Legends Never Die: Path of Vengeance (ch. 113)

Naturally, there was a change in King Hoffer and King Widukind towards me. An uncertainty that hadn't been there before. I expected it. Both men owed me much, but power was something difficult to relinquish even when there was good reason to. I could reassure them until I was blue in the face that I had no intention of turning my army against them, or forcing them to submit. I wouldn't matter. 

For both of them, when they last knew me, I was but a boy. I was powerful, influential, but still a boy even if society deemed that I was old enough to be a man. They understood my goals then, and saw the limit to my ambition -- Denmark. King Hoffer, I imagined, would be happy to continue to maintain the alliance that we shared. King Widukind as well, wanting strong allies that would support him against the Franks. 

What I spoke of was beyond their estimation of me. And now they were in a phase of reconsidering -- I didn't expect for them to betray me or anything like that. However, they had expected me to return content to be their equal and I hadn't. It was perfectly understandable. If anything, they'd be utter fools to not be reconsidering their own plans for me and Denmark, weighing what I claimed against their own ideas for the future. 

Which made the next coming days and weeks so important. I had to solidify the new image that they had of me. I had to convince them with deeds and words that not only was I capable of uniting the Baltic Sea, that it was in the best interest of their people and themselves that they submit to me. To do that, I had to be overwhelming. I had to be everything that people said of me and more. 

My time in Rome and learning from the histories of the world taught me one thing -- Cult of Personality had its inherent dangers, but when used wisely, it was a very powerful tool to wield. 

That being said, some people were simply immune to it. Like Astrid, who was pinching my side with a frown on her face. “Uniting the Baltic Sea? Gee, that would have been really nice to know, Siegfried. I'm so glad that you told me, your lovely, faithful, dutiful, and trustworthy wife of your plans before you told my father of them.” 

She wasn't particularly happy with me at the moment. And I wasn't entirely sure how to handle it. It was the first time I had been in a true argument with any of my wives. What's more, I couldn't deny that Astrid had just cause for her anger. “I couldn't have your father finding out before King Widukind, my lovely, faithful, dutiful, and trustworthy wife. If he knew, then King Widukind would feel pressured into accepting and that would sour our relationship. He would feel like a lesser being forced into an alliance, regardless of if he would have wanted to accept or not.” 

“Aye, you don't need to tell me about men and their fragile egos. But you didn't tell me.” Astrid stressed, keeping her voice low despite our private quarters in Saxony. “Did you think I'd run towards him and spill every secret that you gave me?” 

“No- of course not,” I protested. “But he still is your father. I didn't want to put you in that position where you felt like you would be betraying him.” 

“Am I? Are you?” Astrid asked sharply, placing a hand on her hip and cocking it to the side. It was a pose I was familiar with -- I saw it often from my Mother when my father was in trouble. Despite myself, I nearly smiled but that would give the very wrong impression. 

“No,” I returned firmly. “I have no intention to force your father to submit to me. It's just…” I trailed off, my lips thinning. “Our houses are united by blood. I forged the crown of Norway and granted it to him in exchange for your hand. Yet, crowns and power make fools of men. Your father likes being King, Astrid. I don't blame him for it,” I swiftly added when I saw her mouth open to protest. “But he enjoys it all the same, and he likely fears that in submitting to me, he loses everything that makes him a king.” 

Because, in a way, he would. To be a King was to be answerable only to those that granted you the power over them. If you answered well, you had no peers to speak of. If you didn't, then you faced dissonance and rebellion. 

Upon my ascension and his submission, Hoffer would become a Jarl. He may still carry the title of King, he might even still keep his crown, but he would be answerable to me. And that scared him, I sensed. Regardless of what he owed me or the favors I had done for his family, that scared both him and King Widukind. 

I could tell Astrid was still mad, but she couldn't really argue that point. Despite how she might want to. “You're probably right there,” she admitted, narrowing her eyes at me. “But, instead of telling me, you kept this secret and I had to find out from my father what you were planning. You made me look like a right fool in front of him. Worse, Siegfried, you completely dismissed the idea that I could help you. He could have his daughter butter him up to the idea, ease him into it, instead of throwing him into the deep end before we even claim your throne!” 

That… I couldn't really argue. I had considered the idea, but I dismissed it because of the risks. “You're right,” I admitted. “I'm sorry.” 

