Rain lashed at the warring armies as dark storm clouds filled the sky. Herleif did not know if this was a sign of favor from the gods or a challenge to test his resolve, but as thunder boomed overhead, he felt strength return to his arm with each swing of his sword. Dark shapes moved all about the ramparts against the background of rising flames, swarming up the walls like insects, and it was hard to see who was friend and who was foe as the battle raged on, but steel continued to flash as limbs were hewn and men were cut down like wheat. At least the rain did a good job of washing the blood away.
The fighting had been exhausting and intense, and Herleif did not know how long the Knights would continue to send their legions at the walls before they relented. He had surely lost more warriors that day than his warband could handle- warriors who had survived the first siege only to fall now to treachery and ambush -but still, he fought because there was no other choice. If he was fated to die this day, to leave his family behind for good and take his place among his ancestors in Valhǫll, then he would do so by killing as many of his enemies as he could along the way.
"Mighty Thor fights with us!" he cried to his warriors while trading blows with a Conqueror, the clap of thunder booming overhead. He was desperate to keep up morale, to feed the fighting spirit burning within every one of his warriors, lest they be snuffed out by the storm of swords and spears. "Óðinn watches over us, waiting for the bravest of us all! Show the gods what you are made of!"
Blocking a swing of the Conqueror's flail, Herleif lunged forward and threw the Knight off balance with a swift headbutt. Sólareldur followed to cut a slash in the Knight's side, but as Herleif raised his sword to end his enemy for good, Gunnar's axe fell upon the Conqueror to split them open from shoulder to hip. Blood splattered into the rain puddles at their feet, and the Ashfeld soldiers there to witness sprang back in terror, a few nearly throwing themselves back over the wall in fright.
Gunnar grabbed the butchered Knight and hurled the body to the ladders as a morbid gift for every new soldier that crested the walls. Howling his fury to the stormy sky, Gunnar charged headlong at the Knights, leaving behind the safety of Bilrost shields. With each swing of his mighty axe, men fell, blood coating his arms up to the elbows as he left a path of devastation among the attacking Knights, ignoring every new cut and bruise to his unarmored body as he fought in a blind rage.
Herleif could only watch on in wonder, never knowing his brother to fight so mindlessly before. Gunnar was surely testing fate, throwing himself at the enemy regardless of the danger. It was as if he truly wanted to die.
"After him!" Herleif cried angrily. Bilrost warriors rushed down the ramparts after Gunnar, but there was no need to save him from the dead bodies left in his wake. The jarl's brother had single-handedly pushed the Knights all the way back to their ladders, and as they took care of the soldiers left standing, they shook their weapons in the air and called out his name in adulation.
"The Bear! The Bear!" the warriors cried in unison, and for a moment, Herleif felt like he was reliving old times when he and Gunnar fought alongside each other instead of being at odds. "Glory to the Bear!"
Gunnar shattered the tops of the ladders with a hard swing of his axe, nearly taking off a Warden's head as the whole structure fell, and then he began to pace about like an agitated beast. "Where are they!?" he roared into the rain and wind. "Where are the wolves who come prowling in the night? The Bear is ready for them! My axe thirsts for their blood! Where is the enemy that can send me to Valhǫll in glory!?"
Herleif walked up to his brother as the fighting lulled and shoved him with his shield. "Control yourself! More will come," he said. Others might cheer his brother's name as the battle rage grew hot, but Herleif was not so quick to praise Gunnar as he once did. "There will always be more, you fool."
Gunnar looked at him with the madness of battle-frenzy gleaming in his eyes. His horned helmet made him look like a beast of war, a gore-painted troll standing boldly upon the ramparts as his broad shoulders rose and fell with each panting breath that smoked in the rain. His hands were knuckle-white as he gripped his bloody axe, but he spoke softly as he struggled to control himself. "Then I shall slay more of them for you, brother. However many I must."
Herleif knew that his brother was angry for all that had happened. Angry for what the Peacekeeper had tricked him into doing, for his part in getting them all trapped within this city as the Knights closed in. He did not blame Gunnar, not totally, but he would not console his brother's self-loathing until the battle was over or they were all dead.
They would face this hardship together if they intended to survive.
"Prepare yourselves!" Herleif said to his warriors, holding up his crimson blade so it shined in the firelight and rain. "Let no cowards stand among us! We will have victory, or we will drink the finest of mead together in Valhǫll tonight! Keep those shields strong!"
Northmen all along the wall beat their shields in response to his call, and down below on the wind-swept plain, the legions of Ashfeld regrouped and blasted their trumpets as they came with ladders again. The Vikings were there to welcome the attackers as they climbed, and beneath the flash of Thor's hammer in the dark sky, Herleif gave one last thought to his beloved family before he committed himself to feeding the raven again.
