The world had descended into madness. Knights of Ashfeld were pouring over the walls, laying siege to their own city, and Judith was doing everything in her limited power to stop them.
As if that wasn't mad enough, she did so fighting alongside a horde of Vikings, the very same heathens whose summer raids and invading armies she had spent years fighting against with her legion. Now, she had helped lead these same Northmen into Ashfeld after the fall and fought alongside them to reclaim the Walled City and liberate her homeland from the tyranny of the Divine Pyre. She had willfully broken her oath in order to safeguard the realm's future from the cultists, but now her two worlds, the old and the new, were colliding together in calamity.
Another wave of arrows flew over the walls, nearly invisible against the black smoke but for the whistle of their approach. Men ducked behind shields as quickly as possible, but some were not fast enough. Judith picked up a fallen shield and held it above her head just as the deathly rain fell upon her, determined to lead and protect until her very last breath.
"Return volley!" she shouted into the whipping wind.
Those archers who still had arrows left to fill their quivers broke from their cover to follow her command. The fact that she was born of Ashfeld and they of Valkenheim did not slow the snap of their bowstrings.
Another ladder appeared on the wall, and Judith rushed forward to meet it. With a mighty cry, she punched the shield into the face of the first Knight to try and make the wall, just as she'd seen Herleif do a dozen times before. The Knight howled in pain as they fell from the ladder's peak, but the shield slipped from her grasp and fell with them. It was an embarrassment, to be sure, but she was glad the Bilrost Jarl was not there to witness. She cleaved at the next soldier to rise with her longsword, and an instant later, Lion Flame soldiers appeared at her side to push the ladder away with pikes, and not for the first time that day, Judith made a silent prayer to God for the soul of every man who fell with it.
Another ladder down; so many more left to contend with.
"Commander!" called Marcelo from nearby. Judith barely heard over the clamor of steel against steel, but the desperation in Marcelo's voice still made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
She looked to see Marcelo and others of her dwindling legion fighting man-to-man with their attackers. The section of the wall that Herleif had charged her to protect was far from secure, but they were holding their own for now. However, amid the fighting, a legion standard was being hastily risen into the air. A red eagle on a white flag, the standard of the Sons of Westhold, would no doubt act as a rallying point for every Knight attacking the wall if it remained standing.
"Bring that banner down!" she ordered. Shouldering her way through the press, Judith charged right for the waving flag, ignoring the flash of weapons and arrows falling around her.
A trumpet blew nearby to rally her soldiers, and Judith was almost surprised to realize that she still had a trumpeter willing to do their duty. The Lion Flame ran after her at the resounding call, meeting the attackers in a crash of armor and blades.
Judith tore through a Westhold soldier who came at her with sword and shield, then crossed blades with another Warden who cut at her sideways. She blocked the attack, rushed forward to grab her enemy, and threw them aside. Marcelo was waiting as they tumbled, grabbing the crimson blade of his longsword and hammering the hilt through the Warden's helmet. Judith pressed on, breathless and desperate, as the fighting closed in around her. The Westhold banner stood tall in stark opposition to all of her efforts, and she forced down any sense of guilt as she raised her sword against her own people to claim it.
There was no time to rationalize any of it. Lines had been drawn in the sand that could never again be crossed. Sacred oaths had been broken, and all sense of loyalty tossed aside. It was all madness, but it was the path God had put her on, and she would not falter now.
A Lawbringer stepped in front of her just as she got close to the Westhold bannermen who stood upon the wall. Clad fully in bronze armor, the Lawbringer cleaved down at her with his poleaxe, the sharp blade swiping through the air after her as she dodged clear. She threw herself at him next with all her weight, slamming her shoulder into his side in the hope of taking him off his feet, but her foe braced his stance and remained firmly standing.
An instant later, the Lawbringer grabbed her by a pauldron and tossed her away like she weighed nothing at all. Judith gave a sharp cry as she stumbled backward, kept upright only by the soldiers pressed tight around her, but that didn't save her from the Lawbringer's polearm as it slammed into her gut. For one terrifying moment, Judith felt her feet leave the ground as the Lawbringer attempted to lift her up and toss her like a child's doll into the forest of sharp steel around them, but an iron spear suddenly thrust beneath the Lawbringer's helmet to take him in the neck. A cluster of Vikings and Lion Flame soldiers descended upon the Lawbringer next, stabbing and hacking as he fell, showing that even lesser-trained warriors could still be deadly in numbers.