“I understand what you're trying to do here, Siegfried,” Astrid continued in a much softer tone, seeing that I was properly chastised. “Better than most. The idea that what we saw in Rome could be turned our way? Armies numbering tens of thousands marching over our homeland? I understand. And I want everything that made their people so fantastical and bring it here, and I want it to be even better. I support you, not just because you're my husband and I love you, even when you're being a thick headed fool, but because I believe in what you're trying to achieve.” 

That made me look away, and I found that I was increasingly disappointed in myself for not acknowledging that when I made my plans. I should have trusted Astrid more. 

“Well, it looks like you understand. So take off your clothes,” Astrid said, making me pause as the words took a second to sink in. Wordlessly, I raised an eyebrow and the stern expression melted away into a smug smirk. “It's going to take around a year after you conquer Denmark to secure your grip on it, and to integrate the migration of people coming up the Dnieper River. Meaning that if I get pregnant now, I can pop the bugger out before we go on campaign- because I am not going to waddle across Scandinavia.” She stated in no uncertain terms. 

I couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up from the emotional whiplash as I reached up and rested my hands on her hips. Despite sitting down with her standing across from me, we were still at eye level, mostly. “I love you,” I confessed to her. 

Our marriage had started one of politics. Then respect. Then fondness. And now I couldn't imagine my life without Astrid in it. 

“I know you do. So, show me how much,” Astrid returned, smiling into the kiss she pressed into my lips.

…

Upon the morning, our collective armies marched out from Saxony. The tension between King Hoffer and King Widukind remained, but it didn't get in the way of the logistics of our march. Five thousand of my warriors marched at the front, followed by King Widukind's two thousand, and King Hoffer's five thousand brought up the rear. All together, we numbered twelve thousand -- an army that had once seemed inconceivable but a few years ago. 

Our approach didn't go unnoticed, I knew. In the dead of night, one of the two hundred men I let fester in my army stole away towards our destination to warn and prepare them. As they had time to prepare as the armies of Widukind and Hoffer weren't used to our ways. They couldn't march for hours on end without rest because of discipline. 

A march that should have taken a few days instead took the better part of a week before we reached our destination. I had never seen it before with my own eyes, but I knew exactly what it was. 

The Danevirke.

It stretched on for miles -- the earthworks stood at around ten feet tall, meaning that the ditch was about half that but wider. A palisade stood at the top of the earthworks, or rather the upper half did as the earthworks covered the bottom half. In total, a twenty-five foot wall stood before us and Denmark. On one side was a river, and the other was the sea. With thousands of men on the walls, I could admit it seemed very formidable. 

There was one dedicated entrance to the wall -- a gatehouse, and it was before it that I stood, looking up at someone that I knew, even if I had never set eyes upon them before. There was no mistaking him. 

Not when he looked so much like Jill. 

My army arranged itself behind me while I marched on, flanked by King Widukind, King Hoffer, and my brothers. We headed right for the gate, stepping inside the range of their archers, while the commander of the Danevirke leaned on the gatehouse, which was flanked by two watchtowers. He, along with three others, watched us approach with a tension growing in the air. 

Then I spoke, coming to a stop, “Which son are you?” I asked the commander and his expression tightened ever so slightly. He didn't like the fact that I was undaunted by the wall, or that I spoke to him so casually. 

All the same, he answered. “Brage Horrikson. And you must be the Wolfkissed. The coward who fled from our shores once before.” Brage voiced, calling out loudly to earn a few jeers at me from his men. Not as many as he had hoped, however. I could see the men on the wall looking at me -- at the pelt that I wore, and they were stunned. And afraid. 

Brage. The middle son of Horrik's sons, younger than Grimar. I had never met him, but I knew he had been sent to foster with the Geats to the North of Denmark. He had also married the daughter of a notable clan within the tribespeople. He was a tall man, comely looks, and was reputed to be a talented warrior. 

“Is that what your father has been telling you people?” Halfdan called out with mockery, “You weren't worth the fight then! My brother let you fatten up for a feast.” 

I allowed myself a small smile at that -- I could always count on Halfdan. “Thirty thousand men, is it? The might that I allowed your father to muster against me. I must say I'm… disappointed. Three years of preparation and you mustered thirty thousand men and this flimsy wall. Perhaps I shall turn away and give him more time? At least then I could expect a challenge.” 

Brage slammed his hands on the railing, a scowl on his face -- the provocation worked, but that was just an added benefit. The three men that stood with Brage were unnerved. I didn't know who they were, but they were likely Jarls or important Thegns who acted as their lords representatives. What I did know was that they didn't at all care for my easy confidence. 

