled. He roared with anger and slammed his fist against the parapet. "Curse him to a coward's fate! That níðing troll-fucker! He is no king worthy of praise and honor… he isn't even worth the shit that pigs roll in!" Priscilla watched as Gunnar stomped his foot and snorted like a bull before he began pacing around the tower. She could see the rage building within him and almost thought he might give a reckless swing of his axe, but instead, he returned to the battlement and shouted out over the calamity raging far below. "There is only one coward jarl here, and he is nothing but a troll's whimpering whore disguised as a king of gold!" His voice echoed off into the smoke, carried on the wind across the city, only to fall beneath the clamor of clashing swords and cleaving axes. He slammed a closed fist against the parapet as his rage boiled, then slumped against the wall with a defeated sigh.
"Herleif was right," Gunnar said, his head hanging low. "Erik cares for nothing but his prize, no matter how many warriors he must sacrifice to claim it."
Priscilla's heart ached for Gunnar, knowing he felt betrayed by someone he had once put his trust in and felt helpless to do anything for his brother as the enemy closed in. Unfortunately, Herleif falling in battle would not be the worst of outcomes for her. It would eliminate one of the jarls she would soon be forced to deal with and, more so, would put an end to the suspicion and scrutiny that Herleif always seemed to regard her with. A Peacekeeper always needed to stay realistic when it came to big decisions. Herleif dying was simply the best course of action to ensure the success of her mission. Nothing else mattered beyond the liberation of her homeland from Pyre control, especially the life of some Valkenheim jarl who would surely come back to raid their lands in the future.
But how would she ever face Gunnar knowing she had doomed his brother to death, especially after fighting so hard to save him from the same fate? Things were becoming far too muddled for her liking, far too removed from thinking realistically or practically. She was thinking with her heart instead of relying on her training, going against all the oaths she had taken as a Peacekeeper.
Then she looked at Gunnar, caught in the grip of despair, and felt her turmoil swiftly fade away. Her mind was made up in an instant. Oaths be damned, there was no guarantee she would survive the war anyway, much less return to the life she had known before. She would be fine making things up as she went along. After all, that was also a considerable portion of her Peacekeeper training.
"Come, we can do nothing from up here. We will have to move quickly if we want to assist your brother before the Pure closes in," she said, gently touching a hand to Gunnar's shoulder. His head snapped up to look at her, gaze unsure beneath his helm, but a smile soon spread across his lips at her touch.
"Aye. That will put some fire in Herleif's belly, getting saved by the same Peacekeeper he can't seem to get rid of," Gunnar chuckled. "Maybe we'll even see a few of you Knights feasting in Valhǫll before all is said and done." He gave one last glance toward Erik's advance, his smile falling back into an angry sneer, and spit over the parapet.
Priscilla felt her stomach twist into knots as they made their way back down the tower. If Elise or anyone from the Sisterhood could see her now, they would surely revel in how far she had fallen since her days at court. Simply entertaining the idea of choosing her own desires over the needs of the mission went against all the teachings of her order, and saving a horde of Vikings from certain death had never been part of the plan. It would be better to let as many of them die now and set the stage for what lay ahead once the Divine Pyre had been put to the sword, but she had already deviated from that path by saving Gunnar in the tunnel.
She was walking a dangerously thin line. So much had changed over the past few months since the world had fallen into ruin and war, and longer still since the days of her youth. Almost nothing of the stability she had known remained now, and while she had certainly known her share of troubles in life, it seemed that she was still fighting so hard to get it all back.
Her private thoughts were suddenly broken when they made it halfway down the tower, and a fearful cry from out on the street caught them all by surprise. Gunnar gripped his axe and nearly jumped down the last few steps, with Priscilla and Coal hot on his heels, rushing outside with weapons drawn and eyes searching for danger. They were ready for another fight, but what they found stopped them cold in their tracks.
All around the tower, there seemed to be only confusion and hysteria as Judith and the other Knights struggled to corral a large group of people pouring out of the surrounding buildings. Men and women, some old and some younger, and more than a few wide-eyed children, stared fearfully at the clamoring soldiers. From how they were dressed, it was clear they were merely peasants, farmers, and perhaps a few merchants, but certainly not fighters. They seemed to huddle together or spread out aimlessly over the street in their panic, weeping mothers holding screaming babes to their bosoms while fearful-eyed men tried to put themselves between the Lion Flame and their families.
