Legends Never Die: Introductions (ch. 12) (Patreon)

For my entire life, I had only ever known the farm. That small village of Ivarstead that had less than thirty people, my immediate family. I had no grandparents to speak of. They had performed Ättestupa in their old age since they were unable to die in battle and to lessen the burden on their families. For my entire life, my life had been on the farm. And now, in a single year, I’ve met two kings. I’ve spoken to them. And, judging by the look that King Charlemagne was giving me if I didn’t answer, I would be executed by one.

“Wilfred, my lord.” I lied, using the name of the slave that I had spoken to on the first raid back. Charglmane appeared indifferent to my answer, but the same couldn’t be said of those with the Frankish King. A richly dressed man on a horse snarled at me, bearing his teeth with the kind of anger that you would expect if I had cursed his ancestors.

“Kneel before your king, boy. He is no mere lord,” He said, lashing out with the butt of the spear he carried in his hands that was topped with a flag that I couldn’t see. I effortlessly dodged the blow, narrowing my eyes up at the richly dressed man who appeared even more infuriated.

“Don’t,” King Charlgmane said as the man urged his horse forward. The King leaned forward, peering at me with intelligent blue eyes. “Young Wilfred here will kill you without a thought,” he stated with absolute confidence, making me incredibly self-conscious as more people took notice of us. Not to mention the fact that I had been thinking it would be a simple thing to dehorse him and kill him.

The man looked to his king with a stunned and disbelieving expression, “My king, surely you jest? He is a boy,” he said, making King Charlgmane nod as he considered me.

“How old are you… Wilfred?” He asked me, making me shift. I didn’t like how he said my name. It sounded like he knew it was a lie. I looked to him, considering the situation. No one was barring my way to escape yet, but the presence of the king was earning a lot of attention. If I did try to escape, there would be plenty of people to react.

“Fifteen, my… king?” I tried, earring a thin smile from King Charglmane.

He let out a small chuckle, “And how old are you really?” He asked, making me frown deeply. I had no clue what was giving me away. It was like he could see right through me, and in my position, that was a very bad thing.

“Thirteen,” I admitted. He nodded, expecting nothing less while the other man glared down at me like I was something he had scraped off the bottom of his boot.

“I’ve spent most of my life at battle, Wilfred,” He told me, his tone calm and even. “Always for the glory of God, but every year, my armies march on the enemies of the Lord -- heretics and heathens alike,” he continued, his gaze drifting to look at the sky above, as if he could see his god up there. “There’s a keen difference between a soldier and a warrior. For most of my levies, they would rather be at home, tending their sheep and getting their ears nagged off by their wives.”

Then he looked down at me, “Then there are warriors. The battlefield is their home. Even when they till a field or milk a cow, they do not become farmers or shepherds. They are and always will be warriors -- a wolf in sheep’s clothing, no matter how much they wish it might not be so. You, Wilfred, have the bearing of a warrior. You’ve been covered in so much blood, mud, and shit that the stench will never leave you.” He offered a thin smile, “It’s a terrible thing for you to suffer that at such a young age. It’s a true mark of the barbarism of your homeland.”

Every trace of moisture in my mouth left as I became incredibly aware of my position, my heart sinking to my stomach like a stone. There was no way he could know that. Absolutely none. Yet, he knew. Either his god told him… or someone did.

King Charlemagne had a spy. A spy that told him of our intentions before we had even arrived. Of the plan before it had even been brought to Jarl Horrik. There was no other way to explain why he would have such a large army assembled so quickly.

This entire war was a trap.

“You wanted the Saxons to rebel,” I realized, dropping all pretenses. King Charlemagne seemed surprised, but not displeased.

“I did. The Saxons are stubborn. Perhaps the most stubborn race of men I have ever encountered. Because of it, they will never bend. They must break however many times I need to break them until they learn to submit.” He admitted, considering me for a moment. “Information is as important in war as men and swords. Just as I know you are Siegfried Wolf-Kissed, son of Erik. They say you are already a great warrior that fights with the strength of ten men. I also know that you only started learning Frankish days ago, and you have a priest captive that has been teaching you about our lord and savior, Jesus Christ.”

