It looks like an epic battle is in the offing. I'm sure that the Estonians won't appreciate whatever other tricks Harald and Sten bring into play.
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Well I failed utterly to finish this before CK2 came out, but oh well. I'll wrap this up, I've already started work on the mod to convert this game to CK2. 
RGB: Yeah, I couldn't pick a precise name as there were so many options, so I just ended up choosing one. As for Harald's plans, well...
Ilyavania: Harald's certainly got guts to be ordering men twice his age around, but he's got the rank and authority due to blood, and he's a nice enough kid!
Alex Borhild: I certainly hope it holds a certain modicum of epicness. The Danes aren't going to bring any shortage of pain for the Estonians either way.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
Chapter 53 – Fire of the Norse Spirit
22nd of February, 1086 Anno Domini
In the darkness of the night, the rain began to fall. A soft patter, gentle and weak, the droplets fell from the sky and onto Harald's waiting army. The entrances of the village were blocked with hastily built barricades of carts, wooden doors from homes, spears and firewood – anything that could be spared had been taken for the army's purposes. Although the rain brought sprays of faint mist and dampened the men's figures, the Norse Spirit was only just getting started.
Throughout the village, the men were chanting, singing, clapping their hands and stomping their feet. Several skalds who had accompanied the force were reciting ancient sagas of great battles and deeds, and the company's lone priest was offering prayer to the few christians interested in his service. It was not often realized even by the Christian nobles themselves how poorly spread the conversion in Scandinavia was. Harald's eyes had been opened this night to just how much his people still embraced the old ways, and to how even the priest himself turned a blind eye to the activities of the men which remained so pagan in their own way.
Yet, although he was a Christian in name himself, a wry grin came to Harald's face. Even in the damp, even outnumbered as they were by the pagans, Harald's men were not afraid; and it was not God or the promise of heaven that bought their confidence. Although Harald had gone to great lengths to lead the men as one of them (mucking in with the troops during the construction of the barricades and getting his own hands dirty) and they seemed to enjoy his presence, he was not the true source of their morale. They affectionately referred to him as 'Little Chieftain' and joked of how he had only just reached manhood, but he was not yet an old or experienced enough man to be their source of strength.
Harald Audensen realized on this day, as the first lights of the enemy army appeared, why his army showed no fear: they had the Norse Spirit. They believed themselves brave and glorious warriors, each one a man worthy of the sagas of old, each man continuing on the proud tradition of their ancestors. Although Christianity had brought them many things, it could not spark the fire in the Norse gut the same way that Nordic culture and that the old sagas could. Their morale came from their common ancestry, from the sagas of the Old Gods and Kings, and from their confidence in their abilities, from the lowest leidang to the mightiest huskarl.
The Little Chieftain had just enough time to file this fact away in his brain before he realized that it was time to take action. The pagans had just crested the hill opposite the valley, and were marching brightly lit as he had hoped. As the number of glittering lights increased, Harald's frown deepened, and he found his helmet and placed it firmly upon his head.
“Sten!” Harald turned to the veteran huskarl. “They're here, take the men...” He turned and squinted, then pointed. “Do you see there, the trees along that ridge, just on the north side of the valley?”
“Aye Harald, I see it.”
“Set up there – there should be minimal risk of Estonian reinforcements from the north. When I give the signal, you know what to do.”
Sten saluted to his lord. “Aye m'lord, it shall be done. May the old gods guide your blade and the Lord safeguard your soul.”
Harald looked at his bodyguard curiously as he turned away. It seemed such a strange thing, to speak of the old gods and the Christian god in the same sentence, yet it was not the first time he had heard of it. He wondered how the church in Rome would react if they heard of such impious men in the north – another thing he would have to remember for the future.
Harald turned his eyes back to the front line. Sten had taken some two hundred men, with no torches and no banners to potentially betray his presence. Most of his men were composed of the most veteran soldiers, warriors who had fought through the bloodiest days of the Baltic Crusade and lived to tell the tale. Few were youthful, but they were heavily armed and had few equals in the art of killing men – he could rely on them to watch his back.
The chanting and singing continued, but Harald's commanders looked to him, clearly nervous. The battle was about to be joined and they needed their orders. Harald looked around – the deception had been well executed. Sacks of food, blankets, spare wood – everything they could use to make false men surrounding the campfires had given the impression that the vikings were unprepared. If the Estonians took the bait, they would walk in unprepared for what was coming.
“Kjeld.” Harald said suddenly, but in a calm, confident voice. “Your band is responsible for guarding the northeast entrance into the village. Søren, your band will guard the central entrance. Ragnar, take your men to secure the entrance just south of that. Grim, your band is mostly leidang and young to boot, so I want them to form a reserve here, in the square. When I give the order, they should move to reinforce whatever point in the line is weakest. Everyone should keep low and take cover, so that as the pagans approach they will not notice our presence fully. God willing, this cloud cover will hold and continue to obscure our positions.”
“And your Guard, my lord?” Grim asked. “Where are they?”
“Sten's taken my men to prepare a surprise for the pagans.”
“A surprise?” Ragnar grunted. The Norwegian was a gruff old man, his beard had gone fully grey and he only had one eye left – in every sense he was a traditionalist. “Surely as honourable men, we should be facing them from the front, not relying on cheap tricks.”
Harald frowned at the man. “Are you questioning my judgement, Ragnar?”
“As a matter of fa-”
“Enough!” Kjeld interrupted Ragnar. “Harald is the nephew of Skjalm Hvide, and more importantly, he's the man who pays your wages. He has seniority.”
“Bu-” Ragnar started.
“And he's right.” Grim said. “The Little Chieftain is wise to not face this situation head-on, for we are outnumbered two to one. You complained about the barricades, and about the campfires, and now you complain about a hidden force? If Hvide's huskarls can stage an ambush, it might make the difference between a glorious victory and a bloody defeat.”
Ragnar scoffed and turned towards his men. “So be it. My men will do their job.”
Harald looked to the others. “I will maintain observation from here until there is little more I can do by giving orders, then join the front lines. Grim, if you are able, I would appreciate you by my side to give advice.”
The veteran soldiers saluted and moved to muster their forces for battle. Harald himself quickly checked his equipment. He had a large round shield and a fine sword, plus an axe across his back, a dagger and two small axes balanced for throwing. He also wore a fine suit of mail, well-padded and finely crafted for maximum protection. With the addition of his cape and helmet, he was heavily burdened by his equipment, but thankfully long hours of training had prepared him for this moment. The boy looked every part the young warlord, now he just needed to hope to survive this night.
As the lights swarmed down the opposite hill, Harald berated himself silently. 'There is no hope in battle...' He noted. 'Victory will come down to the success of your plan, not to luck or to God or to anything else.'
As he contemplated the situation and his men moved into position, Harald noticed an oddity. The lights were beginning to spread out, a mass of them was breaking off erratically and moving towards the village. Then they began to move fast, a rumbling, unfamiliar sound echoed through the valley as they approached extremely quickly.
“What is that...” Harald squinted, trying to discern what was happening.
“Horsemen, my lord.” Grim said. “I'd recognize that sound anywhere, that's horsemen.”
“Why have their horse broken off from the rest of the force? They're coming straight for us...”
Grim gave him a grin full of missing teeth. “Well m'lord, I'd guess your plan worked. They think we're asleep and they're hoping to hit us with the horse before we wake up and notice their army coming.”
Harald almost laughed. “Then they ride to their deaths, with all due luck. You, runner, send a message to the front commanders and quickly. Once the horse are broken or stopped before our barricades, the spears should muster a quick counterattack. If the horse offer too firm a resistance or the foot get too close, they should withdraw behind the barricades and reform the wall.”
“Aye m'lord.” The soldier, an Obotrite, quickly rode off.
Harald stretched his neck and held his shield close and in a safe position. Although Baltic horsemen rarely carried bows, they sometimes had javelins and he was not about to take any risks just yet. Over-preparation would at worst be a waste of effort, and at best could save his life. The lights of the horsemen drew closer and closer, and Harald's heart began to pound as a rush of energy flooded through his body. At last, the fated moment came as the first lights became visible as horsemen and rushed blindly into the disguised barricades, expecting open village paths.
Although in the chaos Harald could not see too clearly, the sound of the madness told him that things were likely going his way – and he was right. The Estonian horse had collided with the barricades and much of the first wave died outright as they were trampled and pushed by the horse behind them upon falling. Those few that managed to jump the barricades found a wall of spears waiting for them that meant a quick end to both man and horse. The entire attack ground to a halt outside the barricades as confused horsemen with no direction crowded up against the village entrances.
Harald heard the cries of the hersirs at the front lines, and the Scandinavians sprung into action before the disorganized Estonian leaders could muster some kind of movement. Almost five hundred horsemen were caught in the open as Harald's army descended upon them. In the chaos of the darkness and the confusion, the cavalry were brought down in the dozens, barely able to react against men they could hardly see and whose spears were superior in length to their own. The skirmish lasted only a few minutes before the morale of the horse was completely broken. Harald grinned as the survivors scattered, most galloping east but a number fleeing in any direction they could take. In the end less than a third of the lights that approached the village were fleeing back to the main army.
Roars of victory erupted through the Scandinavians, who had inflicted far greater damage than they had suffered. Barely two dozen men lay on the field of battle from Harald's side, and the bulk of the pagan cavalry had been crushed.
“Return to your positions! Prepare for a more determined assault!” Harald bellowed over the noise, waving to the men. Although he had to repeat it several times, the men did eventually do as commanded, and returned to the barricades as the Estonians began to draw closer.
“The cavalry returned behind the lines. They're in the back now, I believe.” Grim commented, his eyes never leaving the pagan force. “They still outnumber us even with that victory, we'll have to prepare for some kind of flanking action, m'lord.”
