A Shield of Strength - A Warlords Saga

by Barbarian2020

Warlord and Jarl, Herleif Bjornson, receives an invitation to raid deep into Ashfeld, but the fires of war obscure the path before him with death and treachery. Upon the war-torn slopes of Mount Ignis, he will make his stand and fight for all that he believes in, and everyone he holds dear. A Warlord is the shield of his people, and he will not fall.

59. From the South

The Knights of the Legion Council had ceased their attack on the city, but for how long, Herleif did not know. It seemed that the allure of the defenseless gate had been too great to resist, but the fiery blaze that now consumed the city entrance had repelled the enemy faster than any set of sturdy doors or hail of arrows from the walls. The legions had gambled on an easy victory and lost, but the Walled City remained very much surrounded by the large Ashfeld host, just as it had been when the Viking horde had first come to claim it from the Divine Pyre.

Up on the ramparts, Herleif watched as the organized legions broke apart to begin setting up camp behind the ridge far outside the city. Whatever was left of the Viking encampment that had stood in the same spot days ago was either discarded or repurposed by the enemy. Where once the horde had dominated the horizon, tents began appearing in neatly lined rows as the Knights prepared for a siege.

Further along the wall, the city gatehouse continued to burn. The pillar of fire made the brightening day hotter than it already was, and the air was choked with black smoke that made the gathered Northmen cough and grumble as they kept a close eye to be sure the fire didn't spread. Those who had been ordered to keep the flames fed by the Pyre's wicked magic were sweaty and soot-stained as they threw more barrels into the blaze to ensure the wall of fire remained impassable while the rest stood watch on the walls and waited for any sign of movement from across the plain.

Herleif spared an agitated glance at the burning tower, noting that the black stone was already burned by so much fire and smoke. He hoped it would hold, but a creeping fear told him that nothing would last long in that terrible heat. That was a problem for another time, though, as a small group of armored Knights was gathering at the head of the camp with banners of all the legions brought against them.

"Time for introductions, it seems," he muttered. Beside him, Ragnar gave a grunt as he stood with his sister and Helge, along with a host of Bilrost warriors, watching in anticipation of the fight that was to surely come. More were joining them as warriors were still waking throughout the city from their drunken stupors, crowding the walls in their hastily donned armor. A small commotion rose as Jarl Ivar and a few of his red Headhunters rudely pushed their way through the tight ranks.

"Erik has risen his banners by the vault," Ivar said with a nod of his chin in the direction of the vault tower. "I'd rather march out there and meet these tin fuckers man-to-man, but your little campfire seems to have squashed that idea, so I suppose we will talk."

Herleif shook his head and gently thumped a fist on the rampart. "No surprise that the king only shows himself when there is a spectacle to be made."

"Maybe we should just throw him over the wall and see what happens?" Ragna suggested. "All that gold he wears might be enough to pay the tinmen to turn tail and go away."

"Might be worth a shot," Ivar shrugged.

"Treachery will get us nowhere," Herleif said. "If we wish to live through the coming siege, then we must work together, no matter how little we might like it." He stopped to give Ivar a hard look, to which the man only frowned in return. There had been plenty of bad blood between them in the past, but now they had worked together more than once to the benefit of them both, and all without Erik's vast support that he so loved to boast of.

Helge stepped forward and put a hand to Herleif's arm. "Treachery is already prophesied," she said. "The army marching unseen now stands before us. Now beware the dagger at your back, Herleif. You should know who your friends are."

Herleif glanced again at Ivar, eyes narrowing, but then he gave a comforting smile to those around him. "I have plenty of friends here with me now, and I know that I can count on you all. I say that is a comfort more dear to me than the strength of my own shield."

"Typical Warlord shit," grinned Ragnar. Soft laughter trickled through the crowd as Ragnar's humor brought a bit of levity to their grim situation. The walls were crowded with Northmen wanting a look at the army that had trapped them within the city, and the mood had turned as black as the fire smoke choking the air. It was good for them to laugh, but it was short-lived as the threat of starvation and death loomed in the back of everyone's minds.