Who? Who could it possibly be? Otto? No, that didn’t make sense. He just prayed, and when he wasn’t, he was teaching me. No one was coming to mind. Did I not know them?

“How high did you get?” He asked me suddenly, his tone triumphant, knowing that he had me at his mercy. My grip on my spear tightened as I glanced at the man, who looked down at me with far more caution. It was also obvious what he was asking.

“Three hundred and twenty tents,” I told him, and he seemed impressed. I could kill him. I would suffer for it, but I could kill him. And the noble man next to him. If I ran, I might escape, and if I swam across the river… I knew where the army was going. If I could make it to them, then I could survive. Was it worth it? “Whose your spy?”

He found the question funny, “What good is a known spy? However, I will tell you this,” King Chaglmane said, leaning forward. “The spy that told me that you would be here asked that I capture and execute you.” He informed me and my blood started to go hot. Someone was targeting my family.

I grit my teeth, knowing deep in my gut that his spy was the same one that had murdered my brother. Who? Who? Who could it be? If he told him that I would be here…

King Sigfred. He is the one that pushed for us to come here. For me to spy on the Franks had been his idea. He kept me on that hill to watch the battle so I couldn’t interfere while he had some cutthroat murder my brother. It was him. It all made sense. Was this a ploy against Jarl Horrik? Did he want to kill me and my family, robbing Jarl Horrik of powerful warriors?

I grit my teeth so hard they threatened to shatter in my mouth, the wood of my spear straining under my grip until there was a fatal crack in the shaft. I trembled with rage as I looked up at King Charlgmane, and I barely noticed that he no longer wore that slight smile that told him he had won. Now, he seemed to realize he was in stabbing distance of a proclaimed great warrior. An utterly furious great warrior that was going to bathe in the blood of my brother’s killers.

His horse shifted, as if sensing my murderous intent. King Charlemagne quickly recovered, “I have no need to kill you, and I am not wont to do the bidding of a heathen. You may go in peace, Siegfried Wolf-Kissed. Tell your leaders what you saw here. Tell them that an army of eight thousand marches upon them. If they value their lives, they will leave this place and never step foot on my shores. If you choose to stay, I shall send every single one of you to the depths of hell.”

I met his gaze for a moment longer before I offered him a slow nod, “Thank you, King Charlemagne,” I told him. I was being allowed to leave. I… he had to gain something from the action, but I was too angry to think. I didn’t care if Sigfred was a king -- he was a corpse with a heartbeat as far as I was concerned. He died right now. The time that it took until I killed him was just a formality.

“A life for a life, Siegfried. The priest named Otto -- you will free him,” he said, and I guess that’s what he wanted.

I reached out and clasped on the armband near my elbow, “In the name of the gods, I swear to you that Otto will be freed. May Thor strike me down now should these words be a lie,” I said, making the King’s lips thin. He didn’t care for any gods except for his own, it seemed. It would be a shame to lose Otto before I mastered Frankish and Latin, but a debt owed was a debt owed.

“I shall take the vow in the spirit it is given. Now, leave my camp.”

…

My head felt like it was in a fog as I made my way to the army with all haste, wary of the Frankish King changing his mind after the deal was made. King Sigfred had murdered my brother. He gave the order. He arranged it. This entire war was a farce and a trap -- beyond my need for revenge, I had to warn Jarl Horrik. He had to know what King Sigfred had planned. I knew he suspected it, but I doubted that he suspected that the vile king would go so far as ally himself with the Franks.

I entered the camp, my feet carrying me to my destination and I only saw that it was to the command tent when I was about to enter. My blood felt hot in my veins, and then the gods gave me a quest.

Quest: Kill King Sigfred.

Reward: Large amount of Prestige.