“If they attempt it, your reserve is in place for exactly that kind of thing. There's a small entrance on the south side they could attempt to move into, but they'll only be able to file in small numbers. We should be able to handle it.” Harald commented, observing the force. “They move more like a mob than an army, I'm surprised these pagans were able to defeat Rurikovich in Ingria.”
“Keeping discipline is hard at night, where it's difficult to see what's going on and to pass orders. Be thankful our small units do not have as many difficulties in this situation. Our veteran troops also have more training, discipline and experience.”
“The night and this weather favours us, aye, especially in this village.” Harald watched the mob approach. “Let's see if it favours us enough...”
As the pagan army approached, the Scandinavians bellowed and chanted louder than ever, striking their own shields with sword, spear and axe, creating a deafening cacophany that blotted out the war cries of the Estonians. Although Nords were typically quiet in the moment battle was to be joined, the hersirs made an exception given the circumstances. Having seen the bloodied and terrified casualties of the horsemen, and now faced with the roaring of the Norsemen, the Estonians did not crash into the Scandinavian line with as much fervour as they perhaps should have. Their morale was already shaken when the battle began.
The well-disciplined rows of spears presented an immense challenge to the pagans who scrambled over the treacherous barricades. Already disrupted by having to surmount the obstacle, they were faced with a solid shield wall that, in the darkness, had little in the way of weakness. Unable to retreat as men poured in behind them, they were pushed forward into the line and countless died before even coming in reach of the Nords. However, in spite of the discipline of the troops, the weight of numbers would slowly begin to add up as the line was pushed back and casualties began to mount. Archers on both sides fired over the front lines into the groups behind, although the heavy armour and shields of the Scandinavians was favouring them here too.
“There m'lord, look!” Grim pointed to a pack of lights breaking off and moving south. “They must be searching for another way around, they'll certainly find the other entrance.”
Harald shook his head. “I'm more worried about Kjeld's group, look – they've already been pushed back fifty paces, and they've thinned out considerably.”
“What is your plan, m'lord?”
Harald gritted his teeth as he watched the battle unfold for a moment longer.
“M'lord?”
“Leave me twenty men, take the rest to reinforce Kjeld. I'll make sure the southern entrance stays closed no matter the cost.”
Grim's jaw visibly dropped. “M'lord that is most reckless, if you die then the men will be lost!”
“That's an order, Grim!” Harald sternly stared at his new lieutenant. “Now go!”
The hersir seemed frustrated, but finally turned. “You men, stay here and guard the Little Chieftain with your life – the rest of us, form up, we're going to save Kjeld's ass before he gets an Estonian spear stuck in it!”
As Harald was left alone with his small accompaniment, he looked around at their nervous faces. Most of them were young, as young as him perhaps. Although like most Scandinavians they believed in their bloodlines and in their heritage as warriors, they had not seen battle before. He too, was nervous, but he couldn't afford to show it to these men. They needed his confidence – now he could make a difference.
Harald took the horns he had collected from the hersirs earlier and held them up. “You men, take these. When I give the command, blow the horns like your life depends on it – and trust me when I say that it does.”
The young leidang did as commanded, and Harald took one of his own. “Ready? Now blow!”
The loud chorus of horn sounds echoed through the valley, piercing even the calamity of the battle. Harald squinted, and somewhere in the distant trees, he saw movement. Sten's warband was on the move, and positioned directly behind the centre mass of the Estonian army. Now he hoped that his gamble would pay off.
“Excellent, well done!” Harald dropped his horn on the wooden platform in the centre of the village. “Put them here, then draw your weapons and prepare for battle. There is little more we can do to direct the battle, it is up to our warriors to win. Now we shall earn glory of our own. The Estonians are moving to try and break in through here.” Harald pointed to the side entrance. “I guarantee you they will not succeed! Form a line on the street, they'll have to face a wall of shields to get here!”
The leidang were nervous, but complied. Although the initial line was sloppy, Harald had taken his place in the centre of the formation and helped them form up appropriately. Roughly eight men wide, they had just enough time to catch their breath when the first Estonians rounded the corner. They closed in and Harald watched as the disorganized charge began. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. It struck Harald as odd, even as the first Estonian closed into spear range. It wasn't how slow the world seemed to crawl in that moment, or how the first man was impaled upon a Danish spear; no, it was how short they seemed. He could hardly believe how tiny this man seemed, and his companions were no taller. Were Estonians really so short?
He had no more time to think as he brought his sword up to swipe a spear thrust to the side. Harald lacked a spear of his own, but the Estonian's charge brought him within reach of his blade. The young man's sword slashed forward and effortlessly tore the unarmoured pagan's body open, throwing him to the floor. Again, there was no time to think as another closed in, and another. The organized line turned into chaos, and Harald without a spear was having the worst of it. His heavy armour and shield protected him from the blows of their spears, wood axes and farming equipment, which were raining down far more frequently than he would like due to his shorter reach.
Harald skilfully twisted one of the Balts' weapons to the side with his own blade and then thrust forward, claiming another life. Another swing and another fell despite a poor attempt at defence. He was shocked how rapidly they were falling, and how incompetent they seemed. These men were so short, their sword arms had no reach and they lacked skill.
His thoughts were interrupted as an Estonian spear pierced his guard. The tip was poorly aimed, but buried itself into the side of his chain and pierced the padding. It faintly scratched his skin, but in the heat of the moment, Harald didn't even notice it. Harald dropped his sword instinctively and grabbed the spear as the Estonian tried to pull out. Harald flexed and gave a strong pull with his arm, and the surprised pagan stumbled forward towards him, completely off-balance. A single, sharp thrust of his shield upwards into the Estonian's jaw knocked him out cold.
Flipping the spear around, Harald skewered yet another pagan, lodging it firmly into his chest and yelling triumphantly. Although several of his men had fallen, the bodies were beginning to pile up and in their favour. The Estonians were becoming afraid to approach, spurred on only by the threats of the leaders behind them. Letting the stuck spear go, Harald took to the throwing axes next, hurling one, and then the other. Each claimed a life. His sword was lost in the melee now, covered somewhere by a body. Rather than search, the young warrior threw his shield down and unslung the axe from his back.
The Estonians scrambled backwards, keeping their distance now. The spear line was unbroken, and they were rightly intimidated by what waited for them. Harald was taller than even the tallest of his fellow Danes, and wielded the axe in two hands with a glint of berserk fury in his eye. Even the smaller Scandinavians were taller than most of the Balts, and they had not flinched before the assault. Again, in spite of their superior numbers, the enemy had been broken in their assault. Harald looked around at the line. His men were panting, but fear no longer filled their eyes. They had met the enemy and known what he had, and what they had was better.
Harald held his axe ready. “Men, form up, swords and axes only.” He ordered calmly. The leidang were momentarily confused, but dropped their spears and procured their shorter arms.
Behind the enemy lines, an Estonian commander seemed to be furiously attempting to spur the shaken troops onwards.
“Remember your stoicism, men.” Harald grinned. “They fear us, and they fear what they do not understand. We shall make them understand that we are only death. On my command, charge, but maintain the line – do not outpace your brothers. We must be ready to return to the line at a moment's notice. Ready? Charge!”
Harald pushed forward with his axe in two hands, grinning. The entire Norse pack moved in silence – no war cries, no chants, just grim determination. They collided with the Estonian line, and immediately Harald's axe cleft through a spear haft and claimed a man's life. Two more Nords fell, but three times their number in panicked Estonians suffered. Against this counterattack, the weary pagans turned their backs and began to flee. Mercilessly, the Nords cut them down, showing no respect for their cowardice.
“Slay them all, no mercy!” Harald cried as he cut down yet another. Emboldened by their leader, the men fought on. Before long, a trail of bodies was left as a panicked mob of Estonians fled eastwards.
Harald spit and looked to his weary force, then paid a listening ear. The battle was still in full force, and there was much to be done.
“Men, our brothers are faced with overwhelming odds, they need our help. Will we stand here, or shall bring death to the Balts one more time?” Harald asked of them.
“Death to the Balts!” The Nords bellowed.
Harald looked down the small paths and clearings between the villages. Walking up to a thin wooden fence, he gave it a firm kick and the entire section broke off. “Follow me!”
Rushing through to the side of the hut, and then on to another one, he soon heard the sounds of battle directly on the other side of the fence. The glow of torchlight told him that the Estonians had pushed this far, yet whoever was in charge had made no attempt to flank between the houses and simply attacked the main streets. Amateurish.
Harald waved to two of the biggest and strongest. “We'll break this fence and charge in. Kill anything Baltic, show no mercy.” Harald hefted his axe as the men formed up behind and to the side of him. “Ready men? Now!”
The fence was broken into splinters as Harald's men charged one more time...
RGB: Yeah, I couldn't pick a precise name as there were so many options, so I just ended up choosing one. As for Harald's plans, well...
Ilyavania: Harald's certainly got guts to be ordering men twice his age around, but he's got the rank and authority due to blood, and he's a nice enough kid!
Alex Borhild: I certainly hope it holds a certain modicum of epicness. The Danes aren't going to bring any shortage of pain for the Estonians either way.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
Chapter 53 – Fire of the Norse Spirit
22nd of February, 1086 Anno Domini
In the darkness of the night, the rain began to fall. A soft patter, gentle and weak, the droplets fell from the sky and onto Harald's waiting army. The entrances of the village were blocked with hastily built barricades of carts, wooden doors from homes, spears and firewood – anything that could be spared had been taken for the army's purposes. Although the rain brought sprays of faint mist and dampened the men's figures, the Norse Spirit was only just getting started.
