The sound of blasting trumpets filled Herleif's ears as he stepped outside. Erik's guards gave him dark looks as he strode across the courtyard to the prison's outer wall, but he had come with enough warriors for them not to ask too many questions, and they were clearly troubled by the rising noise rolling over the city. Herleif moved with purpose, keeping his eyes fixed ahead as he tried to ignore the pain in his heart. Priscilla's words still echoed in his head. The way she tore Gunnar down after he had pined for her so openly and how she had laid Herleif's failings bare without shame.
His fingers twitched with the feeling of her throat beneath them, and he grabbed hold of his sword just to keep his hands from shaking. Rage boiled within him and threatened to burst forth, but he held himself in check for the sole purpose of not losing face in front of his warriors more than he already had. Skuld and the others walked ahead of him away from the prison, and Ragnar and Helge gave him backward glances over their shoulders as they went while Ragna led the pack. Their worried faces only reminded him that his hirð was now incomplete with Gunnar's absence.
The city was quiet, seemingly half-dead already, as Herleif led his warriors to the walls. The sound of trumpets was heard loud and clear coming from the Ashfeld encampment outside. Skuld had come to inform him of an impending attack, and though he had been ready to rid himself of the troublesome Peacekeeper once and for all, he could not ignore the threat building against him. Skuld also brought news of more than just the coming Knights army as well, and her few words weighed heavy on his already weary mind.
Dozens of Northmen crowded the city streets as the western wall rose above the rooftops, moving weapons and equipment as the trumpets grew louder. Herleif pushed his way through them to the stairs and scaled them quickly until he stood on the ramparts that overlooked the battle plain. The sun was getting low in the sky, but the burning gatehouse still blazed like a beacon against the approaching night. Out beyond the wall, the shining metal helmets and spears gathered in their thousands to begin the march. The sight of so many Knights and soldiers together in one spot was enough to put the fear of death in any man's heart, but the true terror was the six siege towers that stood as black columns against the horizon.
Herleif sucked in a breath and held it as he regarded the army before him. It was an army great enough to rival the horde now holding the city. The battle to come would no doubt be even greater than the siege against the Divine Pyre, and his heart grew heavy to think of it. A small part of him still yearned for the heroic glory that Gunnar had spoken of in the prison, of the mighty deeds that would deliver him to the shining doors of the Spear Hall, but knowing the truth of what had brought this war to fruition in the first place, he wanted nothing more than to wash his hands of all of it and return home.
That may never happen now, and he had his brother and the woman who had stolen him to thank for it.
He put his fists to the parapet and spoke to the warriors around him. "What happened?"
A Raider that Herleif recognized as one of his hersir, a commander of warriors from one of the villages of his hold, stepped forward. They had a split lip that they touched at with their tongue as a thin line of blood trickled into their beard. The hersir looked down for a moment, seemingly embarrassed, as Herleif waited for a reply.
"Erik's men came upon us without warning," said the Raider. "We thought perhaps they had come to reinforce the walls as the enemy gathered their forces, but I should have known that would be like expecting a wolf to sit for dinner."
Herleif chuckled at that. His anger still raged within him, but the hersir was not to blame. He would save his wrath for the people who deserved it.
"They attacked like lighting. Pushed in and grabbed the Lion Flame, then were gone before we knew what was going on. I beg your pardon for this failure, my jarl. I gave chase as the vermin fled back to the vault, but the sound of the trumpets drew me and my warriors back to the walls."
The gathered Vikings all grumbled their curses and dark oaths of revenge. Herleif glanced around and saw that a few others had suffered minor wounds in the scuffle with the Sea Eagle warriors. A bruised cheek here, a black eye there. Herleif hoped they had given as good as they got, but it didn't matter much now. The soldiers of the Lion Flame were nowhere to be seen, and Lady Judith was clearly absent from command. It burned Herleif to know they had been taken while he was distracted with Priscilla and her pet Conqueror, but he could not say he was surprised.
He nodded his head and put a hand on the Raider's shoulder. "You did well. If the wolves have been invited for dinner, then we should have expected them to bite at our hand." A small sigh escaped his lips as he made up his mind on what to do next. "Pull everyone off of the walls."