I was on my way to do exactly that when I felt a hand grip my shoulder. I whipped around, baring my teeth in a snarl, only to see that it was Jarl Horrik. There was a deep frown on his face and his forehead was creased with worry lines. “Come with me, lad,” he said in a solemn tone, leading me away from the command tent, and I swear I could hear Sigfred within. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, equaling the might of thunder of Thor toiling away on his anvil.

Jarl Horrik led me to his personal tent, sat me down, and it was only when I looked down at my hands that I saw they were trembling with rage. “King Sigfred betrayed us,” I spoke, hearing myself speak, but it felt like the words didn’t come from me. “He’s working with the Frankish King. King Charlemagne told me as much. He knew too much about me for him to be telling lies.”

I heard Jarl Horrik take in a deep breath as I stared at my trembling fists with white knuckles. “Aye, I suspected as much,” he said, making my gaze snap up to him and it was only then that I noticed that he was sitting across from me, offering a cup of mead. I took it with some hesitation, and Jarl Horrik continued, “I’ve known since the beginning that King Sigfred plans to use this war to usurp me. Cutting a deal with the Franks only makes sense -- if I were him… I’d make a deal for everything east of the Elba river. Natural point of defense, and the land is too poor to go further beyond that.”

He knew? Jarl Horrik nodded to himself, as if he heard my silent question, “King Sigfred has been my enemy for many years, Siegfried. I know how he thinks. I can’t even remember the number of times he’s tried to usurp my Jarlship from me,” he told me, taking a sip of his own mead as he suddenly appeared much older. “I imagine it’s near the number of times I’ve tried to have him killed or deposed,” he admitted before taking a long gulp.

“What are we going to do? He- I think he’s responsible for the murder of my brother,” I told him, my gaze dropping to my cup of mead. The cup threatened to snap in my double-fisted grip.

“We must be cautious, Siegfried. I understand your desire for justice for your brother, but the fact of the matter is that Sigfred is a king. It is not so simple to challenge him and take your justice,” he told me, and I turned my glare to him. “I have a plan that is already in play that will allow us to achieve both of our goals -- you, to kill Sigfred… and myself, to gain his kingdom.”

Despite the heavy cloud of anger that seemed to fill my head, I found myself surprised. Jarl Horrik chuckled, “Don’t look so surprised. I covet his kingdom as much as he covets my city. Just as this is an opportunity for him to depose me, it’s an opportunity for me to depose him.” He leaned in closely, “King Sigfred will suffer a tragic loss of men in the coming days. Such a loss will weaken his claim to the throne, and I shall use that opportunity to appeal to his men that I am a better candidate to follow.”

It went both ways, I realized. Both of them were plotting against each other. I don’t even think they cared about the Franks or the Saxons. This was just a chance to put an end to their feud.

And I didn’t care. I was glad, even. It meant that I could get my vengeance on King Sigfred.

“What do I have to do?” I asked him, making a wide smile appear on Jarl Horrik’s face. He reached out and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“Do as you have been -- make a name for yourself. It’s one thing for an unknown warrior to accuse a king of murder, but it is a very different thing when a well-known and well-respected warrior does it. Win further glory. Ensure that everyone in this army knows your name and recognizes you by sight. Then, when you make your accusation, it will be treated with the weight it deserves.” Jarl Horrik instructed, and I nodded, finding that made sense. “When the time is right, and all is in place, I shall give you a signal to make your accusation.”

I nodded, liking this plan. Actually, no, it involved waiting. I didn’t like it. At all. In fact, I hated it. I wanted to walk into the command tent and blood eagle the king for the murder of my brother. Yet, I could see the wisdom in Jarl Horrik’s words. “What about the Frank army? They had three hundred tents that I counted. He said that he had an army of eight thousand.”

Jarl Horrik’s lips thinned at the number, but he nodded all the same. “That is more than I had hoped for. But, it changes nothing. A plan is in place. You just have to trust your role in it.”

“I will, Jarl Horrik.”