Throughout the village, the men were chanting, singing, clapping their hands and stomping their feet. Several skalds who had accompanied the force were reciting ancient sagas of great battles and deeds, and the company's lone priest was offering prayer to the few christians interested in his service. It was not often realized even by the Christian nobles themselves how poorly spread the conversion in Scandinavia was. Harald's eyes had been opened this night to just how much his people still embraced the old ways, and to how even the priest himself turned a blind eye to the activities of the men which remained so pagan in their own way.
Yet, although he was a Christian in name himself, a wry grin came to Harald's face. Even in the damp, even outnumbered as they were by the pagans, Harald's men were not afraid; and it was not God or the promise of heaven that bought their confidence. Although Harald had gone to great lengths to lead the men as one of them (mucking in with the troops during the construction of the barricades and getting his own hands dirty) and they seemed to enjoy his presence, he was not the true source of their morale. They affectionately referred to him as 'Little Chieftain' and joked of how he had only just reached manhood, but he was not yet an old or experienced enough man to be their source of strength.
Harald Audensen realized on this day, as the first lights of the enemy army appeared, why his army showed no fear: they had the Norse Spirit. They believed themselves brave and glorious warriors, each one a man worthy of the sagas of old, each man continuing on the proud tradition of their ancestors. Although Christianity had brought them many things, it could not spark the fire in the Norse gut the same way that Nordic culture and that the old sagas could. Their morale came from their common ancestry, from the sagas of the Old Gods and Kings, and from their confidence in their abilities, from the lowest leidang to the mightiest huskarl.
The Little Chieftain had just enough time to file this fact away in his brain before he realized that it was time to take action. The pagans had just crested the hill opposite the valley, and were marching brightly lit as he had hoped. As the number of glittering lights increased, Harald's frown deepened, and he found his helmet and placed it firmly upon his head.
“Sten!” Harald turned to the veteran huskarl. “They're here, take the men...” He turned and squinted, then pointed. “Do you see there, the trees along that ridge, just on the north side of the valley?”
“Aye Harald, I see it.”
“Set up there – there should be minimal risk of Estonian reinforcements from the north. When I give the signal, you know what to do.”
Sten saluted to his lord. “Aye m'lord, it shall be done. May the old gods guide your blade and the Lord safeguard your soul.”
Harald looked at his bodyguard curiously as he turned away. It seemed such a strange thing, to speak of the old gods and the Christian god in the same sentence, yet it was not the first time he had heard of it. He wondered how the church in Rome would react if they heard of such impious men in the north – another thing he would have to remember for the future.
Harald turned his eyes back to the front line. Sten had taken some two hundred men, with no torches and no banners to potentially betray his presence. Most of his men were composed of the most veteran soldiers, warriors who had fought through the bloodiest days of the Baltic Crusade and lived to tell the tale. Few were youthful, but they were heavily armed and had few equals in the art of killing men – he could rely on them to watch his back.
The chanting and singing continued, but Harald's commanders looked to him, clearly nervous. The battle was about to be joined and they needed their orders. Harald looked around – the deception had been well executed. Sacks of food, blankets, spare wood – everything they could use to make false men surrounding the campfires had given the impression that the vikings were unprepared. If the Estonians took the bait, they would walk in unprepared for what was coming.
“Kjeld.” Harald said suddenly, but in a calm, confident voice. “Your band is responsible for guarding the northeast entrance into the village. Søren, your band will guard the central entrance. Ragnar, take your men to secure the entrance just south of that. Grim, your band is mostly leidang and young to boot, so I want them to form a reserve here, in the square. When I give the order, they should move to reinforce whatever point in the line is weakest. Everyone should keep low and take cover, so that as the pagans approach they will not notice our presence fully. God willing, this cloud cover will hold and continue to obscure our positions.”
“And your Guard, my lord?” Grim asked. “Where are they?”
“Sten's taken my men to prepare a surprise for the pagans.”
“A surprise?” Ragnar grunted. The Norwegian was a gruff old man, his beard had gone fully grey and he only had one eye left – in every sense he was a traditionalist. “Surely as honourable men, we should be facing them from the front, not relying on cheap tricks.”
Harald frowned at the man. “Are you questioning my judgement, Ragnar?”
“As a matter of fa-”
“Enough!” Kjeld interrupted Ragnar. “Harald is the nephew of Skjalm Hvide, and more importantly, he's the man who pays your wages. He has seniority.”
“Bu-” Ragnar started.
“And he's right.” Grim said. “The Little Chieftain is wise to not face this situation head-on, for we are outnumbered two to one. You complained about the barricades, and about the campfires, and now you complain about a hidden force? If Hvide's huskarls can stage an ambush, it might make the difference between a glorious victory and a bloody defeat.”
Ragnar scoffed and turned towards his men. “So be it. My men will do their job.”
Harald looked to the others. “I will maintain observation from here until there is little more I can do by giving orders, then join the front lines. Grim, if you are able, I would appreciate you by my side to give advice.”
The veteran soldiers saluted and moved to muster their forces for battle. Harald himself quickly checked his equipment. He had a large round shield and a fine sword, plus an axe across his back, a dagger and two small axes balanced for throwing. He also wore a fine suit of mail, well-padded and finely crafted for maximum protection. With the addition of his cape and helmet, he was heavily burdened by his equipment, but thankfully long hours of training had prepared him for this moment. The boy looked every part the young warlord, now he just needed to hope to survive this night.
As the lights swarmed down the opposite hill, Harald berated himself silently. 'There is no hope in battle...' He noted. 'Victory will come down to the success of your plan, not to luck or to God or to anything else.'
As he contemplated the situation and his men moved into position, Harald noticed an oddity. The lights were beginning to spread out, a mass of them was breaking off erratically and moving towards the village. Then they began to move fast, a rumbling, unfamiliar sound echoed through the valley as they approached extremely quickly.
“What is that...” Harald squinted, trying to discern what was happening.
“Horsemen, my lord.” Grim said. “I'd recognize that sound anywhere, that's horsemen.”
“Why have their horse broken off from the rest of the force? They're coming straight for us...”
Grim gave him a grin full of missing teeth. “Well m'lord, I'd guess your plan worked. They think we're asleep and they're hoping to hit us with the horse before we wake up and notice their army coming.”
Harald almost laughed. “Then they ride to their deaths, with all due luck. You, runner, send a message to the front commanders and quickly. Once the horse are broken or stopped before our barricades, the spears should muster a quick counterattack. If the horse offer too firm a resistance or the foot get too close, they should withdraw behind the barricades and reform the wall.”
“Aye m'lord.” The soldier, an Obotrite, quickly rode off.
Harald stretched his neck and held his shield close and in a safe position. Although Baltic horsemen rarely carried bows, they sometimes had javelins and he was not about to take any risks just yet. Over-preparation would at worst be a waste of effort, and at best could save his life. The lights of the horsemen drew closer and closer, and Harald's heart began to pound as a rush of energy flooded through his body. At last, the fated moment came as the first lights became visible as horsemen and rushed blindly into the disguised barricades, expecting open village paths.
Although in the chaos Harald could not see too clearly, the sound of the madness told him that things were likely going his way – and he was right. The Estonian horse had collided with the barricades and much of the first wave died outright as they were trampled and pushed by the horse behind them upon falling. Those few that managed to jump the barricades found a wall of spears waiting for them that meant a quick end to both man and horse. The entire attack ground to a halt outside the barricades as confused horsemen with no direction crowded up against the village entrances.
Harald heard the cries of the hersirs at the front lines, and the Scandinavians sprung into action before the disorganized Estonian leaders could muster some kind of movement. Almost five hundred horsemen were caught in the open as Harald's army descended upon them. In the chaos of the darkness and the confusion, the cavalry were brought down in the dozens, barely able to react against men they could hardly see and whose spears were superior in length to their own. The skirmish lasted only a few minutes before the morale of the horse was completely broken. Harald grinned as the survivors scattered, most galloping east but a number fleeing in any direction they could take. In the end less than a third of the lights that approached the village were fleeing back to the main army.
Roars of victory erupted through the Scandinavians, who had inflicted far greater damage than they had suffered. Barely two dozen men lay on the field of battle from Harald's side, and the bulk of the pagan cavalry had been crushed.
“Return to your positions! Prepare for a more determined assault!” Harald bellowed over the noise, waving to the men. Although he had to repeat it several times, the men did eventually do as commanded, and returned to the barricades as the Estonians began to draw closer.
“The cavalry returned behind the lines. They're in the back now, I believe.” Grim commented, his eyes never leaving the pagan force. “They still outnumber us even with that victory, we'll have to prepare for some kind of flanking action, m'lord.”
“If they attempt it, your reserve is in place for exactly that kind of thing. There's a small entrance on the south side they could attempt to move into, but they'll only be able to file in small numbers. We should be able to handle it.” Harald commented, observing the force. “They move more like a mob than an army, I'm surprised these pagans were able to defeat Rurikovich in Ingria.”
“Keeping discipline is hard at night, where it's difficult to see what's going on and to pass orders. Be thankful our small units do not have as many difficulties in this situation. Our veteran troops also have more training, discipline and experience.”
“The night and this weather favours us, aye, especially in this village.” Harald watched the mob approach. “Let's see if it favours us enough...”
As the pagan army approached, the Scandinavians bellowed and chanted louder than ever, striking their own shields with sword, spear and axe, creating a deafening cacophany that blotted out the war cries of the Estonians. Although Nords were typically quiet in the moment battle was to be joined, the hersirs made an exception given the circumstances. Having seen the bloodied and terrified casualties of the horsemen, and now faced with the roaring of the Norsemen, the Estonians did not crash into the Scandinavian line with as much fervour as they perhaps should have. Their morale was already shaken when the battle began.