Herleif allowed himself a chuckle. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing that so many were already dead by his own hand. Again, he looked to the burning gatehouse, shuddering as he remembered the sight of the glowing fire-flask soaring through the air. "Let us go then and do the king's bidding," he said roughly and made to follow after Ivar when the arrival of Judith and her Knights coming up the stairs made him pause. "Go on, I will be there soon." Ivar grumbled and frowned but only spared a dark look at the Knights before going on his way. Herleif watched the jarl go with his warriors before turning back to Judith. "What news?"

"It was Priscilla," Judith said as she approached. She carried her eagle-crowned helmet under one arm, her longsword at her hip, and her face was fixed in a hard scowl that revealed her anger and exhaustion after a night of drinking in equal measure. "She has betrayed us all. The Legion Council knew what we were doing and planned to trap us this whole time."

An angry murmur spread through the crowd of Northmen as Herleif let out a curse. "It never ends with this woman!" he yelled. "If it is one regret I will carry with me to the end, it is not killing her when I had the chance! What was her plan? She is trapped in here just the same as the rest of us!"

"She spoke of making a deal to get our legion out of the city. Something that would see us spared of being branded as traitors and allowed back into the Council."

Herleif set his jaw and scowled as he regarded the gathered Knights he had come to respect. "And what was the price of this deal that might see you brought back from exile?"

Judith lowered her gaze for a moment, then strode up to the rampart beside Herleif to glare at the gathered legions she had once fought beside. "Truthfully, the conversation did not get that far before I ordered her arrest. Do not think that I had a hand in any of this, Herleif. Priscilla has deceived me just the same as you. I should have seen this coming, but I never thought she would stoop to this sort of treachery."

"And where is Priscilla now?"

"She has escaped judgment yet again," Judith said as she turned back to her soldiers. "It seemed that one of us had a dilemma of conscience in the heat of the moment."

Within the small legion, Marcelo stood stiffly apart from the rest as Judith stared at him. He did not offer any sort of apology but weathered his commander's scrutiny until his gaze shifted to Ragnar, Ragna, and Helge for a moment. Ragnar made a move to step toward him, but Marcelo shook his head, willing the other three to stay away while the eyes of all his fellow Knights were on him. Judith shook her head but said no more.

Herleif was not pleased to know that Priscilla was still loose in the city, but another thought crept into his mind that made his heart grow heavy. "What of my brother? Is he caught up in any of the Peacekeeper's schemes?"

Judith shrugged and shook her head. "I know not. He was not with her when she came to the inn. The last we saw of her, she was alone and heading west through the city."

"She cannot hide for long. Whatever happens next, her meddling has come to an end." Herleif turned back to the plain beyond the wall, watching as the gathered Ashfeld host broke away from the camp and began to ride toward the city. At their head, a figure in silver armor rode upon a black steed, with a blue cape billowing behind them and a large ornament crowning their helmet that glinted in the sun. "Is that him?" Herleif asked. "The Lord-Warden?"

"No," said Judith, squinting down at the approaching riders, "but someone no better. That is Grand Commander Tiberius Lucullus, the Lord-Warden's right hand and dog of the Legion Council. Our reports said that he was the one leading the attack against the Samurai before the fall. I did not question it at the time. Lucullus has always had a sick pleasure for burning down Myre villages while on campaign, particularly ones still full of women and children."

Herleif frowned as the leading man came closer to the walls. "I cannot say I know the name," he said, but it soon became clear what sort of warrior they were dealing with as he got a better look at the rider's ornate armor. "A Centurion? What is a man like that doing as a commander of Ashfeld's legions?"

"Our people have deep ties to the Old Empire of the Romans. That civilization endures as a shadow of its former glory far to the south, but it still exists. For all of its lingering philosophy and pride, it has always been a place torn between one god and many. Those among them who seek to worship God as our one and only salvation often come to Ashfeld seeking refuge. Lucullus never struck me as a man who found humility in his faith, though."

"Men will use any excuse to make war on their neighbors," Herleif said, then gave Judith a wry smile, "like raiding and pillaging all for a treasure we might never have."

