The port city of Far-Mile was in uproar. The guards looked over the tall walls at the invading barbarian force approaching it. Thousands strong and reeking of blood. The city's mayor, Desmond, stood atop the wall, his face full of vigour as he watched. Far-Mile was one of the great cities of the Kingdom, being the heart of its trade and holding the largest trading port.
"Go to the guilds, any mercenaries in town are to be hired. Make the offer based on contribution to the defence of the city." Turning to his assistant he gave the order before readying the city guard and the small military presence deployed there. He had to thank the runner who had arrived two weeks previous. Although at first the warning was brushed off and minimal preparations were made, it quickly became serious after refugees from nearby towns and villages came.
Frode and Halfdan looked at the towering walls before them. Their army had become a swarm that plagued the land, stealing and pillaging across the coast. After the first few villages, the belief formed that everything they had been told about this land was a lie. They were unopposed for the most part, with only a small resistance being put up.
"Finally a challenge for us." Frode slapped the back of Halfdan, looking at the towering city walls. His blood boiled with anticipation of a challenge. Halfdan was less excited. They had created a stronghold in one of the villages they had taken over, having to leave men behind to guard it. Looking at the walls, he knew it was a battle that would need every blade possible.
"How do we even breach those walls? It's stone." Questioning the excited Frode, he analysed what they should do. He could see atop the wall the soldiers waiting for them to close the distance. It was heavily guarded and had thick walls. Looking at the wooden gate with iron bars in front didn't help. They could easily destroy the wood but to get through the iron was another thing.
"We should give it up Frode. We will lose hundreds maybe thousands trying to attack that." Although he loved and craved battle, Halfdan wasn't stupid. He wouldn't throw his men into a meat grinder just to achieve nothing. It would weaken his Jarldom but more importantly his position as a leader on the foreign shore.
"I didn't take you for a craven Halfdan. Look at its majestic walls. This must be the seat of power for a king. Imagine the gold and silver in there. The woman, the queen." His eyes were full of desire. Halfdan could see he had lost it, Frode's eyes only able to see the reward, not the challenge.
"You may attack, but I won't. Not because I'm a coward but because there are easier targets out there." Turning around ready to leave, Frode placed his hand on Halfdan's shoulder.
"You will attack Jarl." Frode's voice was cold. Halfdan hit his hand away reaching for his weapon.
"Or what? You think because you call yourself King, I will fight for you." Spitting on the ground next to Frode's feet, he looked back up into his eyes, "That is what I think of your pathetic title. Even that coward Erik is more of a King than you." Veins popped on Frode's head. Reaching behind his back he pulled his battleaxe out.
Halfdan pulled his two axes from his belt. The two looked at one another, bloodthirsty. Their soldiers didn't interrupt, instead egging it on. Halfdan was the first to move. swinging a fury of attacks at Frode, despite his size, gracefully dodged each one. Swinging his battle axe at the man's feet, Hafldan, jumped into the air, avoiding being swept on his back.
Frode smiled seeing this move. He let the weight of his axe carry him, spinning himself around. Lifting his foot, he hit Halfdan who was in the air with a spinning kick, sending the man tumbling to the ground. His ribs hurt but it was nothing. Frode walked over. He towered over the collapsed Halfdan.
Standing over him, he swung his axe down, narrowly being dodged by Halfdan, who rolled to the side. Quickly getting himself up, he once again attacked, feinting a few, trying to catch Frode out. The man was skilled, proving his title, any attack he couldn't dodge he intercepted with his battle axe.
Seeing it going nowhere Frode got impatient. Dodging an attack, he spun himself with his axe, throwing a powerful attack that couldn't be stopped. Halfdan was waiting for this. Everyone knew that although Frode was a skilled warrior he was impatient when battles dragged out too long. Although he messed up earlier, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. The attack flew towards Halfdan's head. The man ducked underneath it, swinging at the King's stomach.
With the axe being lodged, the unexpected pain made him lose grip of his battleaxe sending it flying into the crowd, injuring a few. Halfdan held his other axe on the man's neck. Although he wished to kill him, it wouldn't be good to do so now.
"Give up Frode." In a condescending voice, he looked down at the man holding his wound. Frode growled at him, but stood up, ignoring the axe on his neck. Nodding and spitting out blood, he took a deep breath.
"We get the other two and we come back to attack." Although he budged on the retreat, he still didn't let go of his desire. Halfdan said nothing lowering his axe. Despite his reserved thinking he also wished to raid the colossal port. Returning his axe to his belt he walked away from the city, his army following behind. Frode went to his healer. Grabbing some chewed herbs, he rubbed it across his wound, wrapping it up afterwards.
Major Desmond watched from the distance as the invading force slowly backed away. He smiled tapping the city's wall, thanking the founder for creating such a sturdy tall wall.
Walking down the long road, Knut and Erik marched with their men. They had stumbled across many towns and villages, pillaging what they could. It slowed down when they encountered the first castle. Unlike Half-Mile, it was a small fort that was only used as the first layer of defence for the capital. The swarm of over a thousand barbarians easily destroyed the wooden gate by cutting nearby trees and using it as a ram. Making it the base of operation, they began sending out raiding parties from it, ruining all the nearby settlements.
After two weeks Knut and Erik sat in the old commander's office. "We can't head west anymore. Too much resistance. I've sent word to the others." Knut flipped a silver coin with an image of Alfred on it.
"We have grain, gold and silver to send back. But we don't have a secured land to live on here. We need a permanent land to live on here." Erik said sharpening his axe. He looked up at Knut who continued to flip the coin.
"The resistance we have faced has been so low it makes me wonder if a king even lives on these lands; if those ships we saw were just an illusion." Knut laughed to himself. Grabbing the coin out of the air, he pointed the picture of Alfred on it to Erik. "This man must be King, right? He puts his face on the bronze, silver and gold."
Putting his axe down, Erik indicated to pass the coin with his finger. Flicking it over, he caught it and analysed the figure on the coin. "Looks weak. No beard, short hair." Throwing the coin back over he was no longer interested.
"Makes sense why we have faced so little so far then." Knut agreed. Placing the coin on the table. Looking out the window he watched the far distance that he couldn't see. "When the others arrive we will march West." Erik nodded in agreement returning to his axe.