The well-disciplined rows of spears presented an immense challenge to the pagans who scrambled over the treacherous barricades. Already disrupted by having to surmount the obstacle, they were faced with a solid shield wall that, in the darkness, had little in the way of weakness. Unable to retreat as men poured in behind them, they were pushed forward into the line and countless died before even coming in reach of the Nords. However, in spite of the discipline of the troops, the weight of numbers would slowly begin to add up as the line was pushed back and casualties began to mount. Archers on both sides fired over the front lines into the groups behind, although the heavy armour and shields of the Scandinavians was favouring them here too.
“There m'lord, look!” Grim pointed to a pack of lights breaking off and moving south. “They must be searching for another way around, they'll certainly find the other entrance.”
Harald shook his head. “I'm more worried about Kjeld's group, look – they've already been pushed back fifty paces, and they've thinned out considerably.”
“What is your plan, m'lord?”
Harald gritted his teeth as he watched the battle unfold for a moment longer.
“M'lord?”
“Leave me twenty men, take the rest to reinforce Kjeld. I'll make sure the southern entrance stays closed no matter the cost.”
Grim's jaw visibly dropped. “M'lord that is most reckless, if you die then the men will be lost!”
“That's an order, Grim!” Harald sternly stared at his new lieutenant. “Now go!”
The hersir seemed frustrated, but finally turned. “You men, stay here and guard the Little Chieftain with your life – the rest of us, form up, we're going to save Kjeld's ass before he gets an Estonian spear stuck in it!”
As Harald was left alone with his small accompaniment, he looked around at their nervous faces. Most of them were young, as young as him perhaps. Although like most Scandinavians they believed in their bloodlines and in their heritage as warriors, they had not seen battle before. He too, was nervous, but he couldn't afford to show it to these men. They needed his confidence – now he could make a difference.
Harald took the horns he had collected from the hersirs earlier and held them up. “You men, take these. When I give the command, blow the horns like your life depends on it – and trust me when I say that it does.”
The young leidang did as commanded, and Harald took one of his own. “Ready? Now blow!”
The loud chorus of horn sounds echoed through the valley, piercing even the calamity of the battle. Harald squinted, and somewhere in the distant trees, he saw movement. Sten's warband was on the move, and positioned directly behind the centre mass of the Estonian army. Now he hoped that his gamble would pay off.
“Excellent, well done!” Harald dropped his horn on the wooden platform in the centre of the village. “Put them here, then draw your weapons and prepare for battle. There is little more we can do to direct the battle, it is up to our warriors to win. Now we shall earn glory of our own. The Estonians are moving to try and break in through here.” Harald pointed to the side entrance. “I guarantee you they will not succeed! Form a line on the street, they'll have to face a wall of shields to get here!”
The leidang were nervous, but complied. Although the initial line was sloppy, Harald had taken his place in the centre of the formation and helped them form up appropriately. Roughly eight men wide, they had just enough time to catch their breath when the first Estonians rounded the corner. They closed in and Harald watched as the disorganized charge began. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. It struck Harald as odd, even as the first Estonian closed into spear range. It wasn't how slow the world seemed to crawl in that moment, or how the first man was impaled upon a Danish spear; no, it was how short they seemed. He could hardly believe how tiny this man seemed, and his companions were no taller. Were Estonians really so short?
He had no more time to think as he brought his sword up to swipe a spear thrust to the side. Harald lacked a spear of his own, but the Estonian's charge brought him within reach of his blade. The young man's sword slashed forward and effortlessly tore the unarmoured pagan's body open, throwing him to the floor. Again, there was no time to think as another closed in, and another. The organized line turned into chaos, and Harald without a spear was having the worst of it. His heavy armour and shield protected him from the blows of their spears, wood axes and farming equipment, which were raining down far more frequently than he would like due to his shorter reach.
Harald skilfully twisted one of the Balts' weapons to the side with his own blade and then thrust forward, claiming another life. Another swing and another fell despite a poor attempt at defence. He was shocked how rapidly they were falling, and how incompetent they seemed. These men were so short, their sword arms had no reach and they lacked skill.
His thoughts were interrupted as an Estonian spear pierced his guard. The tip was poorly aimed, but buried itself into the side of his chain and pierced the padding. It faintly scratched his skin, but in the heat of the moment, Harald didn't even notice it. Harald dropped his sword instinctively and grabbed the spear as the Estonian tried to pull out. Harald flexed and gave a strong pull with his arm, and the surprised pagan stumbled forward towards him, completely off-balance. A single, sharp thrust of his shield upwards into the Estonian's jaw knocked him out cold.
Flipping the spear around, Harald skewered yet another pagan, lodging it firmly into his chest and yelling triumphantly. Although several of his men had fallen, the bodies were beginning to pile up and in their favour. The Estonians were becoming afraid to approach, spurred on only by the threats of the leaders behind them. Letting the stuck spear go, Harald took to the throwing axes next, hurling one, and then the other. Each claimed a life. His sword was lost in the melee now, covered somewhere by a body. Rather than search, the young warrior threw his shield down and unslung the axe from his back.
The Estonians scrambled backwards, keeping their distance now. The spear line was unbroken, and they were rightly intimidated by what waited for them. Harald was taller than even the tallest of his fellow Danes, and wielded the axe in two hands with a glint of berserk fury in his eye. Even the smaller Scandinavians were taller than most of the Balts, and they had not flinched before the assault. Again, in spite of their superior numbers, the enemy had been broken in their assault. Harald looked around at the line. His men were panting, but fear no longer filled their eyes. They had met the enemy and known what he had, and what they had was better.
Harald held his axe ready. “Men, form up, swords and axes only.” He ordered calmly. The leidang were momentarily confused, but dropped their spears and procured their shorter arms.
Behind the enemy lines, an Estonian commander seemed to be furiously attempting to spur the shaken troops onwards.
“Remember your stoicism, men.” Harald grinned. “They fear us, and they fear what they do not understand. We shall make them understand that we are only death. On my command, charge, but maintain the line – do not outpace your brothers. We must be ready to return to the line at a moment's notice. Ready? Charge!”
Harald pushed forward with his axe in two hands, grinning. The entire Norse pack moved in silence – no war cries, no chants, just grim determination. They collided with the Estonian line, and immediately Harald's axe cleft through a spear haft and claimed a man's life. Two more Nords fell, but three times their number in panicked Estonians suffered. Against this counterattack, the weary pagans turned their backs and began to flee. Mercilessly, the Nords cut them down, showing no respect for their cowardice.
“Slay them all, no mercy!” Harald cried as he cut down yet another. Emboldened by their leader, the men fought on. Before long, a trail of bodies was left as a panicked mob of Estonians fled eastwards.
Harald spit and looked to his weary force, then paid a listening ear. The battle was still in full force, and there was much to be done.
“Men, our brothers are faced with overwhelming odds, they need our help. Will we stand here, or shall bring death to the Balts one more time?” Harald asked of them.
“Death to the Balts!” The Nords bellowed.
Harald looked down the small paths and clearings between the villages. Walking up to a thin wooden fence, he gave it a firm kick and the entire section broke off. “Follow me!”
Rushing through to the side of the hut, and then on to another one, he soon heard the sounds of battle directly on the other side of the fence. The glow of torchlight told him that the Estonians had pushed this far, yet whoever was in charge had made no attempt to flank between the houses and simply attacked the main streets. Amateurish.
Harald waved to two of the biggest and strongest. “We'll break this fence and charge in. Kill anything Baltic, show no mercy.” Harald hefted his axe as the men formed up behind and to the side of him. “Ready men? Now!”
The fence was broken into splinters as Harald's men charged one more time...
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I was wondering when Harald would get his berserker moment.
Yeah, pagan aspect persisted for a really long time. I doubt the priests are happy, though.
This is one of the strongest updates I've seen in a while, an easy pleasure to read and very immersive.
Yeah, pagan aspect persisted for a really long time. I doubt the priests are happy, though.
This is one of the strongest updates I've seen in a while, an easy pleasure to read and very immersive.
It's been far too long since I dropped by here.
I must say, I'm impressed by how steady you continue to be at updating.
And I really love this alternate northern world you've created. Every time I see a Hvide in-game now I think of this AAR.
I must say, I'm impressed by how steady you continue to be at updating.
And I really love this alternate northern world you've created. Every time I see a Hvide in-game now I think of this AAR.
RGB: The Priesthood aren't entirely happy about it, but much of the priesthood is corrupt or part of the noble families that are more concerned with personal power than capability. Harald's getting a chance to put all that military training to use. Glad you enjoyed it anyway. :3
AlexanderPrimus: It's been a long time, I wouldn't say that my updates have been particularly steady, I've had gaps of months and months between updates...what I would say is that my updates have been stubborn in their return! I'm glad you think of my writing when you see the Hvides though.
I've almost got Scandinavia ready for the prologues of the CK2 version, at least. In the meantime, threw out another update...
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
Chapter 54 – Youthful Defiance
27th of February, 1086 Anno Domini
Smoke billowed up from smoldering ruin of Tallinn, coalescing in dark clouds to the west. Refreshed from their rest, the town had been wiped off the map by the Danish force. Now they marched east once more, working off more reliable information from captured prisoners and interrogated villagers. Harald Audensen rode grimly onwards, watching his men march in record time. The Estonians were on the run from him, and he was prepared to press his advantage.
While his father might not have been impressed with his sacking of Tallinn, he had needed the money to pay his troops and the supplies of food and alcohol were invaluable to morale. Regardless of what they said or thought, no one could deny the greatness of the battle he had won. The Estonians had lost all but a few hundred of their men, who had fled leaderless to the hills. For every Dane that fell, four Estonians had been slaughtered. Harald still had nearly seven hundred men at his command and by his judgement, this risk was worth taking. He had an opportunity to earn a decisive victory over the Estonians – if, that is, he could reach the Neva in time.
