blogombal Chapter 367: Trapped
Chapter 367: Trapped
"Shield wall!"
"Form a circle around the King and the children!"
"Do not let them break the line!"
Aedh found the strength within him to keep his eyes open, devastated; the scene before him clouded his chest with heavy sorrow and filled his mind with a suffocating fog.
The surviving royal guards rushed forward, the absolute elite of the keep.
They slammed their shields together, creating a tight ring of steel and oak in the center of the courtyard.
In the past, Aedh would have drawn his own blade. Aedh never let his men fight alone, demanding absolute loyalty from his soldiers and never leaving them to face death without him. Even his enemies knew he led from the front.
But he could not stand today... This wasn’t out of fear or surrender, but a complete paralysis born from the poison in his veins, leaving his muscles screaming in agony as Captain Domnall hauled him up from the freezing mud.
"Father!" When he looked to the center of the circle, Maeve was on her knees in the mud, carefully gathering the crying children beneath her cloak.
She pulled a small, incredibly sharp silver dagger from her belt, her green eyes wide but her hand steady, "I won’t let them near!"
"...a brave girl, you have the fierce spirit of your brothers." Aedh’s sorrow deepened slightly.
"Damnit..." Conor gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on his sword as he looked at the overwhelming numbers surrounding them. "There are easily a hundred of them."
Through the thick winter fog and the driving rain, terrifying silhouettes began to appear all around them.
Dozens of heavily armed Norsemen used heavy iron grappling hooks, pouring over the high walls like a swarm of spiders, surrounding the small, desperate circle.
"You are completely trapped, your Majesty..." Kjartan smiled, standing casually on top of the burning gatehouse rubble.
He entirely ignored the roaring flames behind him as he flipped a balanced steel throwing knife into the air, "The tournament is canceled... and your beautiful fortress is currently burning to the ground."
"Who the fucking hell are you?!" Conor roared, stepping forward and pointing his sword at the scarred pirate.
"Hehe.." Kjartan chuckled, catching his knife by the sharp blade.
He pointed the tip directly at the High King. "I am just a humble messenger... Ivar the Boneless sends his absolute regards."
Clang... Crash! A unified battle cry erupted. The horde of Norsemen surged forward from all directions, crashing into the Irish shield wall like a devastating tidal wave of iron.
"Hold the line!" Domnall roared, stepping into the gap and swinging his broadsword in a sweeping arc.
Conor and Declan fought like demons, covering each other’s blind spots as they pushed the attackers back.
Even so, the situation was incredibly, hopelessly bad. For every single Norseman killed, three more immediately stepped over the bloody corpses to take their place.
Thwack! A steel throwing knife suddenly flew over the shield wall, burying itself into the throat of an Irish guard.
"Close the gap!" Ronan shouted, moving sideways to cover the fallen man’s position. But the circle was rapidly shrinking.
Inside the center of the ring, Aedh fell to his knees in the mud. "No..." Aedh whispered. "Not my family... please..."
"Die, you Irish dogs!" a Norse raider laughed, smashing his shield into Declan’s face. The young prince stumbled backward, leaving a massive gap in the defensive circle.
Three heavily armed Norsemen instantly poured through the opening, axes raised high, aiming directly for Maeve.
Maeve stepped in front of the toddlers, raising her small silver dagger with a fierce scream... She was fully prepared to die.
Aedh squeezed his eyes completely shut. Yet, the fatal blow Aedh braced for was swallowed by a sudden tremor that vibrated through the mud beneath his knees.
The roaring flames, the desperate shield wall, and the relentless Norsemen... was only a fraction of the doom descending upon the capital.
Down in the labyrinth of the rain-swept lower city, hidden from the King’s despairing eyes, the true race for survival was already underway.
"We are almost there, Finn!"
"If we can just reach the main gates... and warn the outer guards!"
Finn found the strength within him to keep gripping the reins, terrified; the freezing rain around him washed away the comforts of his past, but not the heavy dread clouding his mind.
A corrupt tax collector who preferred soft silk beds, sweet Frankish wine, and the company of beautiful women, Finn was not a man of the sword.