Judith did not return his grin. "If the Grand Commander is here, then the Lord-Warden must truly have no intention of letting you surrender. They will put the entire horde to the sword rather than let you return to Valkenheim and raid again another season."

"We would expect nothing less. Hopefully, Erik will have enough sense not to believe any of their lies, but I do not think he will give up the vault so easily." Glancing about, Herleif put a hand on Judith's shoulder as he spoke. "Take your Knights and position yourselves on the western wall. I will give you half of my warriors while I keep the rest here with Ivar and his Headhunters."

"It has been some time since I commanded so many warriors," Judith said in surprise as she shifted on her feet. "I might be out of practice."

"I have faith, Commander," Herleif smiled. "I have faith."

A light blush colored Judith's cheeks, but she allowed herself a brief smile in return before frowning again. "What about Priscilla? Coal is surely with her as well."

Herleif thought for a moment as he rubbed at his beard and pondered the fate of the traitorous Peacekeeper and Conqueror. Then he turned to Ragnar and Ragna and beckoned them forward. "Take some warriors and search for them. Take them alive if you can and bring them back to me."

The twins both nodded. Ragna knocked her hand against her brother's shoulder to leave, but Ragnar lingered where he stood. "And Gunnar?" he asked hopefully.

Herleif looked out at the army of Knights who had come to kill them all and scowled, then frowned back at Ragnar. "If he is with Priscilla, then bring him as well. In chains if you must."

Ragnar's face fell, but Ragna pulled him along by the collar before he could argue. Herleif watched them go, feeling the disappointment in his chest that Ragnar had shown clearly, but he buried it deep as the threat of siege grew ever more present in his mind. He had given Gunnar plenty of chances to cast off Priscilla and focus on what was important. If his brother had chosen to go along with the Peacekeeper's schemes, then there would be nothing Herleif could do for him. He only prayed that there was still a chance his brother's fate would not bring about dishonor and shame on them all, but he had his doubts.

Herleif looked to Judith and gave her a reassuring nod. "I will send you my hersana and warriors. Fight well, and be prepared for anything. May your God protect you in the fight."

"I would like to believe he will, but our enemy would say otherwise," Judith grinned. Then she lifted her chin and saluted Herleif with a closed fist to her chest. "Regardless of how things might have been in the past, it is an honor to fight alongside you now, Jarl Herleif." Following her example, the rest of the Lion Flame saluted as well, snapping to attention with the echo of metal fists against armored chests.

Herleif suppressed a small chuckle. He had come to raid as a way to get back in touch with the traditions of his people, and here he was being honored by their most ancient foe. Nothing was turning out as he had expected, but for once, that did not seem like such a bad thing. He patted Judith on the shoulder once more and dipped his head at her gathered Knights, then silently waved for his gathered warriors to follow after Ivar.

On the way to join the king, Herleif could hear the sounds of the Ashfeld camp being constructed out on the plain. The city, by comparison, had been gripped by a heavy silence. The walls were crowded with more than just archers as the Northmen sought to glimpse the army that had surprised them all. Herleif silently brooded over the deadly position that Erik's vanity and lust for gold had put them in. They should have mobilized their forces and even perhaps returned to Eitrivatnen once news of the missing scouts reached them. Instead, they had waited and feasted like drunk fools until the wolves had come out of the night to trap them.

When he finally arrived at the vault tower looming over the wall, Herleif found Erik's white banners with their golden sea eagles flying proudly in the air. The king's warriors were presented along the wall in force with their shining helmets and spears, and in their center stood the Golden King himself. Ivar stood at Erik's side, twirling his fingers in his dark beard as he frowned at the approaching Ashfeld procession, and just behind the two Warlords were Magnús and Old Wolf. Herleif did not go to them immediately, though, as he found Skuld standing at the wall, her presence breaking a row of Sea Eagle spearmen who dared not get too close to the stoic Valkyrie. They nodded at each other as he passed without a word, but as he approached the king, Herleif couldn't help but notice how Old Wolf seemed to sweat and glare sideways at Skuld while she remained blissfully ignorant of the Highlander's dark mood.