The young Hvide looked down to his wounded arm, gingerly testing the wrist. It hurt, but it wasn't too bad. The blade had only nicked him, it was more the sprain from when he fell that worried him. He had claimed many lives this day, more than he thought he would be comfortable with. There was, however, little time for sympathy in war, and his men required leadership before all else. He was focused on the task ahead, however daunting it seemed: he would help save Novgorod.
“My lord, a message from the east.”
Auden did not open his eyes at first, his hands clasped in the last moments of his prayer. After some time, he finally stood and turned, eyes taking the messenger in. He was a young lad, perhaps fifteen years, and rather scruffy looking. A Dane by voice, but something about his face was more reminiscent of the Slavs than anything. With all the time he had spent in Rostock, Auden had become good at identifying those of pagan blood.
“Well don't just stand there my son.” Auden tossed the boy a flask of water at his hip. “Drink, and tell me what you have come so far to say.”
The boy looked at Auden, then eagerly took a long drink of water, as if he had not had clean water in days. Given his generally dishevelled appearance, Auden would not be surprised if this was the case. Auden waited for the boy to finish, then looked expectantly at him.
“Well?”
“Apologies, your Grace.” He bowed. “I have been dispatched by your son, two months prior. It has taken some time to find you, as you were not where he expected you to be.” He withdrew a letter. “My lord Harald Audensen has bravely engaged the Estonians in the north.”
Auden's face paled. “What? Estonia? What is the fool boy doing in those cursed lands. We had few successes there, and with the aggression of the Brandenburg slavs, I need every man I can get here. How many men has he taken?”
“Some three hundred of our personal huskarls, plus mercenaries from Norway and Sweden. He's already won a great battle near the coast, and sacked Tallinn. He was most generous with his plunder, and the Estonians are said to fear him. I was sent to find you and update you of his situation, your Grace.”
Auden snatched the letter from the messenger's hand with a snarl, tearing it open and reading it with a dark gaze, mouthing the words quietly as he did so. Finally, he threw the letter down in disgust. “Harald you damned fool, this is a waste of time and resources. He's needed here, fighting the slavs, not off parading in the Baltic on his own personal power trip. You, boy!”
The messenger swallowed hard.
“Return to my son at once, as fast as possible.” The Hertug-Biskop began to write something. “I'm writing this arrangement to have you taken on some of my personal ships as quickly as possible. Take this to the docks and find Rødskæg, he'll find you the ships you need to use. Make haste, every day my son tallies in that place is another day he may perish.” Auden offered the slip of parchment.
The messenger bowed again and took the message. “I understand, your Grace. I will go at once.”
Auden watched him leave, and then slumped back to his knees with a sigh. 'Such a battle, if the numbers are true, is a great victory for him...but Estonia has no strategic use even if he somehow conquers it. We are stretched too thinly as it is...'
The Bishop of Rostock clasped his hands together one more time. “O Lord, hallowed be thy name, watch over my son, Harald Audensen...return him to me safely, please, return him home...”
“They're friendly ships m'lord, and they carry Rødskæg's flag.” Sten confirmed as the longships rowed their way up onto the beach. He could see the well-armed men aboard the decks. Five vessels of that size could carry perhaps 150 men, and sailors were usually Danes. Although they had not said anything yet, Harald knew why they had come.
“Harald Audensen!” The booming voice of Rødskæg was audible even from here. The tall Dane's flowing red beard did not make him unique, but Harald recognized him nonetheless. He was Auden's most trusted fleet commander, and his father must have considered this to be of high priority to send him.
“Sten.” Harald gestured to his trusted second. “Have the men form up, I want their support and they deserve to see this as much as anyone.”
The veteran huskarl nodded and quickly turned, barking orders to the men. For the most part, the army had been resting here, where the Neva met the Baltic. Harald had marched long and hard to make it here, and engaged in several smaller skirmishes since then. Although the attrition of warfare had lost him nearly a hundred more men, he left three times that in bodies behind him. His army was veteran, courageous and thanks to the loot of villages and towns on the way, fairly wealthy. The men had been given a generous split of all plunder and the Estonians had grown rich off the sacking of Novgorod's territory. They were loyal, of that he was sure.
Hvide men squared off on opposite sides, clad in Danish red and well-armed. He watched with suspicion as Rødskæg approached him, Harald's own messenger at his side. This was unlikely to end well, but the young Dane kept his face calm and even, reassuring himself of his inevitable victory. Confidence would be inspiring, or so he hoped.
“Read your message, whelp.” Rødskæg snarled at the boy Harald knew as Pryzbyslaw the Younger. They had picked him up in Riga, the son of a Vendish noble who had died and lost his estates to the Danes. Harald had promised him rewards if he served loyally, and this message had been his first mission.
“My lord Hvide.” Pryzbyslaw cast his eyes downward. “With respect and due grace, I inform you of the decision of your father, Hertug of Sjælland, Biskop of Rostock, vassal to the Danish Throne, to demand your immediate departure from these lands. He has insisted that you and your host return to his last location and seek him out.”
Rødskæg grinned, a few of his teeth missing. “I'm here to make sure our Chieftain's demands are met.”
Harald chuckled. “Thank you.” He said to Pryzbyslaw first, then he stepped up to his father's lackey of a leader, eyeing him up with caution.
“Men!” Harald turned to his army. “My father wants us to go home, wants us to leave this place after all of the hard work we have done. He says that it was folly to come here, that we are condemned to death.”
His army was quiet, watching him nervously.
“Yet, despite what he says, and what he fears, I am not dead – are you?”
“No!” Some of his men shouted back.
“I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. I said, are you mean dead?!”
“NO!” They bellowed back louder.
“We have fought in this land as brothers, growing wealthy and strong. You all know each other well, and I know you and trust you with every fibre of my being. Since our great battle at Laagri, all through our march here to Neva, we have not known defeat! Harald Audensen has not known defeat, you have not known defeat, the Nordic people have not known defeat!”
There was a raucous noise of agreement, the men were proud of their victories in spite of the losses sustained at Tallinn.
“Now we are on the brink of victory. I have led you to this place, and you have followed me bravely and willingly. The Russian princes are coming with all their host, and we have promised to help them defeat the Estonians once and for all. I will not break my promise to the Russians just because my father is afraid I will be hurt. I will not leave and let the deaths of three hundred of our brothers end without meaning. I will not simply go home just because a fat old man is afraid of losing his eldest son, robbing you all of the glorious final victory that you deserve!”
Harald was speaking, of course, of his new ally Rostislav. Though they had only exchanged words via messengers, the Prince of Novgorod had won a great battle on the shores of Lake Ladoga and was eager to meet Harald Audensen in person. That was why they were here at the mouth of the Neva: to meet with the Russians.
The cheering of the men was deafening for a moment, and Harald turned back to the others. “Men of Hvide!” He referred not to Rødskæg, but to the armoured soldiers behind him. “When was the last time you fought a good battle? I know by your markings that you are not my father's huskarls, but mere soldiers for hire. He may pay you well, but I assure you that I am not my father. Where he pays his men little, I pay my men much. What say you join us, and earn a chance at all the riches and plunder this land has to offer?”
There were murmurs of discontent amongst the opposing group. Røskæg looked furious, his cheeks deepening nearly to the colour of his own bushy mane.
“How dare you, you impudent boy! Your father has given you an order, and you insult him and insult me, then try to bribe my men? You are disgusting!”
Harald grinned back at him. “You are not my father, if my father wants me to return home, he had best come get me himself. I'm staying, as are any men with the balls to follow me into battle.”
The young man turned to leave, when Rødskæg grabbed at his wrist, clutching it tightly. “You're not going anywhere you brat!”
Harald's response was a swift punch delivered to the face of the ageing huskarl, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Not another moment was lost before the man's sword had been drawn and aimed straight at Harald's own vulnerable face. Harald stared down the blade with cold eyes, as if daring the man to make a move.
“Your nose doesn't sit quite right, old man.” Harald taunted a little. “Has it broken on you?”
“Listen to me you worthless cur, your father has given you an order, has given me an order, but if you treat me with such disrespect I swear I will take your life!”
Harald could hear the sound of wood stretching behind him, the sound of bows being drawn.
“They are good bowmen, Rødskæg.” Harald stated calmly. “Try to harm one hair on my body and they will bring you down.”
“They don't have the guts to shoot at me while you're standing next to me.”
“They're twenty paces behind me, perhaps? I've seen Leif Tyrsson skewer an apple from three times that distance, and men from three times that. Test your luck if you wish.”
The aged man seemed to lower his sword for a moment, as if thinking. Then he slowly shook his head. “You craven child, trusting better men than you to do a man's business. By all rights I should call you to the field of honour and see you put to an early end.”
Harald laughed and spread his arms. “I'm right here, old man. If you want me dead, try it. I guarantee the men won't need to shoot. You've got no sack, no stomach, no vigour – one can tell in an instant you've never had a woman's touch; there's no woman that wouldn't have her stomach turned by your disgusting, cowardly face.”
Rødskæg could not take any more, Chieftain's son or no. The soldier turned and made to swing with his blade. Harald was quicker. The older warrior looked first at the strong hand clutching his wrist tight, then down to the long dagger piercing his gut. His lip trembled in horror as Harald's cold eyes stared him down. The boy leaned in and gave the dagger a twist, deepening the wound.
“I'm sorry, old man. This was not a good way to die, but no one will stop me from getting what I want. I will lead our people to glory whether father likes it or not. I hope Valhalla is waiting for you.”
The red-bearded man dropped his sword and stumbled back, pale from the blood loss. Harald withdrew the blade and gave him a single, lethal stroke to the neck with it, ending the “fight” decisively. A part of his mind was horrified at how casually he had killed the man, but he repressed it. Now was not the time for sentimentality. Now was the time for action.
“Any man who has the stomach to follow me into battle, to earn glory and wealth for themselves and their families, follow me!” Harald shouted at the dead huskarl's soldiers and sailors.
