Helsing dropped to one knee on the rocky ridge and surveyed what remained of his force. He could barely call them a warband anymore. When he'd left home, they had been united under a single purpose: to make his father and therefore he himself king of another realm. That dream felt distant now.
He had believed the gods favored him. With his own eyes, he had watched King Halfdan fall alongside eight other kings at Uppsala. Then he had seen his own son cut down before he could deliver the killing blow himself.
At first, rage had consumed him. But after days of brooding, he convinced himself the gods had intervened for reasons beyond his understanding. No mortal man could have made such a shot from an impossible distance with no enemy in sight.
His father's battle plans had served him well in the early campaigns. Two decisive victories had filled his ranks with enslaved warriors from defeated jarls. The gods seemed to smile on him. But today felt different. Today felt like they pissing on his mouth. Six of his ships lay as charred husks in the harbor, destroyed by that damn boy Silverhair.
Helsing turned back to his men and selected twenty of his most reliable warriors. He split them into pairs.
"Ten of you bastards take that way." He growled while gesturing towards the southeast. "Rest of you check the gate and docks. Move like you're not shit at this. Don't mess this up."
The scouts disappeared into the treeline like shadows. Each pair carried a knife, coiled rope, and iron grappling hook. Helsing watched until the forest swallowed them, then returned his attention to the main force.
Fifteen minutes crawled by. Smoke and morning mist hung low over the settlement. Then came the first report. All clear from the southeast.
The second pair returned with mud caked on their boots and grim news. They had encountered three locals on the road—two farmers and a child. The scouts had killed them quickly and quietly. The ridge had muffled any sounds.
The southeast team returned ten minutes later with a different message entirely. They had found a section of palisade wall weakened by storms. The wooden stakes showed rot at their base, and a water-filled ditch ran along the perimeter.
"Tall as two men, maybe more," the scout spat. "Ditch'll come up to your balls. Not many are watching that side. And the boats are chained up tight inside."
The gate scouts arrived with matching intelligence. The main entrance was heavily barred with five to ten spearmen patrolling the docks. "Huskarls," the scout confirmed.
Helsing had expected significant resistance. He had killed part of their elite warriors during the march back from Uppsala, but the remaining huskarls that stayed were no fools. They would be ready for retaliation after his victory at Borre.
"We split three ways," he said, scratching the plan in the dirt. "Fifty of you hit the north gate. Make noise, get their attention. While the rest of us take the weak spot. Ten men hold the water, make sure none of these shits escape by boat."
His warriors began their preparations. Ropes were coiled and tested. Grappling hooks received final inspections. Axe blades scraped against leather whetstones. Men who had eaten little in recent days hefted their shields and checked the leather straps.
The levy troops among his force received the menial tasks; bundling straw for fires and testing the strength of wooden barriers. Helsing could read hunger and fear in their faces, but he had no time for compassion.
-x-X-x-
The fifty-man diversion force began their descent from the ridge in loose formation. They moved in multiple lines rather than organized ranks, advancing quietly through the thinning trees.
As they entered the open ground one hundred fifty meters from the settlement's walls, the defenders spotted them. Guards along the palisade began alerting their companions without yet sounding any alarms. Only when two sentries confirmed the approaching threat did a horn finally blast across the settlement.
The fifty attackers responded with war cries and the rhythmic beating of axes against shield rims. But they maintained their measured pace, advancing in a single line with shields raised. They covered roughly one meter every two seconds, meaning five minutes would pass before they reached the north gate.
Within a minute of the alarm, twenty defenders appeared on the wall. From their practiced movements, they were clearly experienced warriors—possibly huskarls or veteran freemen. They took positions near the gate with bows drawn, arrows nocked and ready.
The diversion was in place. Its success would depend entirely on the main assault.
-x-X-x-
While the settlement's attention focused northward, Helsing led his main force of one hundred fifty men toward the weakened southeast section. They advanced in three rough blocks of fifty warriors each, with scouts guiding them toward the damaged wall.
They kept their shields low and carried no torches that might reveal their position. At two hundred meters from the wall, defending archers spotted the much larger force. Horns sounded again from multiple points along the palisade.
The defenders reacted quickly to the size of this new threat. Archers scrambled to new positions while huskarls reinforced the southeast corner.
"Form up, you dogs!" Helsing bellowed. "Lock those shields! Keep your damn heads down!"
His men locked their shields in overlapping formation. The front rank angled their shields to deflect arrows while keeping their heads low. They advanced in controlled rushes—ten to twenty meters at a time—pausing to reform their line before each movement. This prevented the archers from maintaining continuous aimed fire at stationary targets.
At one hundred fifty meters, forty archers on the wall began loosing arrows. Most were freeman hunters fulfilling their obligation to defend their lord's settlement, but at least ten were trained huskarls with superior bows and aim.