"This is a fine reward for all our hard work and toil!" Herleif called out as he came to stand at Erik's side. "If only we had sent more scouts instead of pissing away our mead and ale in the streets, we might have had time to meet them out on the field."

"I do not recall asking you for your skewed retelling of events, Herleif," snapped Erik, "and I certainly do not recall ordering you to set fire to our fucking gate! Where did you even get the fuel to set the blaze, anyway?"

Herleif spared a glance at Ivar, who ignored him, and felt the heat of Erik's glare as he set his hands on the wall to watch the riders come closer. "We found a few warehouses full of the seiðr the Pyre used for their weapons. And it was lucky that we did, or else the entire city might have become a battleground this morning."

"And it is no thanks to you that we now find ourselves trapped within the city. Keeping secrets from me, eh? If you were willing to keep this information from me, I wonder what else you might be hiding..." As Erik seethed, Magnús stepped closer with hands on his axes, and in that moment, Herleif felt the full weight of his brother's absence beside him. "How do I know you are not hiding the second key from me as well?"

"If I had the key to the treasure," Herleif grumbled, "I would have been away from here a long time ago."

Trumpets blasted from down below, and Herleif turned his attention to the Ashfeld riders even as he felt Erik's hateful gaze linger on him for a moment longer. Down before the wall, the host of Knights reigned in their horses as Viking archers knocked their arrows from atop their perches, but Erik held up his hand to keep them from drawing. The clatter of armor and stomping hooves filled the air, and as the horses shook their heads and snorted in their tight formation, the gathered Knights all looked up at the three Warlords who loomed like silent and angry gods. Rising above them were the banners that represented the waiting legions. Three figures rode out ahead of the rest: two Wardens, each holding a blue banner with a golden crown, and the Centurion, whose fine armor shone in the light and wore a full helmet that hid their face behind a mask of a frowning and bearded man. A metal ornament fanned their helmet from side to side, displaying an intricate design of silver and gold.

"Salutationes et dies boni!" the Centurion called to the watching Northmen. "May God bless this day that we might come together as friends and treat with each other as gentlemen! Deus nos omnes benedicat!"

"What the fuck is he saying?" Ivar asked quietly up on the wall.

Herleif shot the Red Jarl a dirty look but was unsurprised that Ivar did not have a firm grasp on the language of their enemy. Leaning over the rampart, he shouted down to the Centurion. "Declare yourself, Knight!"

"Of course! Allow me to introduce myself, my lords. I am Tiberius Titanius Lucullus, Grand Commander of Ashfeld's Legions as appointed by the Lord-Warden, Commander of the Royal Legion. Centurion of Mater Roma, and I act with full the authority of the Legion Council of Beaufort to see this city brought back into the arms of Ashfeld's benevolent embrace!" Tiberius put his fist to his chest in salute and bowed his head, then turned and held out his arm to the other Knights with him. "These are the representatives of the legions you see gathered over distant ridge. Great lords and brothers in arms. Members of the Royal Legion, the Regal Legion, the Iron Legion, who led the rebellion against the warmonger Apollyon in days past. The Gryphon Legion, the Autumn Legion, the Stone Militia, the Sons of Westhold, the-"

"Never heard of you!" Ivar shouted from the wall.

Tiberius stared up at the city, and his attendants chaffed and grumbled on their mounts behind him. "My northern lords, who is it that speaks on behalf of your host?" asked the Grand Commander next.

"I do," Erik said with a prideful grin. "I am King Erik Golden-Shield, lord of Tua Peak and ruler of the lands from Ishamar to Bilrost. With me are my jarls, Ivar the Red of Thurshamrar, and Herleif the Bold of Bilrost. We have claimed this city as our own. Taken it from cultists and tyrants with our blood and our steel. Now this city belongs to Valkenheim." Beside Erik, Ivar gave a withering look to be counted as one of the king's servants, but his displeasure was ultimately ignored. "You are trespassing on my land, Grand Commander. Take your clanking legions and be gone from this place! I have no wish to treat with the mongrel who comes barking on behalf of its master!" Old Wolf gritted his teeth and scowled, but he remained dutifully standing behind the king with his hands squeezed tightly around his claymore beneath the hot sun.