Judith dropped back against heaving shoulders and sturdy shields as the moment of terror passed by. She was winded but alive. Growling a curse to scorn every man, woman, and beast given breath by the Almighty, she rushed forward again into the fray. Another banner was being risen next to the first, a black flag with a red eagle, but with a swift cut of her blood-stained sword, Judith struck down the bannermen of her enemy and showed no mercy.
All of her life up until that point had been spent in the service to her legion and protecting the realm of Ashfeld. Now, she coated herself in the blood of her countrymen, striking down the very Knights she would have stood beside against any Viking horde before they killed her first.
Bodies fell before her blade like wheat for the harvest, and together with the soldiers under her command, they cried out in defiance of the Westhold banners, tearing them down one after the other in a frenzy of destruction and battle-fueled rage. Running to the parapet, Judith lifted the white banner clutched in her metal fist and shouted to the gathered legions amassed before her without fear of falling arrows or rising ladders.
"No tyrants!" she cried over the battle din, shaking the captured flag in her hand. "No tyrants! No false prophets! No voice greater than God's!" She took the Westhold banner and threw it into the air, where it was picked up by a hot gust of wind and carried over the dust and swarming formations of the legions below. "Come at us, you slavering dogs! Come and break your blades against our shields! We will never yield!"
Smoke rolled overhead from the flames engulfing the gate and siege towers, blanketing the land in a dark shroud of doom that only a few gleaming sun rays broke through. But, as Judith spoke, openly condemning the legions of Ashfeld as she had wished to do before the fall, darkness descended upon the whole of the mountainside. The boom of thunder rolled somewhere far in the distance, and a cold wind picked up in the west, harrying the flames and casting demonic shadows upon the mountain as a looming storm slowly rolled in.
Standing before an army of steel and a sea of smoke and flames, Judith De Lareux, commander of the disgraced Lion Flame Legion, refused to cower before any threat of man's weapons or God's mighty wrath.
"Oaths be damned, it is with the heathens that we have saved our homeland and done what you could not! What you would not! The Lord-Warden leads you in the name of nothing but his own vanity! Curse you! Curse you all! May the Lord forgive you for this unjust sin, for I swear unto Him, I will not!"
An arrow flew past her head, and another ladder rose nearby, but Judith was too furious to notice, thrusting her bloody sword into the air and roaring her anger like the lion stitched into her tabard. Then a hand grabbed her from behind, and she nearly smashed her sword hilt into the person's head before she realized it was Marcelo trying to get her behind cover.
"Get down, Commander!" Marcelo cried, desperately fighting against her burning fury.
Suddenly, all the anger flooded out of Judith, and she allowed herself to be pulled to safety by familiar arms. She fell back against Marcelo, panting for breath, and it was not until that moment she realized her head was ringing like a bell. Above them, a wall of Lion Flame and Viking shields formed a protective wall as arrows thumped against wood like heavy rain.
"Forgive me, Marcelo," she said breathlessly, patting his arm that was draped protectively around her. "I fear I was momentarily possessed, but I feel my wits have returned now."
"It needed to be said, Commander," Marcelo remarked. "Besides, it has been some time since you've given us a rousing speech."
"Mores the pity." Groaning, Judith pushed herself up, feeling her knees click and her back protest in pain as she helped Marcelo to his feet. She felt old, which was not an encouraging thought in the middle of a battle. The Knights attacking the walls would hardly stop to treat her like an aging dowager now.
Further down the wall, Viking shield bearers were being harried by a swarm of Knights and soldiers climbing up ladders that remained uncontested. Shaking off her fatigue, Judith rallied her soldiers and those among Herleif's warband who were willing to listen to her and raised her sword as her trumpeter still did his duty.
"Lion Flame! Warriors of Bilrost!" she cried bravely over the clash of weapons, roaring flames, and the screams of frightened men. "Charge!"