I stood before one of the greatest fortifications my people had ever built-- twenty miles of a wall manned by one of the largest armies that we had ever mustered. 

And I was mocking it. 

“A fine bluster, Wolfkissed. Meaningless from someone who takes to the field with half our number!” Brage returned, and I could tell I was getting under his skin. 

“You are mistaken, Brage,” I returned calmly. “I stand before you with much less than half of your total force. The Saxons and Norwegians are here for a show, not to fight! I shall defeat you with a third of my personal army -- a mere five thousand men.” To my sides, both King Widukind and King Hoffer stirred. For several reasons, I imagine. 

The arrogance of such a claim buggered belief, I knew. But the line between confidence and arrogance was success. And I was certain that I could not only succeed, but take the wall with minimal casualties simply because I was going to be the first one over the wall. Which would only cement my prowess in the eyes of everyone who beheld the attack. 

The second reason they stirred, I imagine, was at the information that I commanded an army of fifteen thousand men. Ten thousand of which were currently sailing up the Dnieper river. 

“I would love to see you try it, Wolfkissed! If you wish to throw your life away- and the lives of your men, then I shall hardly try to convince you otherwise!” Brage exclaimed, trying to unnerve my men. To no avail, I knew. 

They had seen me topple greater walls, after all. 

I didn't dignify that with a response, simply turning around. Brage, to his credit, didn't try to shoot us in the back as we returned to our combined armies. On the way back, King Widukind spoke, “Are we so truly unneeded, Wolfkissed?” It was asked with a wary smile, one part a jest and another part a genuine question. 

“To take the Danevirke? I'm not sure why that would surprise you, King Widukind. You've seen me take better walls,” I noted and to that, his smile thinned. 

“You were much smaller then. And wore far less armor,” he noted, accepting my response for what it was. 

“True,” I agreed. “But taking the Danevirke is the easy part. Even if they mustered all thirty thousand men at it, at twenty miles of wall? That's a man every three feet or so, making them too thin to resist a concentrated attack.” And that was the assumption that all thirty thousand men were stationed at the Danevirke. Some were likely held in reserve, which only compounded their problem. 

King Widukind realized my plan then, “Something that they will keep in mind with a reserve of seven thousand men.” 

They would have to keep men in reserve in case the other half of the army attacked elsewhere. Putting groups of a thousand men every other mile would guarantee it. It wouldn't matter if they had a hundred thousand men on the wall then -- with me as the tip of the spear, we would take the Danevirke. And once we were through it, their whole plan became useless. 

King Hoffer seemed impressed with the plan, “Fuck me, Wolfkissed. Did Odin whisper that one in your ear?” 

I just smiled in response as we reached our army once more. Astrid was there with a smile, and she handed me a spear. 

There was one more thing that I could do to make sure that the response of the Danevirke was messy and conflicting. I ran my hand over the shaft of the spear, feeling smooth wood under my palms before I turned around to face the  Danevirke. Brage watched us go, leaning on the railing while the Jarls behind him quarreled quietly -- his expression was one of focus and contempt. 

He was resolved to fight and die to deny me entry to Denmark. He knew that this was the single best opportunity to kill my ambitions. If we were defeated here, then my alliance would fracture. Perhaps I could still trouble his father and Denmark as a whole, but I would have a harder time of it without the support of Saxony and Norway. So, he was determined to fight to the bitter end. 

I could respect that. Admire it, even. Brage was doing his duty, and that duty was to stop me here. 

“What a shame it is that you're the son of Horrik,” I told him from across the distance. Then, in a single smooth action, I hefted the spear and took a step forward as I put all my strength behind the throw.

Projectile Prediction told me exactly where the spear would land and Brage only seemed to realize it a second too late. He saw the spear coming -- his eyes widening, his body going stiff as if he intended to dodge, but it was simply too late. The spear struck him in the chest, impaling him with enough force that his body was carried back until he tumbled over the back half of the Danevirke. 

It was as if the world held its breath, the three Jarls freezing in disbelief. It took them no less than ten seconds to realize I could throw another spear at them before they started to duck for cover. King Hoffer and King Widukind were similarly in shock, yet the army behind me let loose a thunderous cry that could match Thor. It seemed to shake the ground as my people felt invincible in that moment. 

It was King Widukind who recovered his wits first. “And yet you still deny your divinity, Wolfkissed?” 

“If a man is a stone, then I am perhaps a boulder,” I conceded to him. “The gods are mountains.” 

“... I suppose I'll have to take your word for it,” King Widukind muttered, still in shock at the spear throw. 