The shield wall's advance required enormous discipline. Arrows whistled overhead or struck shields with sharp cracks. Men in the rear ranks called encouragement to those in front while watching for gaps in the formation.
Eight men died before reaching the wall. Fifteen more suffered wounds severe enough to remove them from combat. Twenty-three casualties to archery alone; a significant loss before the real fighting even began.
Finally reaching the base of the palisade, Helsing's men found the water-filled ditch exactly as the scouts had described. Ten warriors crept to the ditch's edge and located the rotted posts while their comrades formed a tight shield screen above them.
Axemen began chopping at the weakened stakes. Warriors in the rear ranks hurled spears at any archer who showed himself on the wall, forcing the defenders to keep their heads down.
The dark water of the ditch reflected the gray sky above.
The wood proved more resistant than expected, rotten on the outside but still solid at the core. Progress came slowly while arrows continued falling from above.
Three more attackers died during the initial assault on the wall, bringing total casualties to twenty-six.
The defenders adapted quickly to close-range combat. Archers now shot almost straight down, their arrows striking at steep angles that bypassed shield coverage to wound exposed arms and legs.
When attackers threw grappling hooks over the wall, spearmen jabbed down to cut the ropes or push the climbers back. Reserve huskarls positioned themselves just behind the wall, ready to thrust spears through any gaps or respond to breaches.
The most effective defense came when warriors attempted to scale the wall. Defenders poured boiling water down on them, sending men screaming back into the ditch with scalded faces and hands.
In the first ten minutes of close combat, Helsing lost another ten men to a combination of arrow fire, spear thrusts, and scalding water.
-x-X-x-
The axemen continued their work on the rotted posts, but progress remained frustratingly slow. Helsing crouched behind his shield, arrows striking the ground around him.
"What's taking you so damn long?" he roared over the noise.
"Posts are rotten on the outside but the cores are still hard. It's hard to break them!" an axeman shouted back. "This is a damn trap!"
"Shit and piss!" Helsing spat, realizing they'd been tricked.
-x-X-x-
The assault continued with mounting losses. Every attempt to climb was met with spears, boiling water, or concentrated arrow fire. The ditch made movement treacherous; men slipped on mud, fell into the water, and became easy targets for defenders above.
Bodies began accumulating in the ditch, making footing even worse for subsequent waves. The terrain worked entirely in the defenders' favor.
Huskarls on the wall maintained discipline while levies behind them supplied additional stones and spears to hurl down. The defenders had prepared well for this exact scenario.
Helsing watched his force dwindle. Total losses likely exceeded thirty, how many were dead and how many were seriously wounded, Helsing did not know. All he knew was that every small advance cost more lives than he could afford.
-x-X-x-
For the first time, Helsing seriously considered retreat. His men were exhausting themselves against prepared defenses, and the casualty rate was unsustainable. He hesitated, studying the wall and the defenders above.
His eyes met those of a man on the wall who had been shouting orders throughout the battle—clearly a leader, though Helsing didn't recognize him. The two commanders stared at each other across the field of battle.
Just as Helsing wavered between pressing forward and ordering withdrawal, a sharp crack echoed from the base of the wall. One of the rotted posts finally gave way, creating a gap barely wide enough for a single man.
-x-X-x-
"Forward!" Helsing roared, his decision made.
Warriors pushed toward the narrow opening, shields raised. Each step remained treacherous. Mud sucked at their boots, bodies pressed against each other in the confined space, and arrows continued falling from above.
Men squeezed through the gap one at a time, shields first. Sweat stung their eyes, muscles strained from holding heavy weapons and shields, and blood from arrow wounds streaked their faces.
The ditch crossing proved as difficult as expected. Men stumbled on the slippery bottom, some sliding backward on mud, others catching themselves on broken stakes still jutting from the ground.
Once through the breach, close-quarters fighting erupted immediately. Attackers swung axes and thrust spears, meeting the defenders' steel and shields in desperate combat.
Inside the settlement's yard, huskarls formed a tight defensive ring with spears pointed outward, protecting the remaining levies and the settlement's buildings. Civilian defenders scattered; some hiding behind carts or in merchant stalls, others ducking into buildings and covering their mouths to avoid detection.
The noise became overwhelming. Metal rang against metal, leaders shouted orders over the din, wounded men screamed, and bodies fell with heavy thuds. The air grew thick with dust, smoke from small fires, and the metallic smell of blood.
Despite their numerical advantage, the attackers found every step contested. Close-quarters fighting in the confined space negated their superior numbers. Men fell on both sides—attackers skewered by quick spear thrusts, defenders cleaved by axes as the assault force gradually expanded their foothold.
The yard filled with smoke and dust, making it difficult to breathe or maintain clear sight lines. Combat formations constantly broke apart and reformed as men fell and were replaced by others pushing through the breach.