Soldiers dressed in red and Northmen adorned in blue and gray rushed together along the wall, following their valiant commander to meet their enemy head-on. The attacking Knights, determined fighters of Westhold, struck down the defending Vikings that stood in their path and came charging in turn. The Vikings cried dark oaths in the northern tongue as the thunder of their pagan god rumbled in the distance, but the Knights continued to scale the walls without fear. Judith led the Lion Flame straight at them, smashing into their shambling formation before they could organize and attack. The legions were trying to overwhelm the city with superior numbers, to swamp the walls with Knights and soldiers and win a quick victory over the heathens, but so long as the defenders contested the rising ladders without fail, they might yet last the day.
Lunging forward, Judith stabbed her sword over a soldier's shield and ran them through. With the ground already littered with bodies, each step was treacherous, the stones beneath their feet slick with the blood of the dead and dying. Judith sidestepped a spear thrust and nearly twisted her ankle as she slipped on a pool of gore but caught herself and slapped the spear out of the way with her longsword before slamming the cross-guard into her assailant's face. The soldier dropped with a bleeding eye while Judith cut her way forward, followed closely by Marcelo and her soldiers.
She led them to the nearest ladder, dispatching its climbers and pushing it from the wall with pikes. It was the same process all along the wall, the same screams of falling soldiers echoing beneath the dark sky. It was a game of life or death repeating over and over again until the defenders finally succumbed to the onslaught of steel or there were no more ladders to raise.
"Keep fighting!" Judith shouted hoarsely. She grabbed a soldier as they appeared over the wall and threw them down at her feet. With a quick swing of her sword, she made sure they did not rise again. "For the love of God, fight on!"
Every muscle in her body burned with the pain of war, but still, she held true to her word and fought. There were still more ladders to topple, more enemies to strike down. There was no end to any of it.
A Conqueror in golden armor and a blue tabard appeared before the defenders, followed by more blue-clad soldiers with fine swords and brightly painted shields. Judith's blood ran cold at the sight of the crest those shields bore—the crown of the Royal Legion, the Lord-Warden's very own. The Conqueror did not waste time holding back his flail, swinging the spiked head as quickly as a bird flies to strike down heathens and the Lord's followers in equal measure.
Marcelo raised his sword and charged forward to defend his fellow soldiers. His blade clanged off the Conqueror's shield, and in the next instant, the flail struck hard against the side of Marcelo's head.
Judith felt a jolt of fear pierce her heart as she watched Marcelo fall. The Conqueror stood above him, swinging their flail for a final blow, and Judith lost all sense as she threw herself fully at the Knight so that they both fell to the ground among the stomping feet. No sooner did she land on the bloody stone than a gout of hot flame rushed through the air above her to light up the ramparts. Men cried out in terror and agony, and she looked up to see some of her soldiers wielding the Pyre fire tubes against the advancing Royal Legion. She rolled and kept her head low as a burning man ran frantically through the press, and she thought to cover Marcelo with her body to guard him from the flames, but the Conqueror crawled after her, trying to smash her legs with his shield.
More flames ignited around them, filling the air with screams, but Judith had no choice but to rise and face the enemy before he wounded her. The Conqueror went on the attack as soon as he stood, lunging to throw off her balance with his shield and striking with his flail. It took every bit of Judith's concentration to anticipate and dodge as he came at her. When next she dodged clear, she made to cleave him with her sword and bring the fight to an end, but the Conqueror swung his flail in a wide arc about his head, keeping her at bay.
Judith barely had time to consider her next move before he was on her again, this time attacking with quick, violent swings of his flail from all directions. Judith could barely keep up, knocking the spiked head away with her sword when she could, but soon, the heavy blows began to catch her armor, beating her about the shoulders and nearly striking her head. Trying to back away, she merely doomed herself as she tripped over a body and fell again. Her vision swam as her head hit stone, and when her eyes focused again, she found the Conqueror standing above her with his flail already swinging.
She heard the bastard give a small laugh, and then he threw back his arm to bring the flail down onto her head.
Judith made to lift her sword in a feeble defense, but an instant later, a bare-chested Raider dashed out of the smoke and slammed into the Conqueror from behind, picking the Knight right off his feet. Judith quickly rolled out of the way as the Raider came charging like an enraged bull, and she heard the Viking laugh madly as he took the Conqueror right to the edge of the wall and tossed him over. Just like that, the Conqueror was gone in the blink of an eye.