Not a man among them stayed behind.
AlexanderPrimus: It's been a long time, I wouldn't say that my updates have been particularly steady, I've had gaps of months and months between updates...what I would say is that my updates have been stubborn in their return! I'm glad you think of my writing when you see the Hvides though.
I've almost got Scandinavia ready for the prologues of the CK2 version, at least. In the meantime, threw out another update...
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
Chapter 54 – Youthful Defiance
27th of February, 1086 Anno Domini
Smoke billowed up from smoldering ruin of Tallinn, coalescing in dark clouds to the west. Refreshed from their rest, the town had been wiped off the map by the Danish force. Now they marched east once more, working off more reliable information from captured prisoners and interrogated villagers. Harald Audensen rode grimly onwards, watching his men march in record time. The Estonians were on the run from him, and he was prepared to press his advantage.
While his father might not have been impressed with his sacking of Tallinn, he had needed the money to pay his troops and the supplies of food and alcohol were invaluable to morale. Regardless of what they said or thought, no one could deny the greatness of the battle he had won. The Estonians had lost all but a few hundred of their men, who had fled leaderless to the hills. For every Dane that fell, four Estonians had been slaughtered. Harald still had nearly seven hundred men at his command and by his judgement, this risk was worth taking. He had an opportunity to earn a decisive victory over the Estonians – if, that is, he could reach the Neva in time.
The young Hvide looked down to his wounded arm, gingerly testing the wrist. It hurt, but it wasn't too bad. The blade had only nicked him, it was more the sprain from when he fell that worried him. He had claimed many lives this day, more than he thought he would be comfortable with. There was, however, little time for sympathy in war, and his men required leadership before all else. He was focused on the task ahead, however daunting it seemed: he would help save Novgorod.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
9th of June, 1086 Anno Domini
9th of June, 1086 Anno Domini
“My lord, a message from the east.”
Auden did not open his eyes at first, his hands clasped in the last moments of his prayer. After some time, he finally stood and turned, eyes taking the messenger in. He was a young lad, perhaps fifteen years, and rather scruffy looking. A Dane by voice, but something about his face was more reminiscent of the Slavs than anything. With all the time he had spent in Rostock, Auden had become good at identifying those of pagan blood.
“Well don't just stand there my son.” Auden tossed the boy a flask of water at his hip. “Drink, and tell me what you have come so far to say.”
The boy looked at Auden, then eagerly took a long drink of water, as if he had not had clean water in days. Given his generally dishevelled appearance, Auden would not be surprised if this was the case. Auden waited for the boy to finish, then looked expectantly at him.
“Well?”
“Apologies, your Grace.” He bowed. “I have been dispatched by your son, two months prior. It has taken some time to find you, as you were not where he expected you to be.” He withdrew a letter. “My lord Harald Audensen has bravely engaged the Estonians in the north.”
Auden's face paled. “What? Estonia? What is the fool boy doing in those cursed lands. We had few successes there, and with the aggression of the Brandenburg slavs, I need every man I can get here. How many men has he taken?”
“Some three hundred of our personal huskarls, plus mercenaries from Norway and Sweden. He's already won a great battle near the coast, and sacked Tallinn. He was most generous with his plunder, and the Estonians are said to fear him. I was sent to find you and update you of his situation, your Grace.”
Auden snatched the letter from the messenger's hand with a snarl, tearing it open and reading it with a dark gaze, mouthing the words quietly as he did so. Finally, he threw the letter down in disgust. “Harald you damned fool, this is a waste of time and resources. He's needed here, fighting the slavs, not off parading in the Baltic on his own personal power trip. You, boy!”
The messenger swallowed hard.
“Return to my son at once, as fast as possible.” The Hertug-Biskop began to write something. “I'm writing this arrangement to have you taken on some of my personal ships as quickly as possible. Take this to the docks and find Rødskæg, he'll find you the ships you need to use. Make haste, every day my son tallies in that place is another day he may perish.” Auden offered the slip of parchment.
The messenger bowed again and took the message. “I understand, your Grace. I will go at once.”
Auden watched him leave, and then slumped back to his knees with a sigh. 'Such a battle, if the numbers are true, is a great victory for him...but Estonia has no strategic use even if he somehow conquers it. We are stretched too thinly as it is...'
The Bishop of Rostock clasped his hands together one more time. “O Lord, hallowed be thy name, watch over my son, Harald Audensen...return him to me safely, please, return him home...”
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
15th of July, 1086 Anno Domini
15th of July, 1086 Anno Domini
“They're friendly ships m'lord, and they carry Rødskæg's flag.” Sten confirmed as the longships rowed their way up onto the beach. He could see the well-armed men aboard the decks. Five vessels of that size could carry perhaps 150 men, and sailors were usually Danes. Although they had not said anything yet, Harald knew why they had come.
“Harald Audensen!” The booming voice of Rødskæg was audible even from here. The tall Dane's flowing red beard did not make him unique, but Harald recognized him nonetheless. He was Auden's most trusted fleet commander, and his father must have considered this to be of high priority to send him.
“Sten.” Harald gestured to his trusted second. “Have the men form up, I want their support and they deserve to see this as much as anyone.”
The veteran huskarl nodded and quickly turned, barking orders to the men. For the most part, the army had been resting here, where the Neva met the Baltic. Harald had marched long and hard to make it here, and engaged in several smaller skirmishes since then. Although the attrition of warfare had lost him nearly a hundred more men, he left three times that in bodies behind him. His army was veteran, courageous and thanks to the loot of villages and towns on the way, fairly wealthy. The men had been given a generous split of all plunder and the Estonians had grown rich off the sacking of Novgorod's territory. They were loyal, of that he was sure.
Hvide men squared off on opposite sides, clad in Danish red and well-armed. He watched with suspicion as Rødskæg approached him, Harald's own messenger at his side. This was unlikely to end well, but the young Dane kept his face calm and even, reassuring himself of his inevitable victory. Confidence would be inspiring, or so he hoped.
“Read your message, whelp.” Rødskæg snarled at the boy Harald knew as Pryzbyslaw the Younger. They had picked him up in Riga, the son of a Vendish noble who had died and lost his estates to the Danes. Harald had promised him rewards if he served loyally, and this message had been his first mission.
“My lord Hvide.” Pryzbyslaw cast his eyes downward. “With respect and due grace, I inform you of the decision of your father, Hertug of Sjælland, Biskop of Rostock, vassal to the Danish Throne, to demand your immediate departure from these lands. He has insisted that you and your host return to his last location and seek him out.”
Rødskæg grinned, a few of his teeth missing. “I'm here to make sure our Chieftain's demands are met.”
Harald chuckled. “Thank you.” He said to Pryzbyslaw first, then he stepped up to his father's lackey of a leader, eyeing him up with caution.
“Men!” Harald turned to his army. “My father wants us to go home, wants us to leave this place after all of the hard work we have done. He says that it was folly to come here, that we are condemned to death.”
His army was quiet, watching him nervously.
“Yet, despite what he says, and what he fears, I am not dead – are you?”
“No!” Some of his men shouted back.
“I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. I said, are you mean dead?!”
“NO!” They bellowed back louder.
“We have fought in this land as brothers, growing wealthy and strong. You all know each other well, and I know you and trust you with every fibre of my being. Since our great battle at Laagri, all through our march here to Neva, we have not known defeat! Harald Audensen has not known defeat, you have not known defeat, the Nordic people have not known defeat!”
There was a raucous noise of agreement, the men were proud of their victories in spite of the losses sustained at Tallinn.
“Now we are on the brink of victory. I have led you to this place, and you have followed me bravely and willingly. The Russian princes are coming with all their host, and we have promised to help them defeat the Estonians once and for all. I will not break my promise to the Russians just because my father is afraid I will be hurt. I will not leave and let the deaths of three hundred of our brothers end without meaning. I will not simply go home just because a fat old man is afraid of losing his eldest son, robbing you all of the glorious final victory that you deserve!”
Harald was speaking, of course, of his new ally Rostislav. Though they had only exchanged words via messengers, the Prince of Novgorod had won a great battle on the shores of Lake Ladoga and was eager to meet Harald Audensen in person. That was why they were here at the mouth of the Neva: to meet with the Russians.
The cheering of the men was deafening for a moment, and Harald turned back to the others. “Men of Hvide!” He referred not to Rødskæg, but to the armoured soldiers behind him. “When was the last time you fought a good battle? I know by your markings that you are not my father's huskarls, but mere soldiers for hire. He may pay you well, but I assure you that I am not my father. Where he pays his men little, I pay my men much. What say you join us, and earn a chance at all the riches and plunder this land has to offer?”
There were murmurs of discontent amongst the opposing group. Røskæg looked furious, his cheeks deepening nearly to the colour of his own bushy mane.
“How dare you, you impudent boy! Your father has given you an order, and you insult him and insult me, then try to bribe my men? You are disgusting!”
Harald grinned back at him. “You are not my father, if my father wants me to return home, he had best come get me himself. I'm staying, as are any men with the balls to follow me into battle.”
The young man turned to leave, when Rødskæg grabbed at his wrist, clutching it tightly. “You're not going anywhere you brat!”
Harald's response was a swift punch delivered to the face of the ageing huskarl, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Not another moment was lost before the man's sword had been drawn and aimed straight at Harald's own vulnerable face. Harald stared down the blade with cold eyes, as if daring the man to make a move.
“Your nose doesn't sit quite right, old man.” Harald taunted a little. “Has it broken on you?”
“Listen to me you worthless cur, your father has given you an order, has given me an order, but if you treat me with such disrespect I swear I will take your life!”
Harald could hear the sound of wood stretching behind him, the sound of bows being drawn.