"Ah, King Golden-Shield! Your reputation proceeds you," said Tiberius, seeming in no way put off by Erik's harsh words. "I nearly had the chance to meet you last year at Rogue's Passage, but you had already fled with your loot back to your ships before I could take the field. Luck was certainly on your side that day. And Jarl Ivar, I know from his winter exploits in Blackstone Hills. Never have I known one of your kind to slay more than he steals, but it is a trait that I admire. This Herleif the Bold I do not know, but I am sure if he has stood with warriors of such renown as you against the cultists, then he is a man of worth."

Herleif grumbled under his breath, knowing it was his own fault that Erik and Ivar had great legends to boast of while he had planted himself firmly in his hall over the past years. He did not regret focusing on ways to see his hold prosper without waging war and bleeding his warriors of their lives, but it had nothing to garner a reputation for the skalds to sing of as was proper for a jarl. Leaning over the parapet, he shouted down at the interloper from the south. "Say what you have come to say and be gone, Centurion! This conversation need not be long!"

Tiberius' horse skittered at the echoing shout, but he never took his eyes from the three Northmen as he reined the beast in. "You have no patience for pleasantries, I see. It is a shame, but if I must, I must. I believe you will find my request to be a very simple one, my lords. Eitrivatnen has been surrounded and is now held under siege. Your ships will soon be put to the torch, and you will have no hope of escape. You have no choice but to surrender the city and yourselves to the the Lord-Warden and the Legion Council. You three and your hersir will be taken before the Brotherhood of Law and held for ransom back to your families. It is only through this course of action that the Lord-Warden has permitted any possibility for you to return to your homeland safe and unharmed. I suggest you take the Council up on this offer, my lords. It is far more generous than what I am personally willing to give."

A heavy silence hung over the gatehouse as all listened to the Grand Commander's offer. Then Erik grinned and muttered under his breath. "This arrogant fool..."

Herleif grimaced at his words, knowing full well that Erik considered the terms an affront to him personally and not the entire horde trapped behind the city walls by their numerous foe. "And what of our other warriors?" he shouted back to Tiberius before Erik could doom them all. "Men and women whose families wait for them in the north? What will you offer them?"

"I shall offer them what any savage who believes they can raid fair Ashfeld with impunity deserves," Tiberius answered calmly. "I shall give them the honor of my sword, Lord Herleif the Bold. As it is divined by God."

Ivar gave a bark of laughter and waved a dismissive hand at the legion host. "Right! You want a fight, then. That suits us!"

Tiberius slumped back in his saddle and gave a disappointed shake of his head. "I will admit, a glorious fight to determine the victor is what I crave, but as I am duty bound to the Council, I implore you to accept the Lord-Warden's offer."

"Here is a counter offer for you, you southern whore!" Ivar roared. "Fuck off!"

A great clamor rose among the Vikings watching from the walls, their war cries echoing through the air as they beat their swords, axes, and spears upon their shields. Down below, in the shade of the rising city, the Ashfeld representatives struggled to control their mounts, which were spooked by the thunderous noise. With the sun glinting off his golden crown, Erik stretched out his arms to the shouting Northmen and laughed triumphantly as if he had won yet another great victory without so much as drawing his sword.

"You have your answer, Tiberius," Erik shouted gleefully. "Run back to your master and tell him that we are no cowards to be badgered and corralled! You had your chance to deal with the Divine Pyre, and you let it slip through your fingers like helpless children! Now, the people you left behind here are my slaves! The lands that you abandoned have been ravaged by my great horde! These walls that you gave up to your enemy now stand to protect me! Send forth your legions and I will walk over your corpses when it is time to return to our ships! I spit on your name and on the name of Rome!" He leaned over the parapet and spat, the white flecks soaring out into the air before disappearing as they fell.