Judith stared dumbly as the Raider lifted his axe and howled in victory, reveling in the glory he found while she made war against her own people. Then the Viking turned and looked at her, nodding his head once as he grinned. She nodded back, and then they were both away, back to the fighting. She crawled her way over to where Marcelo still lay, knocking away anyone who fought too close and grabbing him under the arm.
"Help me!" she ordered a nearby soldier, and together, they lifted Marcelo from the bloody ground to drag him toward the stairs. Judith didn't even know if he was still alive, but she would not leave him to be trampled until after the fighting to find out.
She pushed her way through the press of Vikings that surged toward the ramparts, their round shields locking to trap the attacking Knights like swine in their pens. Her own soldiers moved behind the Northmen, stabbing with spears and bringing more fire tubes to stop the flow of Royal Legion assailants that scaled the walls. Judith heard again the rush of flames as the enemy was dowsed with liquid fire, the screams of burning men chilling her blood. Just as they made the stairs, she stopped and looked back at the dancing shadows and flames as the fight went on.
"Kill them all!" she shouted, and a trumpet quickly sounded the notes for no quarter to be given. Her soldiers cheered as the enemy began to fall in droves against their terrible weaponry, and the Vikings cheered along with them simply to know there was more slaughter and glory to be enjoyed before they died.
Rushing down from the rampart, Judith sought out a place to take Marcelo for aid as the echoes of the battle rang out overhead from the walls. Viking warriors filled the streets, bringing fresh weapons or food to the walls as the attack carried on and taking their wounded away to be treated or left for dead. It was an odd sight to witness so many painted faces and warriors in barbaric armor all about her, so different from the shining mail and regal heraldry put on display in the war camps she was used to. But the Vikings moved with no less purpose or urgency as they prepared the city for the siege. War was a craft well known to them, just as it was for her own people, and though their customs might differ in many ways, their shared goal was survival.
Soon, they found a small warehouse with open doors where the wounded were being tended to. Judith and her fellow soldier led Marcelo inside, carefully stepping around the bodies already laid out and pressed together like goods waiting to be traded at market. Finding a clear spot, they laid Marcelo down and carefully removed his dented helmet, revealing the bloody gash left on the side of his head.
Judith slipped off her helmet and handed it off, then carefully swept the bloody and matted hair out of Marcelo's face. "Marcelo? Can you hear me?" she asked softly, her heart pounding in her chest while she feared that he might not.
She gently nudged his cheek, and when Marcelo gave a tired groan barely loud enough to be heard, Judith hung her head and sighed with relief. She took Marcelo's hand and squeezed, then rose to her feet and looked about until she spotted a group of women carrying water and fresh wrappings for the wounded. She stopped the last to pass by, an older woman who gave a sharp look as Judith grabbed her by the arm.
"This man needs aid," Judith said, pulling the woman closer.
"There are many who do," begrudged the nurse.
"Be silent and tend to him." Pushing the woman down beside Marcelo, Judith and her soldier stood watch to make sure their companion was seen to. The woman glared up at Judith again but then stooped to examine the young Warden's bloody head.
"The wound does not look too severe," she said. "I will clean and wrap his head, but he should be looked after as he rests. Head wounds such as this can be treacherous even after the person awakes."
"See that it is done. He is to be watched at all times," Judith said to the soldier with her, who nodded and gave a quick salute. She had to return to the wall, but her worry for Marcelo, still lying unconscious at her feet, made her departure difficult.
Looking about again, she saw that many of the wounded were indeed Vikings, but only a few Northmen and Shaman were attending them. The rest were all old women and men in simple peasants' garb, and Judith could not help but wonder for a moment where they had come from. When the realization came to her as she spotted a black rosary hanging from the nurse's belt, she quickly lifted her sword beneath the woman's chin.
"How did you come to be in this city?" Judith asked.
The nurse froze but did not take her eyes off of Marcelo, her hands still clutching the linen wrap she had been tying around his head. "I came here to worship," she answered.
"Why then, should I leave him in your care?" Judith sneered. "I should kill you now, traitor."
"The same could be said of you," said the nurse, then she hissed as Judith nudged the blade tighter against her throat. "The Knights you sought to punish are all dead or enslaved... Now, all that remains are those of us who merely sought a better life..."