I took in a breath, feeling Halfdan and even Haldur patting me on the back in celebration -- not only because of the throw, but because who had just perished. Another son of Horrik was dead. And I… 

I felt like the weight on my shoulders got a little lighter. 

There was no time to dwell on it -- we had spilled first blood and taken off the head of their leadership. If we tarried too long, they could recover and establish their leadership. Something I'm sure they were trying to do exactly at the moment. 

We divided our forces into groups of two thousand men and spread them out across the Danevirke. Each group was equipped with ladders and a wood bridge that King Widukind had long since prepared. The bridge would go over the ditch, then the ladders would be placed at the base of the earthworks to reach the top of the palisade. However, for the most part, the attack would be a feint. 

The real breakthrough would happen at the gate. I would make sure of that myself at the helm of two thousand of my warriors -- all armored and carrying shields and handaxes for the close quarters fighting. 

Within a few hours, and at the blasting of a horn, my two thousand men sallied forth. As soon as we entered the range, we were assailed by arrows, slings, and javelins. They hammered at our shields, which we overlapped and held above our heads in a testudo formation. It slowed our approach, somewhat, but it gave our archers the opportunity to shoot back. 

Shields made out of wood were placed in our wake with Athrun's archers taking rapid shots at the defenders on the palisade, and almost immediately, I felt the missiles lessen against us. Through a gap in our shields, I saw the defenders on the wall recoil as their numbers sharply dwindled as every arrow struck home. It shook their confidence even further as poking their heads out meant certain death. 

It made our approach smoother to the gate, and it was as I neared that I gave the order to move the ladders up. The formation split, allowing the ladders to pass up while we covered the men that were planting them in the dirt before tilting them forward. Almost perfectly, the top of the ladder hit the gatehouse and as soon as it did, I was on the move. 

I half ran up the ladder more than I climbed it, sending the defenders in a fit of panic as they saw me coming and they tried to push the ladder back. They didn't manage it fast enough as within a moment, I cleared the palisade and I found myself in the gatehouse. I drew Gram from my belt, and with the same action, I slashed at a man who was closest to me. It caught him below his ribs, through his shield, and continued up to his collarbone, sending an arc of blood on the ceiling. 

It was a stark reminder of not only my raw strength and the power of Gram, but as I beheld the defenders, I saw most of them were unarmored. They had padded gabbisons and furs -- only the highest among them had chain mail. It was a harsh contrast to myself, who wore a long hauberk of it underneath plated armor, which in turn was under my cloak. 

There was a point that the fight would have been… a fight rather than what it now was. Gram was an impossible sharp blade that could only be broken by the gods, who was wielded by a man who was impossibly strong. I swung the blade, delivering death and butchery to those that tried to hold the gatehouse. Within seconds, the floorboards were covered in blood and limbs as men's bodies parted like animals did to a butcher's cleaver. 

By the time the others arrived, the gatehouse was already ours. They began to spill out to the sides, fighting for the ramparts down while the defenders at the wall struggled to figure out what was happening and why the gatehouse fell so quickly.

I, on the other hand, stepped on the railing to the back half of the Danevirke to gaze out at Denmark unobstructed for the first time in years. It felt like coming home, I thought as my gaze lowered to the odd three thousand men that were held in reserve to secure the gate. The fact that there were so few told me that Horrik hadn't committed everything to the Danevirke. He held something in reserve. 

The men beyond the wall looked up at me, their expressions bloodless and in awe. I knew exactly what they were thinking when they looked up at me. I knew exactly what they saw, as I was purposely cultivating the exact image -- imposing. Powerful. 

Inevitable. 

It was then that I spoke to them. 

“Open the gate,” I ordered the enemy army and, for the briefest of seconds, they remained idle. Then a few rushed forth to obey -- possibly because they were cowards. Possibly because they hoped for rewards. They could even be amongst those Christians that thought I was a prophet. I didn't know, nor did it truly matter. A handful of men broke the spell that had been cast upon the army as they went to unbarricade the gate. Others, however, realized what was happening and began to stop more who tried to obey, or give chase to stop them from rendering their defenses useless. 

When the first of the traitors to Horrik passed underneath me, I took a step forward and fell around twenty feet or so behind them. I felt a flash of pain in my knees, but Minor Regeneration was taking care of it even before I rose to my full height. Those that had tried to give chase skidding to a halt, looking up at me with fear. 