The Raider blinked in surprise, then glanced out at the Ashfeld legions and back. "My lord?"
"That is my order," Herleif said more sternly. "Spread word for every warrior of Bilrost to gather at my banner. The servants of the king will fight an altogether different battle this day... " The hersir and warriors around him still looked unsure, so Herleif made sure they understood. "Give the order!"
Everyone jumped to action at his command. Northern horns rang in opposition to the clear trumpets out on the plain, but rather than standing their ground, the Vikings of Bilrost silently made their way off the wall and through the city streets. Tired eyes watched them from shrouded buildings as the remnants of the volcano cult hid in the shadows. It seemed that everyone was holding their breath, whether they be a defiant warrior or a desperate survivor. So long as the cultists stayed out of sight and out of mind, they might endure, but the quiet prayers to their God or the silent mountain they still clung to were scattered before the march of the Viking warband.
Herleif stood beneath his standard as he had promised, waiting for his warriors before a statue of a tall woman dressed in robes with wings sprouting from their back. In one hand, the stone angel held a long sword, and in the other, a large tablet proclaiming the dominion of the Christian Lord over the land. As far as Herleif was concerned, he no longer bowed to any lord or king. What he was about to do was seen as unforgivable in the sight of his people, but he had been left with no choice. If he yielded to Erik now, just as he had every time the Golden King had stripped him of power piece by piece, he would surely never be worthy again of entering Óðinn's hall.
It filled him with bitterness to think he might be called an oathbreaker, just like his brother. The hypocrisy burned him like a brand that stoked his anger, but he knew in the depths of his heart that Erik was not worth following as a fellow Viking or king. He never had been.
Death would be his reward if he should fail, or he might be outlawed if Erik wished to see him suffer. He was putting his family in danger with his defiance, but he could do nothing to help them if he was killed with the rest of his warriors by the Knights as Erik simply stood back and watched. The path before him was fraught with risks, but no man of worth was ever promised an easy life on the road to meet his fate.
Skuld stood with him before the winged statue, her golden helmet set ablaze with the reflection of the gatehouse nearby. Behind Herleif stood Ragnar, Ragna, and Helge; the trio standing proudly with him now that he was a jarl who no longer cowered in his hall and kept his warriors from the fight like chained dogs. Together, they stood above the gathered Northmen, and Herleif gripped his trust shield in his left hand and held the familiar weight of Sólareldur in the other. The image of holding the sharp blade to his brother's throat and then Priscilla's flashed briefly in his mind, but he forced the memory away and lifted his chin at the great host of warriors standing before him.
"The Knights of Ashfeld have brought their legions against us!" he began in a strong, clear voice. "They have planned this attack since the first days we set sail from our home. Deceit and treachery have led us to this moment. To this great and terrible doom! And worse yet, I have learned from our deceiver that the missing key that would grant us entry to the treasure we have sought has been destroyed!"
The crowd before him surged with movement as the warriors cried out in despair and outrage. Men grumbled angrily together as women pulled at their hair, and their growing anger radiated toward Herleif like the fires that blocked the city gate against their attackers. Herleif weathered their judgment like a cliff face against a raging sea; he lifted his sword to command silence again.
"I have no more patience for wise words and keeping my sword clean of blood. I know now what it means to be betrayed by a brother. To be failed by someone who I put my whole heart into! The Allfather seeks brave men and women to fill his battle-hall, but he does not suffer fools lightly, and I have been such a fool these many past years... All my life, I have lived by a simple code. Duty, honor, and strength. These are the virtues I hold dear whether I dwell with family in Bilrost or I take to the battlefield seeking the glory that will see us all brought before the High One beneath the spear laden rafters of Valhǫll. These are the words by which I hold the mighty title of Warlord! The words by which you put your faith in me as Jarl!"
He lifted his shield into the air, the battle-scarred circle of wood and metal that had been with him since his first days in the training circle and would remain until the day of his last breath. His warriors cheered and beat their weapons against shields of their own. Then Herleif turned over his shoulder to the three warriors who stood with him even after he had dishonored with years absent of glory in his hall.