They all appeared tired and thin and no doubt scared out of their minds of the Viking horde that was now running rampant through the streets with brandished steel and burning torches. Priscilla could see that there was more to it as she looked over their haggard faces. A frailty that spoke of pain, suffering, and weakness from lack of food and rest. They were like feral animals scurrying for the nearest hiding place after being dragged out into the open with no sense of direction about them, just fear and abandonment brought on by their misguided faith.
"What madness is this? We were only gone for a moment," Gunnar hissed, his axe ready.
Priscilla craned her head to get a better look, eventually deciding to shoulder her way into the crowd to get closer instead. "Looks like Marcelo found a few surprises hiding in these buildings."
"Just scared people on the run," Coal said, slinging his flail over one shoulder and following behind. "They don't know what they're doing, just that they want to get away."
"Are you sure?" asked Gunnar.
Coal nodded, watching the men and women nearly falling over each other to escape, only to recoil before the armored Knights and soldiers of the Lion Flame. "Trust me. I know a prison break when I see it. A bad one, too, by the look of things."
It was undoubtedly true, but it was hard for Priscilla to think of them as pitiful refugees. After all, it had been their choice to come here, to gather in worship of Mount Ignis and bow in obedience to the Divine Pyre. Now, they must suffer through the war that their leaders had started, a travesty that, going off their current panic, was not something they had expected to endure.
However, not everyone trying to flee was cowering pitifully as the Lion Flame attempted to shepherd the crowd back into their homes. Some men had weapons: swords, knives, or clubs clutched tightly in their hands and were desperately fighting to get free. One man in a dark wool cap was snarling as he wildly swung an iron mace back and forth before him, all while pulling along a frightened-looking woman and a long string of crying children behind him. The man in the cap beat his mace against the shields of the Lion Flame soldiers surrounding him and was gaining ground against them as the soldiers seemed hesitant to cut him down in front of his family, even as he continued to attack like a cornered wolf.
"Back! Back, you faithless devils!" the man cried, splintering wood chips from a shield with his mace. "You stay away from my family! You'll not have us! Get away!"
He had nearly fought his way free and, indeed, would have shot off down the street if not hindered by his family of screaming children, but Marcelo managed to put himself in the man's path, holding up his arms to try and calm him. "Please!" Marcelo cried before ducking at a swing of the mace to his head. "Stop this at once! We are here to help you!"
"Liar!" snarled the cultist, his eyes wide and frightened, seemingly unconcerned with Marcelo's armor or sword. He came at the Knights again, swinging his mace in wide arcs to keep them at bay. "You're all traitors! Heretics and murderers!" he cried. "You'll kill us all, I know it! Stay away!" The other men with weapons were beginning to fight harder against the Lion Flame, encouraged by the words of the mace-wielder, but still, the soldiers refused to escalate the violence by spilling more blood.
"Keep them in line!" came Judith's command as she worked with her Knights to get a handle on the panicking crowd before things spiraled further out of control. "No one goes free until the battle is over! Get them back inside!"
Marcelo was still doing what he could to fend off the man in the cap, weathering the blows against his armor and trying to reach out and grab the mace as it swung. "I will not fight you! Ah! I am not- oof! I'm not your enemy here! Just- ah! Just listen to me, dammit!"
They grappled together, Marcelo refusing to raise his sword against the man until a quick smack of the mace to the thigh brought him down to one knee. Instantly, Gunnar was there, a hulking barbarian that loomed tall like an unshakable mountain to grab the attacking cultist by his collar and hurl him away before he could strike again. The man gave a short whoop before he crashed to the ground among his fellows but then scrambled to his feet and held the mace protectively between himself and the giant Raider.
"You see! You see!" the man cried, his shrill voice cracking with madness and fear. "They side with the enemy! They fight alongside godless heathens against us! The high priest will curse your souls to Hell for this treachery!"