Sólareldur swung like silver death, cleaving heads and hewing at limbs whenever Herleif met a foe in the press of bodies packed onto the wall. His shield bore the scars of a dozen blades as he fought to suppress the endless flow of Knights coming up the ladders. Hot blood coated his sword hand and flowed down his arm to drip in red puddles at his feet. He punched, slammed, stabbed, pummeled, and cut his way from one fight to another, just one in a wall of wooden shields and steel blades as his warriors did the same. Herleif could feel Gunnar pressed up against him as his brother's axe chopped over the shield wall onto the enemy, roaring like a bear as he drowned his misery in blood.
It was endless. The blood, the screams of pain, the animal howls of fury from warriors who had once been men. The Knights came at them valiantly again and again, but that was not how they died. Armor was rent and torn by northern blades, the gashes left in the metal pouring forth crimson rivers to be lost in the rain. Men vomited to behold their bodies hacked to bloody stumps and their guts tangled about their legs. They screamed in growing hysteria, crying out for mothers, fathers, and wives to save them. They called out to their God for mercy, but the sky belonged to the Æsir so long as thunder and lightning rumbled through the dark clouds. There was no retreat for the Vikings, no surrender. It was up to them to fight more valiantly than their enemy, and if they were fated to die upon the wall, their deaths carved into stone by the Norns from the day they were born, it would be so, and they would face their end without fear.
And die they did. The warriors of Bilrost fell one by one from behind their shields, pierced by spears and spewing blood. They dropped as their legs were cut out from under them, leaving gaps in the shield wall that the Knights harried and pressed their advantage, spreading further mayhem and death throughout the Vikings. Herleif could do nothing whenever one of his oath-sworn warriors fell. He could only fight on and hope that their lives were not lost in vain.
Then, a woman cried out from somewhere on the rampart, and Herleif looked to see Helge clamoring through the press of warriors to get at him.
"Herleif!" she cried, the Berserkers of his warband fighting yet more Knights climbing over the wall, but Helge was pointing to a much more distressing issue further behind. "Herleif, the gate! Look to the gate!"
Herleif allowed himself to be pushed away from the fighting by the swarm of warriors around him and was struck dumb to discover that the flames of the burning gatehouse were nearly doused by the rain. Something was wrong, very wrong. The fuel from the Divine Pyre's weapons should have kept the gatehouse burning all through the storm, but now the black tower was nearly consumed by smoke like one of Surtr's slain kin.
His mind raced in a panic for a solution. If he abandoned the ramparts now to defend the gate, then his warriors might fall into disarray, and the walls could be lost. But he needed to know what was going on. There was no telling what might happen if the Knights attempted an attack against the vulnerable gate. With Jarl Ivar and Commander Judith holding their sections of the wall, his was the closest warband to safeguard the city gate or see them all perish. Working his way over to Helge, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close, his mind made up on what to do.
"Take my Berserkers and go to the gate!" he shouted in her ear over the battle din. "Do what you must to get the fire going again and kill any who try to force their way inside the city!"
Helge looked worried as she watched the Berserkers hack their way through the Knights standing against them, Ragnar and Ragna reveling in the thickest of the bloodletting. Then she shivered, her eyes rolling up in her skull before she gave a violent shake of her head, hissing in anger and nearly wiggling her way out of Herleif's grasp.
"Do you hear me, Helge?!" Herleif growled, pulling the stunned Shaman to him again. "This is the time for blood! Do not let that gate fall!"
"A time for blood..." Helge hissed thoughtlessly. "Do not let it fall..." She bared her teeth and looked upon Ragnar and Ragna's enthralling battle dance with wet paint running down her face like black and blue tears. "It will be done, my jarl..."
Herleif let her go as she pulled away, watching Helge throw herself into the fighting and grab both twins by their belts, heedless of their swinging axes. She pulled on them like mad hounds, barking at the ends of taught chains, spitting curses as she ordered them away from the ramparts and toward the gate. The other Berserkers followed suit, drawn by the strange power of Helge's seiðr. Herleif wished them well. If the ruined gate fell and the enemy found their way into the city, his fight on the walls would be meaningless.
He would have to hold out with the warriors he had left, but with each swing of his sword and every Ashfeld soldier that crested the walls, Herleif felt the call to Valhǫll grow ever louder with the thunder overhead.