Ragnar, Ragna, and Helge all looked back at him with hope and belief burning in their eyes. He did not know if he was worthy of such loyalty after all he had lost, but to see that they remained at his side filled his heart with pride. He only wished that the same could be said for Gunnar, but that was a road he was not yet ready to walk down.
"Duty, honor, and strength," he said to them quietly before he turned back to his warband and shouted so that his voice echoed through the air like a battle drum. "To be a Warlord means service to all who need it! That is the oath I made when I picked up this sword and shield! I made an oath, not to a king whose tongue is swayed by Loki and in whose mind lies the cunning of a wolf, but to all of you, and to Lady Judith and her Knights! I made an oath to those who have fought beside us! Bled beside us! Died for a cause far greater than serving the legend of a troll hearted bastard! I no longer fight for the promise of riches and plunder like the buzzards who surround the Golden King waiting to pick this city clean of treasure, but nor will I sit and await my fate growing old and weak before the hearth because it is an easy comfort! Today I will fight for those who would do the same for me! Who would fight so that I may one day see my wife and children again! I fight for those people who may have once been my enemy but who I would gladly embrace now as my own kin! For I tell you all, it is the Lion Flame, not Erik Golden-Shield, who has honored me as a man of worth! Now I will do the same for them!"
The Bilrost warriors erupted into cheers and cries for blood. They lifted their spears and axes to shake in the air, threw back their heads, and howled their fury to the smoke-filled sky. They chanted Herleif's name and proclaimed him as jarl, calling for Erik's death. No one shouted louder than the Berserker twins and the wild Shaman at Herleif's back. Only the Valkyrie remained silent, but Skuld slowly nodded her head, bestowing the favor of the Æsir as the crowd surged before her.
Herleif let the clamor wash over him. He took a deep breath that swelled in his chest and put all thought of his brother and broken oaths from his mind. The legions of Ashfeld could come against the walls in their thousands, but he would not go to meet his fate as a meek dog broken at the feet of an unworthy king. If he would die never seeing his family again, then he would leave behind a saga that would make them all as proud as he felt standing before his warband at that moment.
"A good man honors those who fight beside him bravely in the shield wall, and a good man always has something worth living for! And for those who still whisper the word 'coward' behind my back as if you are safe from my hand, I only have one question..." Raising his sword, Herleif bared his teeth and grinned. "Who among you wishes to impress the gods with me this day?"
The warriors of Bilrost shouted back their answer.
"Death to Golden-shield!" they chanted.
"For the Lion Flame!" they called.
"We stand with you!" they exclaimed.
Herleif sighed with relief. Perhaps he did hold the god's favor after all. Still, it never hurt to nudge the odds in his favor with the help of one who had the ear of the Ásagrimmr.
"I would not dare ask that you stand with me in this," he said to Skuld as the warband continued to cheer, "but if you believe this is a fight worthy of pleasing great Óðinn, then I would only ask that you honor us by leading the way, brave Valkyrie."
Skuld looked at him sideways from beneath her golden helmet. She remained silent, her storm-filled eyes fixing Herleif in place as he awaited her divine judgment. The seax remained sheathed above her groin, unused and clean, but now Herleif knew it was a matter to be settled by Skuld's own wisdom and at a time of her choosing, not his. Then she stepped forward and clapped her silver spear and bright shield together before the raging Northmen.
"Victory or Valhǫll!" she shouted louder than Herleif would have thought possible, much to the adulation of the crowd.
Then, with the gleam of a Valkyrie's spear leading the way and Bilrost banners flying in the air, the streets of the Walled City shook with the trampling of boots and the howls of blood-mad Vikings on their way to show the Golden King that true honor could not be bought at any price. Herleif beat Sólareldur against his shield to the rhythm of the warband that followed him. Ragnar marched beside him with axes in hand, and on the other, Ragna and Helge stalked with grim smiles upon their lips and the glint of violence in their eyes. They marched without purpose and without fear, and as the vault tower soon appeared before them, surrounded by the shine of golden helmets and steel spears, the sound of the marching legions grew louder from behind the city walls.