Priscilla pushed her way past Gunnar as he stood stalwart over Marcelo, helping the Warden back to his feet. "Listen, you fool. Does it sound like Osric has a plan for stopping us, much less saving you?" she said, pointing up to the tower where the high priest was shouting another string of curses at his followers for their sudden ineptitude in pushing back the invaders. "Pull your head from your ass and see reason. The city will fall, and no act of divine intervention will stop us now. There is no power in the volcano. It remains dormant and still. Nothing but smoke, blinding you to your own ignorance, all while your esteemed priest throws your lives away for nothing. Go back inside and wait until the fighting is over! Do not get yourselves killed for the likes of him."
"What do you know of divinity?" the man sparked. "This city was given to us by God himself! It is ours to protect, to spread his word, and to bring about a new kingdom in his holy name! Our faith burns with the fire of the Lord! As the high priest says, it binds us all together in his love while you break your oaths and hunt down the flock you once swore to protect. That you would still call yourselves Knights at all is an insult to our Lord!" His growing anger echoed off the surrounding buildings, and many of the others called out their agreement or gave fearful praise to God.
Priscilla thought back to the burning church as she continued to stare him down, dagger and sword gripped in her hands but not raised. Victory did not hinge on these people surviving the siege or whether they realized the complete depravity of their chosen side. It didn't matter if they all burned here in this city or were given a chance to start again, a chance at a better life, so long as the high priest and the rest of the Divine Pyre were eliminated here and now. That was how they would win.
However, leaving these people to be slaughtered did not seem like a victory worth having. If she was willing to go to war to change the predicament of her own life, surely, as a proud Knight of Ashfeld, she was ready to do the same for these people.
"Our oaths were stripped from us the moment we were branded outlaws by our lords," Priscilla shot back. "We are the ones who have been hunted, abandoned, and betrayed. We have been branded your enemy, and all for what? So you can be crammed within this city like sheep? Tell me, how long was it before the soldiers here reduced you to living off scraps while they feasted like fat kings in the fortress? Was it only after they began to lose ground or before they had even stripped you of all your wealth as an offering to the Lord?" A murmur ran through the crowd at that, eyes shifting away while mothers and fathers clutched their weeping children to their chests. "Do not think to try and hide it. One look at you, and it is easy to see that you have gone without a proper meal long before a siege trapped you all within these walls. We have seen the limits of the Divine Pyre's mercy in the burned villages and desecrated temples of God's own people. There is nothing divine about these tyrants!"
"And can the same be said for you, siding with these savages?" cried the man with the mace. "The Divine Pyre are our protectors... Chosen by God to lead us in a war against heathens like the Vikings and Samurai! Those who refuse them are the rightful enemies of God and must suffer a non-believers death!"
"So I have heard. And yet, we few here are still here to fight for you. To protect you, as our oaths still drive us to do! For even while we have been beaten and stripped of our dignity, a true Knight does not simply forget an oath sworn before God! That is what gives us purpose, even if that means fighting for ignorant fools who are less than deserving of it! That is why we have given up all we hold dear for a chance to free you from this oppression! To fight for you!"
The crowd fell silent as she finished. Dozens of weary, sunken eyes stared back at her while those holding weapons stepped back from the Lion Flame, looking more like frightened children now than mad zealots.
Priscilla sucked in a quick breath, standing with her shoulders straight and head held high, as any Knight should when addressing their people. "Look around at what your priests have brought you! Ask yourselves how many of your neighbors were good, God-fearing people before they were suddenly labeled as heretics! How many of your friends? Your loved ones? Ask yourself, do you see God here in this city? Surely, he is meant to be here with all of us now, but looking around at the deep hollowness in all of you, I see no sign of him. God has abandoned this place, but perhaps we might find him again if you would only listen to reason."
The man in the cap seemed to shrink where he stood, and the woman with him stepped up to take hold of his arm, gently pulling him back to their children. He stepped with her, mace held loose at his side, and for a moment, Priscilla saw a look of shame in his eyes as they stared at each other. Then he looked past her at Gunnar, and his face went hard once more.
"There is no Godliness to be found in the likes of you," he said. "You have all chosen the wrong side in this fucking war! My heart burns for the glory of the Lord!" Ignoring his wife's cries, he pulled free of her grasp and rushed forward, bearing his teeth in a wretched snarl and raising the mace again. Priscilla gave a curse, relenting that there was no helping these people after all. Once again, her hope had been misplaced, foolishly imagining a peaceful solution when it was clear this fool was too far gone.