…

The armies were split. Thankfully. It was an easy thing toto claim I could keep my anger in check, but if I had to be in sight of King Sigfried, then I would kill him. Rage burned in my chest like a fire, heating my blood until it boiled at the mere thought of him. It was a deeper, more sinister anger than I had ever felt before. It felt like my mind wasn’t my own anymore, as if some spirit had bewitched me, but the gods would have warned me if that was the case.

No, my rage was my own. King Sigfred’s betrayal fanned the flames into a forest fire that couldn’t be contained. Only channeled until it burnt itself out.

The plan was to force the Franks to split their army as well. King Sigfred’s army of two thousand began to cross the Rhine river en masse. The river was wide and deep, but with some on the other side, a rope was connected to make the crossing easier. We were forced to do it on the march, but in a day’s time, King Sigfred was on the other side of the Rhine.

The Frankish king could either split his forces, and chase after us both, or he could consolidate and crush one army. However, the latter left the remaining army unchecked and free to pillage and move on. Our scouts kept a close eye on the Frankish army, and eventually, we saw him moving men over to the other side of the Rhine. By my count, he moved three thousand men to the other side to give chase to King Sigfred.

The action revealed his deception because only two thousand gave chase to us. Both armies were still outnumbered, which wasn’t great, but with the intention of using the terrain in our favor, Jarl Horrik seemed confident. I almost wish that I didn’t have Tell Spotter to see that he lied about our chances, meaning they were more dire than he let on.

As we marched along the Rhine, half of the Frank army pursuing us to do battle, Jarl Horrik spotted the place where we would fight -- there was a small village nestled on the bank of the river on a plot of flat land, but it quickly gave way to steep hills that were covered in spruce and pine trees. He gave the order for the village to be ransacked, both for food, and more importantly wood. Wagons, furniture, a plow, and even the homes themselves were demolished. The wood was taken up the hill where Jarl Horrik gave the order to prepare a barricade.

Not to our front, but to secure our right flank. The left was secured by a hill that was so steep that Jarl Horrik was convinced that they wouldn’t approach from it -- calling it a fool's errand. The barricade was put up on our right, so if any warrior that made it to the top of the hill would have to crawl over the barricade, slowing them down immensely. Our front and backs were left open, but our front was presented to the river and the base of the hill where the army would face us.

“The Franks fight on horses instead of on the ground, like men,” Father said, handing me my axes. I didn’t wear armor. My body was smeared with pigments -- dark blues and reds while soot was smudged around my eyes. I checked their edges and nodded as he continued, “Careful of their charges. The hill will kill the worst of it, but getting trampled is a bad way to die. I’ve seen it. Happened to one of my brothers -- though, that was him getting kicked by a horse… still, a bad way.”

“I’ll be fine,” I told him, giving a slight smile that didn’t feel too feeble. “I’m more worried about you and Havi. Look after him -- Kirk’s murderer might still be in the army,” I said as Father brought his forehead down to press against mine.

“Let me worry about that, Siegfried. Vengeance is my duty. You focus on surviving the battle,” He told me, clapping me on the shoulder and pulling away. I didn’t argue with him. I didn’t want our final words to be an argument. So, instead, I nodded. Looking to Havi as he approached, he didn’t hesitate to bring me up in a hug.

“Be safe, little brother,” he told me, letting go after one last squeeze that I returned. Returning the words to him, I reluctantly broke away from my family and headed towards the back of the formation. I pushed through the wall of bodies that formed a short line. Jarl Horrik was trusting the barricade and the hill to prevent us from being overwhelmed by their superior numbers.

I slid my axes into my belt and accepted a bow and arrow from someone at the back when I stepped up on a platform to allow us to fire over our army. We had the advantage of the hill to give us the extra range and to protect our few archers and skirmishers. There weren’t that many of us. Probably not more than a hundred.

Stepping on the crate, I saw the Frankish army that was positioned near the river. They set their camp at where the village had been, and they formed up. And, the next time I tried to imagine how many people the city of Alabu was, I was going to think of the Frankish army before me. They had a long line of infantry, all with shields and spears. I also learned that they used seaxs for close quarters from my time in their camp. Their archers were in front of them, and off to the side, I saw their cavalry, as Father called them.