“They are good bowmen, Rødskæg.” Harald stated calmly. “Try to harm one hair on my body and they will bring you down.”
“They don't have the guts to shoot at me while you're standing next to me.”
“They're twenty paces behind me, perhaps? I've seen Leif Tyrsson skewer an apple from three times that distance, and men from three times that. Test your luck if you wish.”
The aged man seemed to lower his sword for a moment, as if thinking. Then he slowly shook his head. “You craven child, trusting better men than you to do a man's business. By all rights I should call you to the field of honour and see you put to an early end.”
Harald laughed and spread his arms. “I'm right here, old man. If you want me dead, try it. I guarantee the men won't need to shoot. You've got no sack, no stomach, no vigour – one can tell in an instant you've never had a woman's touch; there's no woman that wouldn't have her stomach turned by your disgusting, cowardly face.”
Rødskæg could not take any more, Chieftain's son or no. The soldier turned and made to swing with his blade. Harald was quicker. The older warrior looked first at the strong hand clutching his wrist tight, then down to the long dagger piercing his gut. His lip trembled in horror as Harald's cold eyes stared him down. The boy leaned in and gave the dagger a twist, deepening the wound.
“I'm sorry, old man. This was not a good way to die, but no one will stop me from getting what I want. I will lead our people to glory whether father likes it or not. I hope Valhalla is waiting for you.”
The red-bearded man dropped his sword and stumbled back, pale from the blood loss. Harald withdrew the blade and gave him a single, lethal stroke to the neck with it, ending the “fight” decisively. A part of his mind was horrified at how casually he had killed the man, but he repressed it. Now was not the time for sentimentality. Now was the time for action.
“Any man who has the stomach to follow me into battle, to earn glory and wealth for themselves and their families, follow me!” Harald shouted at the dead huskarl's soldiers and sailors.
Not a man among them stayed behind.
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Wait... CK2 version...
I will most definitely be following that!
Too bad the AAR contest just finished. You probably could've tied with BT and me for a three-way victory!
Wait... CK2 version...
I will most definitely be following that!
Too bad the AAR contest just finished. You probably could've tied with BT and me for a three-way victory!
I missed replying to your last one, edited it into the post. ;P
In truth the mod wouldn't be quite ready for a proper AAR, and honestly, I already own so many paradox games that winning a Complete Pack would feel like a waste. I might have had a chance if I'd rushed something in, who knows, but I'd rather take this at a good pace and be sure that the writing at the end comes out with as much quality as possible!
Haha, well you've got to remember this is me you're talking to... when I was still writing Æthellan, I averaged about one update a year. So in my book your persistence in updating counts as fairly steady, and I admire it.
Thankfully my new AAR has been progressing a lot more rapidly than the last one (six updates in ten days is definitely a record for me).And I think you're selling yourself short if you think your hypothetical hasty CK2 AAR would have been poor quality. You're a good writer.
Ahhhh, insubordination was much more interesting back in those days.
Auden's not going to be happy at all, is he. How bad is the revolt in Brandenburg?
Auden's not going to be happy at all, is he. How bad is the revolt in Brandenburg?
AlexanderPrimus: Perhaps so, I just know I can do better in terms of update frequency. And I could definitely do better on the writing. I'm going to try and discipline myself after the conversion to CK2, which just to clarify will continue from where the story leaves off here.
RGB: Auden will probably be furious. Brandenburg outnumbered his depleted levies and was hell-bent on taking Werle/Wolgast/Stettin by force. Harald's refusing to leave with good men to help his father, but he's yet to reveal his motive for doing so...
And I could definitely do better on the writing. I'm going to try and discipline myself after the conversion to CK2, which just to clarify will continue from where the story leaves off here.RGB: Auden will probably be furious. Brandenburg outnumbered his depleted levies and was hell-bent on taking Werle/Wolgast/Stettin by force. Harald's refusing to leave with good men to help his father, but he's yet to reveal his motive for doing so...
Harald seems to be becoming as casual as his mother was when it comes to killing , I actually saw him as the saviour of the Hvide , but now his dark sides being revealed ....... another great update as expected from my favourite AAR
MikeOfTipton: Harald's not pure and innocent, but he's not quite his mother either. At the very least, he feels a degree of remorse for lives taken, even if he accepts them as necessary. There might be hope for the Hvide yet.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
Chapter 55 – Passing the Torch
15th of January, 1088 Anno Domini
The white banners of Hvide fluttered defiantly in the wind, crowning the growing settlement of Søborg with its glory. The stone walls, built during the time of Queen Estrid, were possibly the most formidable fortress in all of Denmark. It was home to all the Hvide Clan. It was the great bastion of Sjælland. It was Harald's home.
Harald gazed up the grey stone walls, a deep sigh escaping his lungs. The young man had not seen this place in almost two years. It hadn't changed much. His hand reached up to scratch softly at the beard that had grown in, contemplating how much he had matured since then. He was now, at long last, a grown man standing before the walls of his birthplace.
His companion, Sten, looked to him curiously. Harald showed nothing but confidence, but as a friend and a mentor, the huskarl would not be so easily fooled. The boy was worried. Harald had led their weary company across many battlefields now, earning victory after victory. For two years they had fought their way across the Baltic, and now they were home. The boy had changed much since then, now he was a man, tall and strong; his men followed him in confidence and inspiration despite his young age. He was growing into a great leader, of this Sten was certain, but he was still young and still impressionable.
“You aren't worried about what your father will say?”
Harald shrugged. “Perhaps he heard of Rødskæg's fate, perhaps not. He handled the Slavs just fine, he didn't need me there. The Margrave was thrust back into Imperial territory in spite of his superior numbers.”
“Perhaps, but I heard the battle was bloody for our side, I doubt he was pleased that you did not arrive on time.” Sten reasoned.
“I'd have placed my arms under his banner a year ago, had he not made this into a chase.” Harald said with a tone of bitterness. “We've been trying to meet up with him since.”
It was true, the company had been on the tail of Auden for some time, but his father had continually been one step ahead. They made it to Vendland, and Auden had already set sail for Sjælland. They reach Sjælland and Auden's men have gone to Jylland. They go to Jylland and he's fighting the Knýtlings over some feud from Skjalm's days.
“You know, I thought we'd finally caught up at Aalborg.” Harald laughed. “To think that we were a day late, and that he'd already set sail for Sambia and left us orders to finish his mess.”
“One would think he had been deliberately attempting to avoid us.” Sten grunted. “Did you ever find out what he was up to in Sambia?”
“Not in precise terms. I heard word that there was a pagan uprising, mostly peasants but led by one of the former Lithuanian lords who escaped our grasp. He left immediately to deal with it, even though Olaf Svendsen was not yet beaten. I wonder if he knew I'd deal with that for him.”
The two stopped before the castle gates, and even from here they could see the guards upon the walls staring down at them. The banners of Clan Hvide fluttered in the wind, as did the Raven banner and the banners of several different mercenary companies and Norse clans. Harald and his personal guard rode on horse at the front, some one-hundred and fifty in total, with another four hundred in tow.
At last the gates opened wide; Harald could see rows of his father's huskarls and other soldiery lining the path up to the keep, and grinned slightly. They were suspicious, and had prepared a strong welcoming committee. He wondered to himself if they would try to arrest him, or what other orders his father had prepared.
“Harald Audensen!” A strong voice bellowed from within the courtyard.
Harald tilted his head and examined the figure who called to him. He recognized the man, after some effort; Harald Ribbing, his father's Marshall and one of the greatest warriors in the Kingdom. Ribbing had served alongside his uncle and was well-respected throughout the Baltic for his ability to lead men and wield a blade alike.
“Ribbing!” Harald called back, riding forward a little. “I see you've prepared a welcoming ceremony for me. Might I ask what your intent with so many men-at-arms is?”
“We could ask the same of you, my boy.” Ribbing laughed. “That's a much larger host than the one you left with. We feared an attack when the scouts first spotted you, but it's good to see you. Tell me, did you pay for that army or have you pressed them into service some other way?”
“Paid.” Harald said casually. “Although it took most of my money to hire them. The rest of their pay has come from plunder on the campaign trail.”
“They look like fine fighting men.” Ribbing commented, eyeing up the soldiers. “Will they be resting at Søborg?”
“If my father permits it, then I would have them do.” Harald replied.
There was a moment of silence, and the men in the castle turned very solemn.
Although he would never have shown it, Harald's heart turned to stone. “What, what is it? Is there something wrong with my father?”
Ribbing looked back at the keep, then gestured for Harald to follow. “I think you'd best come see for yourself, m'lord.”
Auden's eyelids flickered at the sound of talking outside his chambers. The door opened, and the aged Chieftain turned his head, looking for the source of the voices. Harald Ribbing, and another fellow...a strange man he didn't recognize. How tall he was, he had to duck low to enter through the doorway and he stood at least half a foot higher than the Marshall of the Realm. He had wavy brown hair, well-cared for and a carefully trimmed beard. He wore a tunic of iron chain and a cloak of furs that only added to his regalia.
Ribbing looked to Auden with concern, and then closed the door behind him. Hertug-Biskop Auden Tokesen was alone with this stranger, and unsure of what to do.
“Do...do I know you?”
The tall man stepped closer, looking a little sad at the question. “It's me, father. It's your son, Harald. Has it really been so long?”
“Harald...” A look of recognition came over him. “My god how you've grown...you're huge!” Auden laughed a little, then coughed and winced. “I didn't recognize you with that beard...”
Harald knelt down at the bedside, gingerly pulling the blanket to one side. Bandages were wrapped heavily around his father's side, and stained with the darkness of dried blood. The old man's skin was pale and much of his former vigour and strength seemed to be gone. He had been in good health upon leaving Sambia, or so his messengers had said...what happened?