Herleif gave no thought for enemy legions or deceitful traitors as he called for a halt of his warriors before the tower. Shields locked together, and spears were lowered on both sides, Bilrost against Sea Eagle. The day grew quiet as the two armies stood against each other in the crowded streets while the true enemy advanced unchecked outside.
Dark eyes peered from beneath helmets and over shield rims. Suspicion and hate simmered in the air beneath the failing sun, and always, the shroud of smoke from the gatehouse choked their lungs like death slowly creeping forth to strangle the northern invaders within the conquered city.
As Herleif stood in line with the shieldbearers beside him, he looked over the helmets of the Sea Eagle warriors and up the steps to the vault entrance, gritting his teeth at what he saw.
There, forced down onto their knees and lined up in a row with their hands bound behind their backs, were all that was left of the Lion Flame Legion – a far cry from the great legion they had once been standing against Viking raids from the north. Those who remained looked battered and beaten, with many stripped of their armor. Despite whatever deal Priscilla had claimed to make to save the renegade legion, it seemed that their luck had finally run out.
Thankfully, Judith and Marcelo, along with most of the Knights, still lived. They were knelt at the end of the line, hair matted with blood and bruises blemishing their faces, but they were alive. Herleif caught Judith's eye and gave her a reassuring nod, but if she was at all happy to see him, she didn't show it. Instead, she gave a sad look down the line of her dwindling legion. It seemed that the executions had begun with the soldiers, no doubt with the intent of making Judith suffer as she watched every man and woman under her command killed before she joined them in the afterlife.
Two headless bodies were already slumped forward at the end of the line. Old Wolf stood above them, leaning on his blood-stained claymore as he regarded the Bilrost warriors gathered before his master's warband with a frown. Just behind him, the Shaman, Thyra, stood cradling one of the severed heads and drumming her painted fingers over the pale scalp as blood ran down her arm.
Herleif was far from pleased to see either of the king's servants, much less the entire Sea Eagle clan, standing against him, but he remained silent until the man he sought revealed himself. He did not have to wait long.
"What is the meaning of this!?" shouted Erik as he emerged from the vault with Magnús and his hirðmen following behind.
Refusing to cower behind a host of shields and spears as the king did, Herleif pushed his way from the shield wall to stand out in the open between the two opposing armies.
"I have come to take back the Lion Flame, Erik!" he shouted with his sword pointed at the king. "You have no claim to them! That you would dare attack my warriors unaware is an act of cowardice that cannot be overlooked! They were promised to me in return for my loyalty, and with this act of treachery I declare you to be an oathbreaker! From this day forward the Jarl of Bilrost will bow to you as king no longer!"
"An oathbreaker-?" Erik hissed. His face paled against his blonde beard, and his eyes went wide as if Herleif's declaration had just strode up the steps and slapped him across the face. "You dare call me an oathbreaker? You!?"
He strode forward and drew his shimmering sword in a flash. Coming up behind a panting Warden with a black eye, Erik thrust his blade through the Knight's neck so that it burst from his throat, dripping blood. Just as quickly, he drew it back again, sending the Warden toppling forward and gurgling as he died. Judith's eyes flashed with horror and fury as she bared her teeth while Marcelo woefully hung his head and began to pray. Herleif willed the commander to remain quiet as he cursed under his breath, and thankfully, she did. Erik kicked the Warden's body down the stairs to be lost among his warriors and held his bloody sword aloft.
"They are nothing but worthless Knights!" he shouted. "You arrogant, spineless, pathetic shit! You are not fit to lick the dirt from my boots, and you call me an oathbreaker? After all I have given you! This raid... The chance to lay claim to this vast treasure... Without me, your pathetic hold would be worth less than piss to wet the dirt of pig pens! I will take all you have along with this great hoard when I am done here, mark my words, Herleif! My word is golden! I will burn your hall to the ground with your family inside and build upon the ashes a kingdom of gold while your body is left here in the wastes, rotting beneath the sun!"