The man came at her fast, but before she could raise her weapons and defend herself, Marcelo stepped in front of her, still determined to try and end things without bloodshed. The cultist did not share Marcelo's wish, baring his teeth and giving a hateful cry, ready to bring his mace crashing down upon them.
"The glory of the volcano is with me! The glory of God is-!" The man's next words were cut short by a pained gasp and a gurgle as his feet suddenly stumbled, and he shuddered to a stop with the bloody tip of a longsword suddenly appearing through his chest.
The sword gave another lurch through the man as it was pushed from behind before he was shoved away to reveal Judith standing in his place. She pulled her sword free of his limp body, letting him crumble to the ground with a gore-dripping wound through his back and the mace clattering uselessly to the ground beside him. Judith stood tall over the body in the silence that followed, her longsword dripping with the man's blood and the eyes of her soldiers watching her in surprise while the cultists looked on in stunned horror. Then, the dead man's wife fell to her knees to let loose a heart-wrenching scream.
Judith showed no remorse as she gave her sword a quick flick of the wrist, splattering fresh blood over the street. That was when the other cultists with weapons were brought back to their senses and rushed at the Lion Flame again with their short swords and knives, but now there was no question of how they would be dealt with. Their valiant cries of righteous fury quickly turned into screams of pain and fear as the soldiers and Knights dispatched their attackers with lethal efficiency. Those lacking the will to fight could only cower and watch as more friends and loved ones were cut down right before their eyes.
Swinging her sword in a swift arc, Judith sliced open the front of an attacker who came screaming for vengeance for the man she had killed. She stepped around the body as it fell, easily parrying another attack and countering with a quick riposte, slicing her opponent's face open before they could scream. Then, as quickly as it began, the fight was over, and every man who had stood against the Lion Flame was now lying dead in the street. Judith's shoulders rose and fell as she panted, anger radiating off her in waves, and at her feet cowered the families of the men they had slain.
The wife of the man in the cap looked up at Judith with tears rolling down her cheeks as her children clung to her and wailed. Opening her mouth to speak, the woman's bottom lip trembled momentarily before any sound slipped out. "Why?" she asked, her face breaking in anguish. "Why choose them over us? Over God?" Her eyes flicked over to Gunnar and the other Vikings, who watched on in grim silence over their shields. "Are we not your people?"
"No, you are not," Judith answered with chilling certainty. She tipped the blade of her longsword up to catch a crucifix that hung around the kneeling woman's neck, lifting it into the air. "I admit, I had hope once. That there was still something in all this worth fighting for beyond silencing your damned high priest. I hoped that there was more to liberate than just stone buildings and old relics, but now I see the truth for what it is. You are my enemy… all of you vile, false worshipers, and I am not in the habit of letting my enemies live to return another day." The point of her sword edged closer to the woman's neck, drawing forth a desperate whimper as the woman began to pray.
"Commander!" Marcelo exclaimed, stepping in and putting a hand on Judith's arm. "What are you doing? We came here to save these people."
"Save them from what?" demanded Judith, whirling around to face Marcelo, her sword dropping to her side, much to the woman's desperate relief. "To save them from themselves? Is that why we came here?" She looked back, glaring down at the woman and the rest of the cultists who cowered together. "We offered them our help, and they have refused! There is no saving them from a faith that is nothing more than poison in their soul. There is no difference between these cowards and every soldier we have killed to get here!"
The woman stared pleadingly up at Judith, her hands coming together as if to pray. "Mercy, please! We are all children of God! You must see that…"
"Be quiet!" Judith shouted, kicking the woman in the chest to send her toppling over. "Mercy is not deserved by those who worship alongside snakes, as it was never shown to us when we were forced from our homes by your fucking cult!" She moved to kick the woman again, but Marcelo stepped in front of her, pushing her away.
"No, Commander! This isn't the way!" Marcelo said. "They are just lost! Lost! What hope does Ashfeld have if we cut them down in cold blood rather than guide them back to what is right?"