Hundreds of men on horses, evenly divided on two sides. I swept my gaze over them all, letting Fast Counter do its work… two thousand and five hundred men in total. I spotted the man that had been with King Charlgmane at the back of the army with a few dozen others, all of them wearing scaled hauberks and other armor. They had swords at their hips as well. Signs of their wealth and honor.

For a minute, we stood across from one another, two hundred paces separating us, but it was all uphill for them. I could feel the tension forming between us, growing thicker by the second. This would be my first pitched battle. I understood my role. Jarl Horrik told me what needed to be done, and I had ample motivation to do it. This battle would determine the war, he had said to everyone.

If we won here, if we crushed the Franks despite the odds, then we could go to the rescue of the other army. The issue was that we were fighting at near three to one odds. But, the goal was to drive them off. We had the hill.

There was a horn blast and I nocked my first arrow. I would prefer a sling, but the distance was too much for me to be accurate. Another short horn blast told us to take aim and Projectile Prediction saw its first use -- I saw white dots fill my vision that were attached with near-invisible white lines from the enemy bows that were being aimed in our direction. Just as I saw my own marker, which was colored blue. It responded to my aim, adjusting with the wind and my grip.

I aimed high, lining the arrow up with the eye of a Frank archer. I didn’t know him, and I did not wish him ill, but on this day we were enemies. And he would die for it.

A third horn blast sounded and I released the arrow, watching as it leapt from my bow. I saw the feathers that marked it nearly disappear in a flurry of arrows, three times as many flying at us as there were flying at the enemy. My arrow rose high, higher than the others, before dropping down low, sailing through the air until it struck exactly where the dot said it would -- in his left eye.

He hit the ground and the screaming began on both sides as the man next to me dropped, an arrow protruding through his chest. He gargled, trying to push the blood back into him, but he knew he was dead. My lips thinned as I nocked another arrow, taking aim once more, before firing. Again, my arrow found the eye of another archer, killing him. The Franks released a second volley, filling the air with the wizzing of arrows and I noticed that one of the trails was marked red.

Moving my head, I narrowly avoided taking an arrow to the throat. That was useful. This skill truly was a blessing from the gods. There was no doubt about it. I might have just died without it. Taking a deep breath, I fired another arrow, the volleys on our side breaking apart as we all began taking individual shots. Letting it loose, I killed another archer. Then another. And another.

I survived another volley, but I had to lean out of the way of two separate arrows. The archers on our side were being picked off. I think the Franks were having the worse of it, but it didn’t matter because they had a lot more archers than us. At a count, they had about three hundred of them. Accepting it for what it was, I fired quickly, no longer waiting until it lined up with their eyes. The archers were lightly armored, so getting them in the chest was enough to drop them.

I worked down the line, dropping man after man as fast as I could. As soon as the arrow was on my bow, I fired it at the enemy. Each kill was one fewer archer that we had to deal with. Yet, despite my efforts, the enemy sent volley after volley and the dent I made in their numbers couldn’t be felt at all. Arrows rained down from the sky, and though we were protected by the hill and being placed behind the army, I found myself becoming increasingly alone with each volley from the enemy.

My hand dipped down to the quiver, only to find it empty. “I need arrows!” I shouted, looking around for the first time to see just how many of us had fallen. Some had a good dozen arrows sticking out of them. My lips thinned as I jumped off the platform I was on and grabbed a quiver that only had a few missing arrows. Jumping back up, I just narrowly avoided getting hit with another volley.

In no time at all, the quiver was empty once again and I tossed it aside, yet still more arrows rained down upon us. The men in front of me carried their shields above their heads, every single one of them filled with arrows. As I watched, an arrow struck the shield, the planks of the wood splintering, and the arrow punched through his forearm. He grunted, hissing in pain before picking up a spare shield at his feet and using it instead with the help of the men next to him.