For a moment, the familiar anger at hearing his family threatened rose within Herleif, but he let it pass. Erik's spiteful words were not worth spit, let alone gold, and Herleif would not trouble himself over a man he would sooner kill than fear. He had no intention of allowing any harm to befall his family, and for that reason alone, he would fight. As for the treasure held within the vault, he supposed Erik had not earned the truth of the second key through any act of loyalty or respect to him.
"The treasure is no longer of any concern to me," Herleif said with a small smile. Erik's brows furrowed beneath his golden helmet, and Herleif allowed himself the briefest sense of satisfaction to witness it. Then he licked his lips and spoke to all present, not just the Golden King.
"Erik Golden-Shield has shown himself to be nothing more than an oathbreaker and a man of insurmountable greed! To him, the whole world is his treasure hoard, and not a speck of gold-dust is meant for any other man who only wishes to prove their worth. He is a man who bestows gifts and expects repayment. He offers glory and demands submission. Promises prosperity and forces only sacrifice! His golden words are lies and from his mouth spills nothing but piss and shit when he speaks! His hall is filled with nameless men who fight for scraps off his table and discard their honor out in the cold!"
The Sea Eagle warriors shuffled and chafed to hear such words spoken so openly. Looks of uncertainty flickered among their golden rows, unused to such disrespect before their warlord and king. If they had been better men, perhaps they would not have shrunk back at the truth ringing in their ears, but it was not so. Instead, the warriors of Bilrost grew all the more emboldened and began to beat their swords and axes against their shield wall to urge their jarl on.
Herleif began to pace between the two warbands, stalking like a hungry wolf catching the scent of blood in the air.
"His champion is nothing but a broken dog! A man crippled by drink and weathered by old age rather than hard battles! A man bought and sold by oaths that brought no benefit to his kin! He remains nameless, for his master does not deem his hounds to have names! His only purpose is to kill and obey, all for the glory of a man who thinks himself greater than the Æsir!"
Old Wolf snarled from the top of the steps and lifted his claymore upon his great shoulder. He took a step forward but then stopped, looking past Herleif now rather than at him. The Highlander's anger fell away in an instant, replaced by measured fear, and Herleif looked over his shoulder to see that Skuld had appeared at his side from the shield wall.
Having the presence of a Valkyrie by his side only urged Herleif to continue with his mad tirade. "His Shaman holds a lust for blood greater than his own lust for gold! A vicious, conniving, wretched creature. That he would keep her at his side at all only shows him for the monster he truly is. A man who would devour his neighbor like a troll if it meant claiming their wealth and land for his own!"
Thyra watched Herleif through narrowed eyes, but she smiled as if she were almost flattered by his declaration rather than insulted. She had stopped drumming her fingers upon the severed head in her arms and was instead gently caressing the handle of the curved knife at her hip.
Herleif turned his gaze on Magnús next.
"And his son is a mindless savage unfit for the halls of men! He wears kindness as a cloak just so he may get close enough to bite at your neck! He is a wolfpup adorned in treasures he did not earn, proclaiming boasts bought by the blood of his father's men! He would use his father's hall as a barn to sleep with the beasts he is kin with, should it ever come under his reign. Any army of his would be worse than a pack of wild goats bleating endlessly across the land, seeking nothing but their own destruction at the hands of any foe with a child's sense to outwit them. If only he had been raised knowing a father's love instead of contempt, then perhaps he would stand before us a man of honor rather than a danger to all those around him!"
Magnús stood in his father's shadow near the entrance to the vault, frowning and fidgeting as if he did not fully understand Herleif's words. His fingers twitched and hovered near his golden axes while his eyes flicked back and forth between Erik and the Bilrost warriors gathered against them. Slowly, he began to creep forward, a snarl appearing on his lips as his gaze finally became fixed on Herleif with deadly intent.
Silence fell over the square, and it was only then that Erik, who had suffered through each insult with a growing fury so that his body shook and he gripped his sword knuckle-white, spat his wrath through clenched teeth when he finally spoke again. "Old Wolf... Bring me this cretin's head."