His warriors were spread thin with their shields in the absence of his Berserkers. Gunnar still stood in the midst of them, going among the enemy with his axe again and again and coming away bloody to the shoulders. Herleif took his place among the shield wall, acting as a breaker against the wave of ladders that rose and fell before them. The warriors of Bilrost shouted their hate and curses at the enemy, doing battle around the corpses as they were piled upon the ramparts. The fighting was brutal and unforgiving, each side refusing to yield, but even as the Vikings tore at the Knights with a determined ferocity, their numbers had already been thinned by the fight to take the Walled City, and time was not on their side.
As the battle raged on, Herleif could not even bring himself to call out to his warriors; he was so breathless. The rain had chilled him to the bone, and the ground beneath his feet was slippery with water and blood. A warrior in the shield wall beside him stabbed at an Ashfeld soldier only to have his sword arm severed by a Lawbringer's poleaxe, and a Raider lunged with his axe only to trip and fall over a bloody corpse before being skewered by spears from all sides. Nearby, Gunnar batted away enemy spears that thrust at his bare chest, but one nearly took him in the head as it scraped against his helmet with a shower of sparks.
Herleif was barely holding off the Lawbringer leading the attack, feeling the bones in his arm rattle with each beat of the poleaxe against his shield. He had to brace his shield with both hands, worrying that the next strike might chop his trusty shield clean in half. He couldn't even get his sword around to stab at his attacker, fearing that his defense might give out completely.
"Hold!" Herleif called in a hoarse voice, not even knowing if anyone was left nearby to hear him. He could feel the bodies pressed tight against him to either side, but whether they were his warriors or the enemy closing in, he could not tell. "Hold them back! We must... hold!"
The axe on his shield boomed louder than the thunder, sounding the call of his doom, but then Herleif was suddenly slammed from behind as if a crashing wave had risen from within the city. He feared that he would be pushed right onto the Lawbringer's pike as he lost his footing, but Northmen surged forward to throw themselves right at the advancing Knights. Herleif saw the flash of yellow shirts and golden helmets, and as the pressure against his shield eased away, he realized that the ramparts were now full of Sea Eagle warriors pushing the Knights from the walls. They came with golden spears and fresh shields, renewing the fight just as Herleif's tired warriors were beginning to wane.
Herleif gasped and let his shield arm drop like a heavy stone, staring at the Lawbringer now as the man lay dead and bleeding, stuck full of holes under his arms and neck. Herleif took a moment to catch his breath, then stood and waved Erik's warriors on to do what the king had been neglecting all along.
"About fucking time..." he growled. Despite his growing animosity for the Golden King, things were becoming so dire that any support defending the city was appreciated. Northern horns blew with the howl of the wind, and finally, the fighting broke around him. The Knights were once again forced back to their ladders, but while Herleif took solace in this brief respite, he slowly realized that his own warriors were being pushed back as well, leaving him alone and surrounded by Erik's men.
"You there! Who leads you?" he asked while trying to stop one golden-clad warrior, but they ignored him and ran on. Herleif tried to grab another as they passed, but they cursed him and knocked away his hand before joining the newly formed circle of spears. "Who leads you!? Where is Erik!?"
Then, Herleif saw Gunnar's blood-drenched form standing tired and panting among the king's warriors just as he was, and beyond the ring of shields, his own Bilrost warriors were trying desperately to fight their way back into the circle. "Gunnar! We need to-"
Herleif's eyes went wide as he saw Prince Magnús wearing a feral grin and holding both shining axes in his hands as he ran up behind Gunnar. Winded from the battle, Gunnar did not have the wits to turn about until it was too late, and with a great boom of thunder overhead, Magnús howled with glee as he jumped and buried an axe deep into the back of Gunnar's shoulder.
"No!" Herleif cried as Gunnar fell to his knees. He stepped toward his brother, seeing him just barely block Magnús' next blow aimed for his head, but a strong hand fell on Herleif's shoulder and pulled him back.
"Forgive me, brave jarl," said Old Wolf just before Herleif was thrown to the ground, his sword flying from his hand. He fell hard into a red puddle, his helmet striking the stone to make his ears ring. As his vision cleared, Herleif looked up to see the Highlander standing above him with claymore in hand. The giant blade rested over Old Wolf's shoulder, and, with a pained look, he hefted the gleaming sword to strike. "For the king!"
Herleif gasped as the claymore swung down to end his life, not knowing if his brother was yet alive or dead, only that he was helpless to defend Gunnar either way. Rain and sharp steel came falling upon his head, and Herleif did not even have enough feeling in his numb hand to raise his shield. His death had come at last, delivered to him with the sword of an unworthy dog in a madman's war.
Surely, not even the glory Valhǫll was not worth leaving behind his family for this despicable fate.