Those men would have to live. I needed them to return to their homelands with this tale -- a tale of how the mightiest wall our people had ever built fell within minutes to me, and how I dropped from it like a stone from a height that would kill most men before them. In truth, that would be my greatest difficulty in this war. 

Not killing the enemy.

The men behind me lifted the wood bar that held the gate close, as well as the wooden supports. The gates swung open, allowing my men to spill forth. 

Yet, it was then that I heard a horn blowing. The defenders paused, hearing the blasts, so I held up a fist and the warriors behind me stilled. The chaos of the battle suddenly went quiet as the three men that I saw before approached me upon horses, flanked by those carrying a banner. 

I got a better look at them now -- two of them were old. One more so than the other with a mane of white hair and a beard of gray while the other only had gray at his temples and lines around his eyes. The third was much younger, though still older than me by a decade. I looked between them for a moment as they arranged themselves before me. 

“You are a rare man, Wolfkissed,” the eldest one noted in a raspy voice that told me he had done a life time of shouting. “Not many manage to live up to their reputation. Fewer still manage to surpass it.” 

“You have me at a disadvantage. Who are you three?” I asked them, and the younger one narrowed his eyes at me. At least until I turned my attention to him fully and he swiftly looked away. 

“Dagfinn Endreson,” Dagfinn, the eldest answered. The name meant nothing to me, though I knew that the name came from the Sami. Which meant that he was either one of Horrik’s allies, or one of the men that he had bribed into subservience. 

“Jarl Gunnar Gormson,” Gunnar answered, and that name did sound familiar. He, I was fairly certain, was one of the Jarls loyal to Horrik in the civil war that saw Horrik become King of Denmark. There were a number of jarls that had fled to my banner who had many foul things to say about the man. Which told me, if nothing else, the man was clever but his loyalty blew whichever direction the wind was going. 

“Hrafen Ingson,” Hrafen, the youngest, answered. No title and I couldn't quite place the name. So, I knew less about him. Only that he was able to stand with the two as a peer, telling me that he had a notable amount of men, or influence, at his disposal. 

“I am Siegfried Erikson,” I introduced myself in turn, though they already knew who I was. “What exactly do you have to say to me?” 

“We are here to offer our surrender, Wolfkissed,” Jarl Gunnar answered, his tone a bit terse. “You have won the day. That much is already obvious, and I have no intention of throwing away lives for the sake of stubbornness.” 

That was so reasonable that it genuinely caught me off guard for a second. I truly expected that I was going to have to sweep to one side and kill hundreds, if not thousands, before they gave up trying to isolate my force and maintain their grip on the wall. I was expecting them to dig in and fight me because they knew that the Danevirke was their best chance at stopping me. 

‘But,’ I chide myself, ‘That should be expected.’ If these people were only allies to Horrik, they wouldn't be willing to risk it all just to make sure he remains King. 

I mulled what they said over for a moment before speaking, “How many do you number?” 

Jarl Gunnar narrowed his eyes while the other two shared a brief look, “Fifteen thousand.” He thought he knew where I was going with this. 

He thought I wanted to recruit them. 

“Good. At most, fifty men or so have perished here, so you will still retain most of your strength when you return to Horrik,” I said, nodding to myself. There was a beat of silence between us, a pregnant pause as Jarl Gunnar worked his jaw but it was Dagfinn who spoke. 

“My old ears must have misheard you, Wolfkissed. You… want us to return to Horrik?” The greybeard questioned, his horse shifting under him as the mare sensed his nervousness. 

“Aye, you heard me correctly. I shall accept your surrender upon one condition -- you will return to Horrik, and you shall fight by his side on whatever battlefield is chosen.” I stated in no unclear terms and there was a donning horror in the men's faces as they realized that I was being absolutely serious. “Then, when you find your defeat there, you will return to your homelands, wherever they might be. That you will tell your people of me and pass along this message…” 

A smile tugged at the edges of my lips, “I am coming.” 

They would prepare the grounds for me. They would sort out those that would submit without a fight and those who would resist. It would give them time to gather, to prepare, to make alliances -- all headless to the fact that was exactly what I wanted them to do. Every action until then would drive the stories home across the Baltic Sea. I had to curate the image of someone utterly unstoppable and unbeatable because that too would curb any rebellions after those that resisted were defeated. 

I saw it in their eyes. They thought I was mad. They hoped I was mad. Because if I wasn't, then I was serious and what they had just witnessed of me proved that I was capable of doing it. 

“Well? Do you accept my terms?” I asked them and they didn't need to answer. 

We all knew that they did.