"There is no more Ashfeld! Not for us!" Judith snapped, grabbing Marcelo by a shoulder plate and tossing him away. As Marcelo stumbled, Judith quickly reached down and snatched the woman by her arm, pulling her up from her wailing children. "And as for you…"
"If there is anyone who needs to be saved, it is my brother," Gunnar called out, stealing Judith's attention as she whipped her head around to face him. Gunnar stood at ease with one arm propped up on his axe, watching the scene unfold like some amusing play. "While we stand here babbling about which one of you has offended your God more, Herleif continues the fight against our actual enemy, who is luring him into a trap. We must move quickly to help him unless you wish to see how long you would fare in Erik or Ivar's care instead."
Judith stared back at Gunnar for another moment, then looked around at her soldiers and Knights, who were all waiting to see what she would do next. Her gaze lingered on Marcelo for a moment as he stood nearby, body tense at the ready. Then she turned on the woman again, squeezing her arm hard enough to draw forth a gasp. "Take your children back inside, and stay out of our way," she growled before tossing the woman away and shouting at the rest of the crowd. "Stay inside! Anyone caught out in the streets will be treated as a combatant and given no quarter! Leave the dead where they lay! Their accursed souls are no longer your concern… Now go!"
All at once, the street was busy with movement again, with those desperate to get back inside before more blood was spilled scrambling past those who were pulled away from the bodies of their dead loved ones. One by one, they disappeared back into their homes, leaving only the cries of children echoing from within. The last to slip away was the widow of the man in the cap, her sorrowful gaze looking back to her husband's dead body at Judith's feet. She hugged her children close, letting them all cry into her dress as she disappeared inside.
Judith pulled a cloth from her belt and began wiping down her sword, walking purposefully toward Gunnar while looking beyond down the street. "Which is the quickest path to find Herleif? Did you see from the tower?" she asked as if the bloody fight and dead bodies were already forgotten.
Priscilla reached out and took hold of Judith's wrist as she tried to walk past, ignoring the commander's question for one of her own. "If we are not fighting for Ashfeld, what are we fighting for?"
Judith looked down at Priscilla's hand on her wrist and then up at her. "It is no mystery what we have given up to make it this far, Priscilla," she hissed back. "We knew we would be branded traitors by joining the Northmen. We knew there would be no going back, and we still made that choice. All of us."
"That is a sorry excuse, Commander, and I, for one, wish to hear the truth," Marcelo said, stepping up behind her with uncharacteristic defiance firmly in his voice.
Judith glanced at him over her shoulder, then pulled her arm away from Priscilla's grasp to step close to Marcelo, their helmets nearly knocking together. Marcelo tried to take a step back, but she only followed. "Whatever reasons you have for fighting are your own, just as I have mine. So long as the war is won in the end. Agreed?" She stared him down for a long moment, refusing to back away. "I have given you a fucking answer, Marcelo. Now it is your turn to answer mine. Are we in agreement?" Marcelo shifted awkwardly as he was put on the spot until, finally, he gave a curt nod. Judith released him from her attention without a backward glance, heading down the street and calling out to the rest of the legion. "We still have a city to take and plenty more cultists that must die before we are done! Not to mention a high priest that needs to be thrown from his fucking tower!" A cheer rang from the other Knights, and Judith beat her fist against her armor as they all began moving down the street.
"Lead the way," she said to Gunnar, who did not need to be told twice before he was rushing off in the direction of his brother with the rest of the Vikings in tow.
Priscilla swallowed hard, feeling a stone's weight in the pit of her belly as everyone moved past. She had always known that Judith harbored a heavy resentment toward the Pyre and the Legion Council for everything that had happened. Still, she had never known that resentment extended to the worshipers who were surely abused by the Divine Pyre just as they had been. Strangely, it ended all her worries over why she was fighting and for whom, but it did little to calm her fears about what might happen when the time came to make sure her legion chose the winning side in the end. The future remained uncertain, all except for one glaring truth. Judith was another part of Priscilla's ever-growing list of problems.
She turned and looked back at the dead bodies lying on the street, the man in the cap still caught in a look of wide-eyed shock and realized in the moment before death that God had not protected him after all.
"So much for not causing another incident," she whispered to herself, then rushed off after the others.