Lighting split the sky like the breaking of black ice, and a bright figure of gold and white crashed into Old Wolf before his claymore could fall, knocking the Highlander off his feet. Herleif did not pause to consider his luck before springing to his feet and taking up his sword and shield again. His vision blurred red as he saw Magnús standing over his brother, the two of them struggling as the prince tried to bury his axe in Gunnar's chest, and he ran at them with all haste.
"Just... let it happen..." Magnús huffed as he wrestled against Gunnar's dwindling strength, but he continued fighting like a mad beast despite his wound. "Just lay down and die... you sniveling-"
Herleif barreled over the young Berserker with his shield before he could land a fatal blow against Gunnar, carrying Magnús right into the circle of spearmen. Men cried out in surprise as the jarl and prince came among them, but Herleif was filled with such a rage that he did not stop to consider how outnumbered he was. He fell upon Magnús with a vengeful roar, slamming his shield into the Berserker's face again and again until the prince was squealing in pain. Herleif did not care. So long as his brother was safe and alive, he would kill anyone who intended him harm. Raising his sword, Herleif made to end Magnús' life there in the puddles of blood, just as Old Wolf had intended for him, but as Sólareldur glowed brightly under lightning-split skies, the thrust of a spear narrowly missed Herleif's face and drove him back.
Magnús used the distraction to shove Herleif off of him and quickly scramble away, his face awash with blood. "Kh-ill 'im!" he cried through bruised and bloody lips, his nose smashed beneath his now crimson-stained face plate.
The king's warriors closed in around Herleif, but he did not shrink away or cower before their blades. He came at them like a madman, like a drengr, full of rage and absent of fear. He knocked away another spear and cleaved a warrior's head clean off his shoulders in an arc of dark blood. The other spearmen sprang away in fright, but Herleif cut another from neck to groin and bashed a man's head so hard with his shield that their neck cracked like a brittle twig. Now, the warriors of clan Sea Eagle turned and ran, their weak courage not worth the gold that had bought them, but they were quickly met by Bilrost men who were still trying to rejoin their jarl and were soon cut down in a great slaughter of steel and blood.
"Brother..!" Gunnar called weakly before Herleif could chase after Magnús. Herleif turned back and felt sense return to him as Gunnar lay bleeding from the dark gash left in his shoulder. He held the wounded arm to his chest, his leather pauldron split cleanly in two, wincing as he tried to crawl away from where the fight between Vikings and Knights still carried on.
Then, there was a great clamor as blades clashed, followed by a desperate cry as Old Wolf suddenly fell to the wet ground near Gunnar. The old Highlander appeared dazed as he writhed in pain, his claymore lined with nicks as it lay limp in his hand. That was all it took for Magnús to look on in horror before he turned and ran.
"Re-treet!" he cried, fleeing the ramparts with all that was left of his father's men. "Back t'the vault!"
Herleif let them go and ran to his brother instead, sheathing his sword to wrap an arm around his brother and haul Gunnar to his feet. Groaning loudly, they both stood, Gunnar's good arm draped around Herleif's shoulders, and as they did, Herleif saw at last who had saved him from the Highlander's blade.
"Skuld!" he called to the Valkyrie as she circled the gasping Highlander. A dozen spearmen now guarded Herleif and Gunnar as the battle on the walls carried on, but space seemed to naturally open up within the fighting as Skuld regarded Old Wolf with a keen interest.
Her shining eyes snapped to Herleif in the dark of the storm, fixing him with a cold chill as they were battered by rain. Thunder rumbled overhead, and without a word, Skuld lifted her spear to point back toward the city. Then she turned her attention back to Old Wolf as he slowly got to his feet.
Herleif did not need the Valkyrie to tell him twice. He quickly glanced at the seax hanging from Skuld's belt, then ordered half his spearmen to get back to the fighting and the rest to come with him to help Gunnar. Holding onto his brother, Herleif turned his back on the battle and headed for the stairs, leaving the corpse maiden to whatever dealings she had between the Allfather and Old Wolf. He had learned by now to leave such matters to the gods and those who served them closest, lest he be swept up in powers far greater than his feeble imaginings.
Gunnar groaned with every step on their descent, wincing as he was carried down the stairs, away from the fighting. He could barely hold onto his axe, the great metal blade waving about as Herleif struggled to manage his weight.
"Get that thing out of my face," Herleif grumbled and hefted Gunnar again, his hand slippery with his brother's blood.
"And give up my weapon before I die..?" Gunnar asked with a weak grin. "You really are mad at me..."