Tiberius only nodded, perhaps expecting such a remark or even agreeing with the Golden King on the outcome of their talk. "A word of caution, if I may?" he said with a slight tilt of his head. "If you barbarians were able to make it past such high, strong walls, how long until we accomplish the same? And as for your gate..." He turned his attention to the distant gatehouse that billowed flames and smoke into the air. "Well, even the great fires of the Cataclysm were snuffed out in the end. You have heard the Council's offer, and so I will return to the Lord-Warden with your answer. Give my regards to Commander Judith and her valiant Knights of the Lion Flame. I bid you all a good day, my lords."

Pulling on the reins of his mount, Tiberius turned and kicked his heels to ride back toward the ridge. The other Knights all did the same as the Grand Commander rode through their ranks, their mounts kicking up dust as their tall banners waved and billowed in the hot, dry wind. With his embroidered cape flying behind him, Tiberius left without so much as another glance back at the city, but before he was too far gone, he raised one gauntleted fist and shouted loud enough for the Northmen to hear. "Ardere in inferno, barbari!"

Herleif ground his teeth as he watched the Knights retreat to their camp. With the Centurion's taunts and threats echoing within his head, he slammed his fists against the stone ramparts and lamented his ill-fated luck. "Curse this abominable raid!"

"Control yourself, Herleif!" snapped Erik. "You speak with one tin and already you are starting to piss yourself. Act like a man!"

"You mean act like a fool!" Herleif retorted. It did not matter who among their people was present to watch so long as the Knights were away. To his mind, any warrior in the horde had the right to know that their king was willing to sacrifice all their lives just for a rusty suit of armor. "You heard what that bastard said! Eitrivatnen is surrounded! Unless we find a way to break past all those legions or send word north for aid, we are as good as dead!"

"A baseless lie. They are just trying to get inside our heads. Why waste time negotiating if they could take the harbor at any time?"

"Would be a bad bet," said Ivar as he rubbed at his black beard and squinted off at the glinting sea of armor and spears across the plain. "We can't stay here forever, treasure or no. They couldn't take the chance of us leaving the city and coming up behind them at Eitrivatnen, or meeting them out in the open between here and the lake."

Herleif gave a begrudging nod, once again finding himself in agreement with his oath-brother, while Erik seemed only more determined to steer the horde into chaos. "Exactly. Better to deal with us here while we are trapped and pick off the stragglers later. All three of us have taken losses fighting against the Pyre, and now the wolves have followed the scent of blood to come and finish us off. They have us right where they want us."

Erik's balefire gaze snapped on Herleif in an instant. "Indeed, that is true. What unfortunate timing for the Legion Council to pounce upon us while we are stuck here like rats in a trap. A trap set by vermin residing among us even now. Faithless traitors since the very beginning. I should have killed that scheming bitch and her lost lion cubs the moment they appeared in my lands. As if taking advantage of my kindness and hospitality were not enough... Where are the Lion Flame now, Herleif?"

"Why?" Herleif growled as a cold chill ran down his spine at Erik's question. "What use are they to you?"

"To make an example of them," Erik said simply. "To show what happens when cowards try to outmaneuver kings. Clearly their treachery is to blame for all this." He gave a disappointed shake of his head toward the gathered legions, then turned and began to walk back to the vault tower with his entourage falling in behind him. "Bring them all to me, Herleif. I was too kind to them in the past, but now we will deal with these Ashfeld cretins once and for all. Displaying their headless bodies from the tower will show these tinmen that my word is not to be taken lightly."

"That makes no sense, Erik!" Herleif called after the king. All eyes turned to rest on him, narrow slits glinting full of suspicion from beneath helmets and furrowed brows. Herleif felt the weight of their scrutiny upon him, none greater than that of Erik himself, as he turned back to look, but he pressed on anyway with fierce determination. "Why would they follow us here only to be trapped inside the walls with us? They have fought beside us every step of the way! Spilled the blood of their own people! What reason would they have to betray us now, fully knowing the penalty from both sides?"

Of course, he did know. Whatever her reasons, whether they be hate, revenge, or duty, Priscilla had acted against them since the beginning. Herleif would like nothing more than to see her neck put beneath the edge of a blade, but as far as he was concerned, the rest of the Lion Flame was blameless. Judith was blameless. Her only crime was not knowing how far Priscilla's treachery went. None of them did. Erik, though, would surely not be swayed in his decision to find them all guilty of plotting against him.