Herleif smiled and lifted his shield as Old Wolf swallowed his fear and spared Skuld one more weary glance before stepping down the stairs. Then, with a flash of gold moving through the Sea Eagle warriors, Magnús dashed out into the open with his axes drawn.
"I will kill him, Father!" cried Magnús. He gave a great roar, spittle flying from his mouth like a rabid wolf, and leaped at Herleif, his axes raised and ready to strike.
"No! You stupid boy!" Erik exclaimed as his warriors failed to stop his son from attacking.
Herleif stood his ground as Magnús descended upon him and presented a clear target in the air. Then, at the last moment, he hefted his shield and stepped to the side. The golden axes swung at nothing as Magnús landed, and a second later, the sharp crack of Herleif's shield striking across the Berserker's face filled the square.
Magnús dropped with a painful whine, losing both of his axes as he fell. He toppled and rolled in a cloud of dust, and before he could rise again, Herleif knelt down and slammed the rim of his shield on Magnús' neck to keep him pinned. The sound of metal on metal filled the air as Herleif's sword slid against his shield until the point came to rest just behind Magnús' ear, and there it remained.
"What do you say to a trade, Erik?" Herleif called to the king. "A prince for a bunch of useless Knights? I would say you come out the greater man in that bargain..." Behind him, the warriors of Bilrost began to laugh and whoop at Erik's sudden misfortune.
Erik seethed with barely controlled anger where he stood, waving his sword about as if he intended to kill each member of the Lion Flame himself, even if it meant staining his precious golden ornaments and armor with their blood.
"My army still outnumbers your own!" cried Erik. "Have you forgotten!? Do you think yourself so noble that I might somehow fail at slaughtering your entire warband as if it would cost me anything!?"
If it came to a fight, Herleif would not back down as he had before. Between the Knights outside the walls and Erik's warriors filling the square, he would gladly take the chance to claim the king's head, even if he was outnumbered. He could see how Erik's warriors shared wary looks and small dark glares back at their benevolent king as he dismissed their worth so easily, and that was enough to give him hope. Still, he would rather take the trade if he could, and so he kept up the pressure on Magnús' neck with his shield to keep the young warrior still.
He had to make Erik yield here and now. There was no way he could take on the Knights knowing that Erik's blade might stab him in the back at any moment...
Herleif froze, his sword pressing just a bit too hard on Magnús' neck to draw forth a gasp. He turned over his shoulder and found Helge watching him from behind a blue shield. They stared at each other for a quiet moment, then Herleif grinned and cursed himself for being such a foolish old man.
"That may be so," he said with a small laugh, "but if you kill us all here, who will man the walls and fight this battle for you? Your own warriors?" He laughed again, louder this time, genuinely finding humor at the thought. "I see the way they skitter behind their shields in such clean armor. When was the last time any of these soft-bellied louts did any real fighting? I am sure the tinmen outside will be happy to put these golden shits to the test!"
Erik's face slowly fell as he seemed to regard the Bilrost host gathered before him. It seemed that in his vanity and anger at being so openly challenged, he had not realized what Herleif's arrival with so many warriors truly meant for the safety of the city and the odds of any of them surviving to see another day.
"You mad fuck..." Erik said quietly, with a glimpse of genuine fear shining in his eyes. "Go back to the walls! Go back now, I command you!"
"You will command me to do nothing! Not now, and not ever again! But give me the Lion Flame and I will release your son and return to the walls with my warriors. We need not die this day for our petty squabbles. For once in your life, Erik, think of what might benefit us all rather than just yourself!"
The Golden King remained silent as his warriors waited for his order. Then Thyra stepped over to her lord and whispered in his ear. Erik's eyes fell on his son as he listened, and his gaze turned dark; then he glared over to where Judith knelt and clenched his fingers around the grip of his sword. He pushed Thyra away and took a step toward the commander, and Herleif felt his heart drop in his chest as he thought he had overplayed his hand. Then, shouts and horns blasted from where Ivar's forces were stationed on the western wall, filled the square, and clear trumpets rang loudly through the smoke-filled sky.