"Silence," Herleif snapped. "Do not say such things. I will kill you myself if you even think of dying to such a small wound."
Gunnar hung his head and did his best to keep his feet from tripping Herleif as they moved together. "Why don't, ah... you let you men carry me, you tired dog? I'm getting blood all over you..."
Herleif tensed his jaw and held onto Gunnar all the tighter. "I said be quiet. I have you."
"It seems that... I finally got... my glorious reward, eh?"
"Stop thinking like a child... The rest of you, move quickly!" Herleif called to the warriors with him. "We must take care of this wound before he loses too much blood."
Gunnar said no more as they went, his right arm hanging limp as blood poured down his back and side. Soon, they found a space out of the rain where the wounded were being kept, and the spearmen cleared a spot for the jarl's brother to be laid as nurses were brought with fresh water, bandages, and whatever it would take to close Gunnar's wound. What little armor Gunnar wore was stripped away, revealing the full extent of the offending axe blade's cruelty. Laying on his side, Gunnar was brought mead to dull the pain as the women worked, a luxury to grace the lips of the wounded, one last gift perhaps before they entered Valhǫll. The blood was washed away as best it could, and once the bone was set in Gunnar's shoulder, a clean needle and thread were used to sew the wound. Gunnar gritted his teeth and squeezed each cup of mead until his knuckles were white, but he did not cry out lest his final sound upon the realm of Miðgarðr was one of weakness.
Herleif did not leave his brother's side as he was tended to, making sure his axe remained close and that Gunnar had a cup of mead whenever he asked for it to dull the pain. Removing his scarred and battered helmet, Herleif gave a long sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his brow.
He was dead tired, but the fight for the city was far from over. The sky was only growing darker as day turned to night behind the storm, but even if the Knights called off their attack soon, they would surely come again tomorrow. As Herleif looked upon the many wounded that surrounded him, the thought of yet more conflict only exhausted his weary heart. He sat and waited while Gunnar was tended to, the wound that split his shoulder slowly closed stitch by stitch until, at last, Herleif could not ignore the sound of men still fighting on the walls any longer.
"I must return," he told Gunnar reluctantly. "Our warriors still need me on the walls."
"Then... I will go with you," Gunnar groaned as he set down another tankard of mead and rolled away from the woman trying to bandage him. Sweat beaded his brow, and he looked sickly pale, but he moved with purpose despite his grievous injury. "Give me a sling and be done with it. I only need one arm to wield a blade... And no one enters Valhǫll lying on their back."
"You are still far from entering the golden hall's gates, brother. Sit back down and let these women tend to you. Surely you can see the sense in that."
"Do not talk to me of women. I have not the stomach for it..." Gunnar grumbled, oblivious to the confused frowns of the nurses who helped ease his injured arm into a sling as he had asked.
"I will not argue with you, Gunnar." Herleif said, raising a warning finger to his brother.
"Then it is a good thing I don't intend to listen, you old-"
An explosion suddenly rang out beneath the dark sky, illuminating the smoke and storm clouds with flashes of yellow and red. Herleif flinched alongside his brother as the ground shook beneath their feet, thinking at first that something terrible had happened at the walls. Grabbing up his helmet and shield, he rushed outside to look toward the ramparts but saw nothing new besides the battle already raging. There were shouts all along the street, and looking in the other direction, Herleif saw bright flames and a new column of smoke rising above the buildings against the mountainside. The explosion hadn't come from the battle on the walls; it had come from within the Walled City itself, the black smoke obscuring a single tower known to every Northman who had come raiding.
"The vault tower," Herleif gasped in amazement as Gunnar limped out to the street with him. "Something has happened at the vault..."
Leaning upon his axe for support, Gunnar took a few steadying breaths. "Change of plans, then?"
Herleif felt new dread fill his heart. The city walls were still under threat, but with Judith and Ivar defending the ramparts, along with Helge and the twins doing what they could at the gate, the thought of leaving Erik alone to do whatever he wished with the vault's treasure did not seem appealing at all. Erik Golden-Shield had been allowed to go about his own dealings within the city for far too long. If he was only willing to send his warriors to the walls in order to commit murder under the guise of waging war, then it was high time the greedy king was brought to heel.
"Gather whatever is left of you that can still fight," he said to Gunnar. His brother looked far from battle-ready, pale as snow and soaked by more than just the falling rain, but if they had started this ill-fated raid together, they might as well finish it the same. "I think it is time we have our final words with the Golden King."
Hefting his shield, Herleif gave orders for his spearmen to follow and help Gunnar along the way. Then, together, they made for the burning vault to see what new chaos great Óðinn had brought down on the city now.