"You are a fool to trust in them, Herleif," Erik said, confirming all of Herleif's worst fears. "They may have made amusing pets for a time, but even I will admit that keeping them alive for so long was a mistake. Their arrogance has led them to believe they are heroes fighting against all the demons of the world, and now they have brought about this havoc with their schemes. The Centurion mentioned that aging whore by name. We cannot let this betrayal go unanswered."

Herleif's eyes flashed angrily at the idea that anyone's arrogance might be to blame other than Erik's. "You said they were mine!" he shouted, fists balled tight at his side and shaking. He felt like a petulant child fighting against a stubborn father, but he could not simply hand over the people who had fought beside him each step of the way on their mad raid and shed just as much blood to survive. "For my loyalty! For my hold! They were all I asked of you in return, and so they belong to me! I decide what is to be their fate and no other!"

Despite the fire consuming the gatehouse like a burning pyre, and even with the Legion Council's mighty host gathered before the city like a predator waiting to strike, the section of the wall before the vault tower had become deathly quiet as all watched and waited to see how the king would deal with such an unruly jarl.

Erik no longer grinned. He did not smile or toy with Herleif like a cat toys with a mouse. He simply lifted his bearded chin and peered down at Herleif from beneath his golden crown. "So I did," he said, "but do not forget, you are mine. You gave yourself to me with your oath, and what are you now but a glorified stable master tending to my stock? You will bring them before me. You will stand silent as my champion's blade takes each of their heads, and you will do this because I have ordered you to do it. We have greater matters to tend to rather than waste our time arguing over whose final word stands."

"No!" Herleif shouted just as Erik headed for the tower again.

Weapons clinked at his outright refusal to the king, and with the wrathful eyes of Magnús and Old Wolf upon him, Herleif focused on no one else but the king as Erik turned back to glare at him. "No?" the king asked.

Herleif steeled himself, knowing full well that what he was doing was no better than the treachery Priscilla had committed against them all. It could very well mean his death, but he could not bring himself to condemn Judith and her Knights to a fate he knew they did not deserve. "I said, no."

Old Wolf's white-haired lip twitched as he stepped forward with his claymore balanced on one shoulder, but Erik put out a hand to stop him. "You tell me no?" he asked again. "For them? For fucking Knights, you would deny your king what he asks of you? All for a few useless, Christian tinmen?"

Herleif took in a breath before he answered. There was movement behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see that Skuld now stood beside him with her spear glinting in the light. She seemed to stare down Old Wolf as the Highlander remained at his master's side, and the champion shrank back just a step at her arrival. Herleif was glad to see her there but, for a brief moment, wished that it had been Gunnar instead. "I say," he began, knowing full well that his brother might be truly lost to him now, "I will not turn my back on those who have fought beside me as kin, and I will not betray proud men and women who have done me no wrong."

Erik gave a harsh laugh and waved a warning finger in the air. "You fucking jest."

"They have shown more honor than most fighting on this raid," Herleif declared, and then he spared a look at Ivar, who watched him with narrow, dark eyes. "I have learned much of the true meaning of honor since I left home. I would rather seek council from those who fight with me than those who would merely give orders far removed from the enemy's blades. That is why I know that each soldier who fights beneath the Lion Flame banner is a true drengr worthy of respect!"

"Father," Magnús growled, "let me kill this tin-lover. We don't need cowards like him..." His hands hovered over his axes, and the faint twitch of his fingers spelled out his need for fresh blood-letting.

"Put your hands to your weapons, Magnús, and we will see who feasts in Valhǫll before this day ends!" Herleif warned.

"Do not pretend that oath-breakers are welcomed in the Allfather's hall," Erik shot back. "Bring me the Lion Flame! This is my final warning, you mud-sucking jarl. Give them to me or the lives of you and all your warriors will be forfeit!"