Everyone looked up in a panic to know that the attack was at hand, but none more so than Erik as he believed, perhaps for the first time, that he might never see the treasure that was owed to him. The king froze where he stood and looked up toward the sky as the sound of horns continued to echo around them before he looked back at Herleif with uncertainty before he regained his royal composure.
"Herleif the Bold," he laughed to himself. "Cunning, Herleif. Wickedly cunning... Old Wolf, hand over the prisoners."
Old Wolf gave an unsure frown, but ultimately, he handed over his claymore to a guard and began going down the line of Lion Flame soldiers and pulling them to their feet. Thyra, however, seemed less than pleased to see that her newest sacrifices might walk free.
"But my king, surely we cannot yield to this- Ack!" she gasped as Erik grabbed her by the throat and tossed her away.
"Make the trade and bring me my son!" Erik growled, then pointed his sword at Herleif as Judith and her Knights were being led down the stairs. "And you will take your warriors back to the walls without delay! I am still king here! Be gone from my sight and make yourself useful before I change my mind!"
Herleif did not release Magnús until Judith was down the steps with her soldiers and Knights. She held her pointed chin high as she walked among the yellow shields of the warriors around her, but her face was paler than usual, and she walked with a slight limp. Magnús grunted and huffed, clearly wishing he could fight on, but Herleif kept his sword pointed at the base of his skull as he got to his feet. Ragnar and Ragna stepped forward to grab hold of Magnús as soon as Herleif was clear, and the king's son instantly began to thrash and snarl between them. Ragnar delivered a swift headbutt to subdue him, and together with his sister, they delivered the dazed prince over to Old Wolf, who hefted the young man like a sack of flour over his shoulder.
Judith stared straight ahead as she crossed the square until she finally made it to Herleif's side. She faltered then, exhaustion and the despair of having to leave her dead behind finally taking hold, but luckily, Herleif was there to support her.
"Would you allow me to thank God for your coming?" she whispered as she grabbed hold of his arm.
"Just this once," Herleif whispered back with a small smile. "Besides, I think we will need all the help we can get to make it back to the walls in time."
Judith offered him her own grim smile and nodded. She looked back to Marcelo, who was following behind her, and ushered him and the rest of her Knights into the protection of the Bilrost shield wall. Helge was there to greet Marcelo, allowing him to fall into her arms as Ragnar and Ragna rushed back to join them. Judith made sure that everyone still alive was accounted for before she looked at Herleif again.
"I am in your debt yet again." Then, her tired expression became clouded with concern. "What news of Priscilla?"
"Nothing good, but I have her and the Conqueror held in the city prison. Gunnar as well," Herleif said with a frown.
Judith opened her mouth to say more but then closed it and simply nodded. She gently squeezed his arm and left to join her Knights. Herleif watched until the shield wall closed again behind her, then looked back to the vault tower and the Sea Eagle warriors who remained behind their shields.
At the top of the stairs, Erik remained with the three bodies of the Lion Flame soldiers while Old Wolf and Thyra retreated into the vault with Magnús. Still holding his bloody sword, Erik glared at Herleif with a wrath greater than that of a jǫtunn. He might give the order to attack at any moment, but Herleif hoped he would hold onto their shaky truce long enough for him to be away. Perhaps it would have been better to challenge the king to a duel right then, but he had what he came for, and now they had a chance to make it back to the walls and deal with the approaching legions.
Herleif decided not to test Erik any further, lest his luck with the gods run out as it nearly had for the Lion Flame. The Allfather did not suffer fools lightly, as he had said.
"Back," he said to his warriors with a wave of his hand. "Back to the walls, now!"
He did not take his eyes off of Erik until he heard the clattering of shields and the departure of his warriors as they made their way down the streets. The feeling of Erik's eyes boring holes in him sent shivers through Herleif as he went after them, but he refused to look back. He would not give Erik the satisfaction.
Much like his last words to Priscilla before he left her in the gloomy dark of her cell, he had a feeling that this matter was far from finished. First, though, he would show the legions of Ashfeld that the title of Warlord was earned, not given. Not even Erik would dare make that sort of boast.