The battle had begun in earnest, but victory remained far from certain for either side as they found themselves again in a stalemate neither side could push through.
-x-X-x-
The fighting ground on with neither side able to break the other. Bodies piled up in the muddy ditch while fresh warriors stepped over them to continue the assault. Helsing's men pressed through the narrow breach one at a time, only to meet a wall of spears and shields inside.
Even his berserkers weren't performing as expected. Without their usual ritual preparations and mushroom-induced fury, they fought like ordinary warriors—fierce but not unstoppable. The defenders had clearly trained for this exact scenario.
Whoever commanded the settlement's defense knew what he was doing. Orders came sharp and clear from the walls. Reserves moved to reinforce weak points before they could collapse. Arrow volleys timed perfectly to disrupt each assault wave.
Then a horn blast cut through the battle noise from somewhere inside the settlement. A voice screamed above the fighting.
"Six ships incoming!"
The cry repeated. "Six ships incoming!"
Both sides paused for a heartbeat. Attackers and defenders exchanged confused and desperate glances. Neither knew what this meant, but it couldn't be good news for anyone. The fighting resumed with even more desperation than before.
-x-X-x-
Bjorn had heard the battle horns from far out on the water. Not that he'd deliberately held back and letting Helsing spend his men against the walls first, but he simply decided to wait a little bit until it's harder for the defenders to escape. He wants them incapable of fighting, and by them it means the entirety of Alfheim's elite force.
Having such a big force of more than hundred man, King Gandalf would never be able to maintain them alone. They must be the elite from the force of Gandalf and the other Earls or Earl. Bjorn doesn't know how many Jarls were there in Alfheim.
His six ships cut through the morning waves toward Tunsberg's shoreline. As they drew closer, Bjorn could see the settlement's layout more clearly. The palisade did indeed run right to the water's edge, just as it was reported many times before.
No convenient harbor entrance, no weak points in the coastal defenses. But there were always ways around such obstacles.
The ships ground against the sandy beach with scraping sounds that seemed impossibly loud. But the battle noise from inside the settlement dwarfed theirs. One hundred seventeen warriors splashed into the shallow water, shields on their backs and weapons in their hands.
Bjorn was first onto the beach, his boots finding solid footing on the wet sand. Around him, his generals if you would call them so, formed up quickly; Ragnar and Rollo.
The few guards who'd been left to watch the waterfront took one look at the numbers pouring off the ships and ran without even attempting to fight.
"Cowards," Rollo spat, hefting his war axe.
"Get the hooks!" Bjorn ignored his uncle and shouted to his men.
Iron grappling hooks and coiled ropes appeared from the ships.
Thorstein was first to get his hook set, the iron prongs catching firmly in a gap between wooden stakes. "Secure!" he called out.
More hooks flew through the air, clanging against wood until they found purchase. Within minutes, a dozen rope lines hung down the palisade like spider silk.
Floki danced around the base of the wall, his strange energy infectious. "Up we go! The gods watch us climb to glory!"
Bjorn grabbed the nearest rope and began hauling himself up hand over hand. Below him, his men spread out along multiple ropes to avoid creating a bottleneck. Bjorn looked down at Ragnar who was climbing behind him. "You getting old for this, old man?"
Ragnar climbed beside him, grunting with effort. "I guess i am," he muttered.
"You've been saying those past years," Bjorn replied, not even breathing hard.
Bjorn reached the top first and carefully looked over. The area immediately below was clear - storage buildings and workshops, with the real fighting happening somewhere deeper in the settlement. Smoke drifted between buildings, and the sounds of battle echoed off wooden walls.
He swung his leg over and dropped down inside Tunsberg's defenses. His feet hit the ground silently, and he immediately moved away from the wall to give his men room to follow.
One by one, his warriors dropped down beside him. Ragnar landed with a grunt. Erik came down gracefully despite his size. Leif practically bounced when he hit the ground, eager for the fight ahead.
Within minutes, all one hundred seventeen men were inside the settlement's walls, weapons ready and formation tight.
His men arranged themselves in a loose defensive formation around the immediate area. No civilians in sight - they'd either fled deeper into the settlement or were cowering in their buildings.
The group began advancing through Tunsberg's narrow streets, using the buildings for cover. Every man kept his shield ready and eyes scanning for threats.
Civilians spotted the new arrivals and began screaming in panic. Some ran toward their homes while others headed for the fighting, presumably to warn the defenders.
"We're here to help!" Rollo called out, but his words carried little weight. Armed strangers climbing over walls rarely came as friends. Bjorn knew that, so he didn't even bother.
Bjorn came into a decision and divided his force into three groups.
"Eighty men with me," he announced. "We're going where the fighting is the biggest. Ragnar with seventeen will stay here, watch the alleys and make sure no one escapes with the ships. The rest with Rollo, help whoever's defending this place."