The ground was becoming littered with them to the point it was becoming difficult to walk. Yet, I still grabbed another quiver and for a third time, I emptied it. Each arrow was a man dead. As I stood on the platform, I saw Franks pick up their bows and resumed firing. I watched another volley descend from the sky and it slowly began to sink in.

The Franks had absolutely no intention of marching up the hill. They would whittle us down with arrows until there was absolutely nothing left of us. Despite the huge advantage in numbers, they were being cautious. They wouldn’t risk the losses they would take to attack a fortified position. And they shouldn’t. Not when they could fire upon us, killing our already lesser numbers, until we either charged or fled.

Jarl Horrik had picked too good of a field of battle and the Frank commander was too cautious.

Something had to change. "Jarl Horrik! Jarl Horrik!" I shouted, pushing through the men. The Jarl would be at the front of the army and hopefully he was okay. Another volley fell upon the men, an arrow nearly pinning my foot to the ground if I didn't see the red line. "Jarl Horrik!"

"Wolf-Kissed! Get over here!" I heard Jarl Horrik scream nearby, giving me a direction to go. Continuing to push through the army, my eyes widened when I saw the Jarl -- his shield was overhead, and his Hird was offering their shields to help cover him, but there was an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. It pierced the chainmail that he wore, blood soaking his sleeve.

"They won't attack," I told him as another volley fell upon us. I heard the splintering of shields -- each arrow weakened the planks and after a dozen volleys, they were crumbling apart like bread. Jarl Horrik glowered at me, angry, but it was directed at the Franks.

"Cowards! The lot of them! They fear us like a wolf at their door so they quiver in fear!" He shouted, trying to rally the men in earshot.

They were cowards. There was no honor in the way they were fighting. "We have to attack them," I voiced my opinion, and only then did it dawn on me I had told a Jarl what to do. Something that was not lost on him either, but he seemed to choose to ignore it.

"Aye, before we lose too many men," Jarl Horrik said, so I had told him nothing that he wasn't already thinking. He looked to me, "Will you lead that charge? They outnumber us badly. The men need to see that the gods favor us."

Quest: Inspire the men

Reward: Large amount of Prestige and Piety.

I accepted the quest from the Jarl and the gods, "I will!" I agreed, giving him a nod that he returned. "Get ready to follow," I said, pushing forward as I grabbed my axes at my belt. I pushed through a line of three men until I stood at the front of the army. I saw the hill was littered with arrows and the archers were nocking another volley to their bows. Despite it, I strode forward unafraid, knowing that the gods watched over me.

Then I witnessed it. The archers unleashed another volley that I watched fly from their bows, flying high before they began to drop upon us.

Yet, not one of the arrow markers were red. None of them would strike me. I invited them to try, spreading my arms out wide, an axe in each hand. Hundreds of arrows fell upon myself and the army, I even felt the feathers of an arrow brush against my skin as they landed around me with dull thuds. None struck me as the gods foresaw.

I turned my back to the Franks to look at the army behind me and from behind their shields filled with arrows, I saw looks of awe. Of disbelief. I had earned renown and respect with the previous battle, but this went a step beyond it. I knew I succeeded in my mission based on a familiar ping in my ears, but I had a mission of my own.

Jarl Horrik said to make sure that the army knew me so my accusations against King Sigfred would carry weight.

So, I introduced myself.

"I. AM. SIEGFRIED THE WOLF-KISSED!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, emptying them of breathe as my voice carried over the hill, bringing my name to every ear. For the army before me and behind me. "The gods want us to win this battle! Tyr and Thor are with us! We cannot lose! Do you want to disappoint the gods?!"

Jarl Horrik pushed his way to the front of the line, which I hadn't thought was the plan. "We will win the day! Charge! Charge, damn you all!" He shouted, and his men leaped to obey the command. I pivoted, turning on my heels as I turned to face the army that was quickly reacting to our breaking of ranks to surge forward.

As promised, I led the charge down the hill.

I could only pray that it would be enough to win the day.