He had never sought the battlefield, preferring his violence firmly in the shadows of ledgers. Yet here he was, alongside Captain Torstein, a disgraced city guard, pushing their stolen horses through the narrow streets of Dublin like madmen.
A blinding flash of white-hot fire erupted, sweeping away the gates as if they were mere illusions.
"Damn..." Finn released a pained groan with difficulty, rolling over in the mud as he clutched his aching ribs.
His body simply did not obey him, all the air instantly knocked from his lungs.
Torstein slowly pushed himself up from a puddle. He stared at the burning rubble.
"We failed..." Torstein whispered, "We are entirely too late, Finn. The King is dead... the entire royal family is completely gone."
Across the streets, the shadows of the city slowly parted to reveal hidden assassins... Ivar the Boneless’s squads pouring out of the local taverns.
"We need to run, Torstein!" Finn yelled, "Ivar’s men are completely taking over... Let’s steal a boat. I have enough silver to buy us a quiet life in Paris!"
"No..." Torstein narrowed his eyes slightly.
Torstein sprinted toward the noise, leaving Finn no choice but to curse the heavens, draw his small iron dagger, and follow.
The scene in the market square was deeply chaotic. A wealthy carriage bearing the golden banners of Osraige lay overturned.
"Protect the King!"
King Cerball, an old and distinguished vassal king, stood trembling in expensive green velvet, holding a thin silver sword.
Standing against his men was Haldor, a massive Norseman radiating unhinged bloodlust.
He swung his double-bladed battleaxe, easily shattering the shields of the Irish guards in a single blow.
"Kill this king!" Haldor roared at the top of his lungs, "Bring me his crown!"
"Not on my watch," Torstein’s voice echoed as he stepped into the fray.
Haldor stepped forward, bringing his axe down.
Clang! The pressure forced Torstein to his knees in the mud, his arms shaking.
"You fight well, little Irish dog..." Haldor grinned, bearing down with all his weight.
Torstein gritted his teeth, closing his eyes to prepare for death.
"Hey, you ugly bastard!"
Haldor blinked, turning his head very slowly.
Standing there was Inspector Finn. In one hand, his tiny iron dagger; in the other, a leather pouch entirely full of stolen tax silver.
"Is that a little pig?" Haldor laughed, highly amused by the pathetic sight. "What are you going to do, fat man? Poke me with that little needle?"
With whatever strength he could possibly muster, Finn hurled the ten-pound sack of solid silver directly at the giant’s face.
The weight of the wealth crashed into the Viking’s face. Haldor screamed in agony, his nose shattered, dropping his axe as the pouch burst, scattering silver coins beautifully across the mud.
Torstein surged upward, driving his blade completely through Haldor’s back. The massive Viking collapsed dead before he even realized a cowardly tax collector had defeated him.
Finn fell to his knees in the mud, panting heavily.
King Cerball stepped forward, bowing his head slightly. "You saved my life... I am in your debt... Are you the elite commanders of the High King’s personal guard?"
Finn found it within himself to wipe his face and offer a little bow. "I am just a humble tax collector, your Majesty... and this is my bodyguard. We are highly motivated by good deeds."
"We must move, your Majesty," Torstein interrupted, "We have to escort you to the harbor."
"I am not leaving this city!" Cerball argued fiercely. "My daughter, Princess Eithne, is trapped inside the royal wing!"
"...?" Finn’s heart stopped for a moment. "Your Majesty... Nobody could have possibly survived that blast."
However, his words were instantly cut short. A sound began to suppress the surrounding noise.
Finn and Torstein turned around very slowly.
Marching out of the winter fog was a phalanx of elite Norse warriors. And at the very front, entirely strapped to a black horse, was the crippled warlord himself.
Ivar the Boneless had finally arrived... He stopped his horse, his eyes sweeping over them. "Well, well, well... It seems I missed a few little rats..."
Meanwhile, high above the streets, behind the walls of the royal keep, High King Aedh and his children faced a darker fate... While King Cerball miraculously found a glimmer of hope through an unlikely savior, the ruler watched his final defensive shield wall crumbled.
The Norse horde surged inward, drowning the royal family in an inescapable tide of iron.