"Leave him the blasted tins, Erik!" Ivar interjected before Herleif could speak. His yellow teeth flashed in his beard as he snarled and turned his back on the king to lean over the wall and scowl at the Ashfeld camp. "This is not the time to be at each other's throats! I have not the warriors to defend the entire city while your golden-clad shits all cower around the vault. So long as he keeps the southern dogs to himself then they are of no concern to us."

Erik looked between the two of them, the Red Jarl and the Bold. He chewed on his bottom lip, his fists opening and closing as he considered the obstacles presented before him. His blue gaze shifted to the Knight army waiting outside the walls, one large enough to rival his own, so long as he had the other's support to help take the brunt of the hammer blow that would soon fall upon the city.

"What brothers you two have become," Erik said with a bitter smile. "Your thin luck holds today, Herleif. I still have need of you and your warriors for now, but mark my words, the Lion Flame have outlived their usefulness. Their deaths are foretold in my Shaman's runes. What little time they have left in this realm ends once we have dealt with the dregs of Ashfeld and Rome." With a snap of his fingers, the shining warriors of Erik's host were called off as the king finally made for the vault without looking back. "Keep your swine then, Tundra Tusk jarl. The world will not soon forget that it is in your warm embrace that traitors and schemers will always find a home."

Herleif gritted his teeth at the insults hurled his way. The Sea Eagle warriors all turned their backs on him as they followed after their king, and he wished that it did not spark such flames of anger in him as it did. He had never asked to be honored as a great warrior during his time as jarl, only to be recognized as a man who loved his family and was proud of his hold. Instead, he was being belittled again and again by men who seemed to delight in declaring themselves his betters. Their raid was nothing but a curse to him, and now his hope of returning home with his promised share of the treasure and newly gained allies was growing thinner by the moment.

Once the king was gone, only a few of his warriors remained to stand guard on the wall, so great was Erik's paranoia over the vault that remained locked to him. However, his champion stayed behind as if to safeguard Erik's escape. Old Wolf glared at anyone who dared move, but his gaze soon came to rest on the lone Valkyrie on the wall. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the grip of his tall claymore, and he whispered a curse under his breath. "Bana-bhuidseach shalach..."

Skuld stamped her white spear once against the stones beneath their feet, and it struck a sharp ring that froze the blood of every man present who heard its divine call. She took a bold step forward, and Old Wolf took a hesitant step back. Too late did he realize what he had done, and in a desperate attempt to save face, he spat at the Valkyrie's feet before tucking tail to run off after his master.

Herleif shook his head and gave Skuld a curious look, but she gave no sign that she noticed. She only stared after the Highlander, like a hawk observing a mouse running through the grass. Herleif patted her arm to thank the corpse maiden for her support, then moved to join Ivar, who was still looking out over the wall. "Again, I find myself backed into a corner," he said quietly, coming to Ivar's side, "and again, I find you coming to my aid in the end."

"We don't need to talk about it. Makes my stomach all queasy," grumbled Ivar.

"Erik will not forgive me for this insult, but we have no choice but to fight together if we want any hope of escape."

"Normally, I'd tell you to go fuck yourself, but given the circumstances..." His dark eyes squinted out at the camp, which seemed to grow in size by the moment. Even now, the last remnants of the Council's legions were coming into view. It was truly a terrible and mighty host of soldiers to behold.

Herleif sighed and nodded. "I would not pay you further insult by asking for your help again when Erik moves against me..."

"So don't," Ivar answered. Herleif eyed him curiously, but his rival turned oath-brother did not illuminate any further. "What happens now?"

"Now?" said Herleif. "Now we wait to see what they throw at us. Keep the gate burning and defend the walls until we impress the gods enough to earn our escape, or find ourselves carried off to Valhǫll by the end of the week."

"Eh, been wanting to get to know your Valkyrie a bit better anyway," Ivar grinned.

Herleif couldn't help but chuckle, knowing full well how Skuld would react to such a proposition. A chance to laugh was precious in such dark times, but as always, it didn't last. "There is one more thing we must deal with before all is settled here," he frowned.

"What's that?"

Herleif thumped Ivar on the shoulder before he turned to head back down the wall to the burning gate. "We have a traitor to deal with."