"And that makes you no less responsible for the calamity your priests wrought upon our land? All the people burned because they did not fall for the wickedness you so foolishly believed?"
"There has been much wickedness in our world, and it has led to the ruin of many," spoke the woman softly. "Many still in Ashfeld might die by your wrath this day, myself among them perhaps. Kill me if you think that will put things right. I have nothing left but shame and regret, but I believed in a better world once." Slowly, she turned her head against the sword's edge and stared up at Judith with defiance shining in her eyes. "Or, you can allow me to help this poor boy."
Judith set her jaw and squeezed her fingers around the grip of her sword. It would only take a flick of her wrist to open this woman's throat and spill her blood. She would gladly do it, too. For all that she had lost, for all that had been stolen from her, she would see every one of these cultists put to the sword and not lose a moment of sleep after it was done. But none of that would help Marcelo now.
"Your better world has brought Hell upon us all," she said before sheathing her blade. The woman's look of righteous defiance did not dwindle, but Judith paid it no mind. She ordered the soldier to keep watch as she took back her helmet, and the man drew his sword to stand over the nurse as she worked. Judith took her leave without looking back.
The wind had picked up while she was inside the warehouse, causing the flames burning along the walls and gatehouse to leap higher in the air. Smoke and bodies choked the city streets, making breathing hard, but Judith returned to the ramparts alongside the Viking horde. No one took issue with a lone Warden running among their ranks as she went. They knew who their true enemy was, as did she.
Coming to the foot of the stairs at the wall, Judith stopped abruptly and stepped away from the surging horde when she spotted two unwelcome figures in the crowd.
"You!?" she snapped as Priscilla and Coal ran toward her. She did not know how or why they had escaped Herleif's imprisonment, but the sight of Priscilla holding her sword and dagger in hand was enough for Judith to raise her sword against them. "I have had my fill of traitors and liars today!"
"The world rarely offers benevolence in such matters, but I will ease your burden if that is what you seek!" Priscilla shouted over the battle raging above their heads.
Expecting a fight right there among the swarming Vikings, Judith dropped back and held her sword out before her. Priscilla, however, simply walked straight forward, her dagger and sword held at arm's length to either side as she put herself right at the tip of Judith's sword.
"Do it..." Priscilla hissed, the blade between them pressed tightly to her chest. "Do it. Do it... Do it!"
Judith flinched away, spooked by the venom spat from this girl who she had once trusted with her life. The weapons in Priscilla's hands shook as she trembled, and behind her, Coal watched silently like a somber ghost unable to intervene. Above them, raindrops began to fall from dark clouds behind the smoke, sprinkling over their armor to wash away the dust until it grew heavier and echoed like the beating of hammers.
Lowering her sword, Judith took a step back and thought of the words the nurse had said to her just moments ago. She might strike Priscilla down if she wished and would be vindicated for it, but what purpose would that serve now? The enemy was already clamoring outside the walls, and any living soul not wielding a blade or tending to the wounded might as well already be dead.
"Attend to your post, Peacekeeper," Judith said over the echo of war and rain. "Make yourself useful while there is still time."
Priscilla lowered her weapon to her side and relaxed as if she were on the verge of exhaustion. "I do not seek forgiveness..." she said quietly.
"I offer you none," Judith replied. "Only God can forgive what has transpired here, but I fear that none of us are worthy of it."
Priscilla looked at her for a quiet moment, her face incredibly sad now that she was without her dark-iron helmet. Judith's eagle-crowned helm offered her nothing in return.
Taking a hesitant step around her, Priscilla lowered her gaze and dashed up the stairs to the fight, with Coal following closely behind her. Neither one gave a salute before they went, but Judith did not care to stop them. They may all be fighting on the same side now, but sometimes, broken loyalty can never truly be mended.
Watching them go, Judith took a moment to ready herself to fight. Rain needled her helmet until it rang like a bell, and as she looked up at the rolling curtain of dark clouds and smoke, she caught sight of the gatehouse still burning bright in the gloom. The wind blew fiercely, and the rain fell harder. She hoped that whatever trick Herleif had used to safeguard the city gate would last. God help them if it did not.
"May God forgive us all," she said, then took off up the stairs to rejoin her legion.