“Ribbing said you were bedridden, gravely wounded, perhaps mortally...” Harald swallowed.
Auden gave a thin smile. “God has seen that the time for me to pass on has come. You look white as a ghost, my son. Surely with the war, you have seen dying men before?”
“That was different, father.” Harald stood and sighed. “What happened to you?”
“A terrible beast...descended upon our fair Sjælland. Torsby, the village to the west, had sent pleading reports of a great beast attacking and killing cattle. Two peasants who tried to confront it were killed. They claimed it was a demon, and begged me to save them and send it back to hell.”
“Was it?”
“A demon? No, were that it were.” Auden coughed a little more and winced. “It was just a bear, but the largest damn one I've seen in my life, and aggressive too. He came at me out of the trees, eyes red with hatred, spit foaming at its mouth. It was completely lost in madness and intent on killing me and my escort. We all shot it, but it didn't slow down until our blades had pierced its flesh many times. I earned this wound for my troubles.”
Harald shook his head. “A bear...truly? I've not heard of a bear in Sjælland for an age, I thought they mostly lived in Skåne.”
“Perhaps it swam, perhaps somehow it crossed on a boat, I do not know, all I know is that it was God's will for me to meet it, and it is now God's will that this wound will not heal. I'm dying, my son. I have made peace with my life and I am ready to pass on.”
Harald shook his head. “No, father...you can't die yet. I'm not ready.”
“You have to be, my son. Sjælland is in your hands now, the Hvide will almost certainly select you to be their leader. You've grown into a fine man.”
“You...aren't angry at me?” Harald seemed genuinely taken aback.
“Angry?” Auden smiled again. “I was angry, very angry. Now, on the edge of worlds, it seems so pointless. You've done well for yourself, Harald, you don't let anyone tell you what to do. You'd make a good King someday, I think; you have authority and a quick mind. Your mother and I were always proud of you, even if I was not always good at saying it. I'm sorry that I was not there for you more, but I wanted to raise you to be strong.”
“You hardly raised me at all.” Harald said with a touch of bitterness. “You left Cecilie to do most of the work and rarely spoke to me of the important matters of life. My mother did little but string me along trying to earn her approval.”
“Perhaps you don't approve of our decisions, but we loved you in our own way, never forget that.”
Harald paced restlessly around the room. After a long silence, he finally turned back to his father. “You don't have to die. You should know that I defeated Olaf at Aalborg and successfully prosecuted our claim. As my prisoner he agreed to surrender northern Jutland to us. Hvide has another victory, a victory I earned for you, father.”
“You did well, my son, but my time is past. Listen to me, and have some faith in me, my son. It is now your job to lead our people.”
Harald knelt by his father again. “And what would you have me do, wait for you to die?”
His father chuckled a little. “Stay with me Harald, keep me company...please, tell me what you have been doing since I left. I want to know what parts of your life I have missed...”
The Hvide heir folded his arms, seemed to hesitate, and then finally nodded. “Very well, father. What would you like to know?”
Late into the night, Harald finally emerged from solitude. His face was swollen and red, but firm and calm in spite of that. No one had noticed his emergence until he finally found his way to the great hall, where many of the Clan's most prominent members had gathered to discuss Hvide affairs. There was a silence as he entered, a dozen concerned faces staring at him in expectation.
“My father...” Harald's voice was a little weak at first. Clearing his throat, he tried again with more confidence. “My father is dead.”
Fin~
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
To clarify, the end of Auden's reign is now the end of Piety of the North Star. The Baltic Crusades have come to an end with Harald's victories in Estonia, the Hvide Clan encompasses a larger territory than ever before and has a young, burgeoning family at its head. The one who is elected as Chief by the Hvidesting will face the daunting task of keeping their vast holdings together and appeasing the numerous kingdoms surrounding them, as well as heading the Christianization of the Baltic states. It is a demanding task, but Harald is determined to make it his own.
I won't be writing for Piety anymore for a few reasons. Firstly, I feel that this was very much a grand experiment. As my first AAR, I went into it very writing-rusty (I hadn't written anything lengthier than forum posts in a few years, I think) with poor knowledge of Paradox Games and a weak knowledge of the historic background. I did not have a well-defined style for the AAR and was constantly unsure how I was going to proceed with it. Results have varied wildly but a few of you have stuck around to the finish with me, and I thank you for it. It's been a good run.
The story, however, is not over. I'm working day and night on a mod with a fellow AAR writer somewhere in this very thread. We're doing an extensive map and gameplay overhaul of CK2 and we've been making decent progress despite a general lack of time/motivation all around. I almost have Scandinavia prepared enough to start making some posts about it. The Tale of the Hvides will thusly continue on in this CK2 mod as a custom scenario put in place by myself, continuing its focus on Harald Audensen of the Hvide Clan. I will need time to not only get the mod to something screenshottable for the AAR, but also to come up with a new banner, new art and a defined system for how I'm going to approach this.
Oh, and I'll need a name. I'm trying to think up something to do with the North Star (I'd like to keep it as the defining theme, despite its connotations of post-apocalyptic manga), but I'm unsure what to call it. All I know is that with the end of the Baltic Crusades and the rise of Harald Audensen, the age of Piety is over for Denmark. Now begins the age of high feudalism.
Well, whatever. Thanks for listening to my rambling and comments, I hope you enjoyed the story, and I'll be sure to let everyone here know when the first post of the CK2 version goes up!
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
Chapter 55 – Passing the Torch
15th of January, 1088 Anno Domini
The white banners of Hvide fluttered defiantly in the wind, crowning the growing settlement of Søborg with its glory. The stone walls, built during the time of Queen Estrid, were possibly the most formidable fortress in all of Denmark. It was home to all the Hvide Clan. It was the great bastion of Sjælland. It was Harald's home.
Harald gazed up the grey stone walls, a deep sigh escaping his lungs. The young man had not seen this place in almost two years. It hadn't changed much. His hand reached up to scratch softly at the beard that had grown in, contemplating how much he had matured since then. He was now, at long last, a grown man standing before the walls of his birthplace.
His companion, Sten, looked to him curiously. Harald showed nothing but confidence, but as a friend and a mentor, the huskarl would not be so easily fooled. The boy was worried. Harald had led their weary company across many battlefields now, earning victory after victory. For two years they had fought their way across the Baltic, and now they were home. The boy had changed much since then, now he was a man, tall and strong; his men followed him in confidence and inspiration despite his young age. He was growing into a great leader, of this Sten was certain, but he was still young and still impressionable.
“You aren't worried about what your father will say?”
Harald shrugged. “Perhaps he heard of Rødskæg's fate, perhaps not. He handled the Slavs just fine, he didn't need me there. The Margrave was thrust back into Imperial territory in spite of his superior numbers.”
“Perhaps, but I heard the battle was bloody for our side, I doubt he was pleased that you did not arrive on time.” Sten reasoned.
“I'd have placed my arms under his banner a year ago, had he not made this into a chase.” Harald said with a tone of bitterness. “We've been trying to meet up with him since.”
It was true, the company had been on the tail of Auden for some time, but his father had continually been one step ahead. They made it to Vendland, and Auden had already set sail for Sjælland. They reach Sjælland and Auden's men have gone to Jylland. They go to Jylland and he's fighting the Knýtlings over some feud from Skjalm's days.
“You know, I thought we'd finally caught up at Aalborg.” Harald laughed. “To think that we were a day late, and that he'd already set sail for Sambia and left us orders to finish his mess.”
“One would think he had been deliberately attempting to avoid us.” Sten grunted. “Did you ever find out what he was up to in Sambia?”
“Not in precise terms. I heard word that there was a pagan uprising, mostly peasants but led by one of the former Lithuanian lords who escaped our grasp. He left immediately to deal with it, even though Olaf Svendsen was not yet beaten. I wonder if he knew I'd deal with that for him.”
The two stopped before the castle gates, and even from here they could see the guards upon the walls staring down at them. The banners of Clan Hvide fluttered in the wind, as did the Raven banner and the banners of several different mercenary companies and Norse clans. Harald and his personal guard rode on horse at the front, some one-hundred and fifty in total, with another four hundred in tow.
At last the gates opened wide; Harald could see rows of his father's huskarls and other soldiery lining the path up to the keep, and grinned slightly. They were suspicious, and had prepared a strong welcoming committee. He wondered to himself if they would try to arrest him, or what other orders his father had prepared.
“Harald Audensen!” A strong voice bellowed from within the courtyard.
Harald tilted his head and examined the figure who called to him. He recognized the man, after some effort; Harald Ribbing, his father's Marshall and one of the greatest warriors in the Kingdom. Ribbing had served alongside his uncle and was well-respected throughout the Baltic for his ability to lead men and wield a blade alike.
“Ribbing!” Harald called back, riding forward a little. “I see you've prepared a welcoming ceremony for me. Might I ask what your intent with so many men-at-arms is?”
“We could ask the same of you, my boy.” Ribbing laughed. “That's a much larger host than the one you left with. We feared an attack when the scouts first spotted you, but it's good to see you. Tell me, did you pay for that army or have you pressed them into service some other way?”
“Paid.” Harald said casually. “Although it took most of my money to hire them. The rest of their pay has come from plunder on the campaign trail.”
“They look like fine fighting men.” Ribbing commented, eyeing up the soldiers. “Will they be resting at Søborg?”
“If my father permits it, then I would have them do.” Harald replied.
There was a moment of silence, and the men in the castle turned very solemn.
Although he would never have shown it, Harald's heart turned to stone. “What, what is it? Is there something wrong with my father?”
Ribbing looked back at the keep, then gestured for Harald to follow. “I think you'd best come see for yourself, m'lord.”
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
Auden's eyelids flickered at the sound of talking outside his chambers. The door opened, and the aged Chieftain turned his head, looking for the source of the voices. Harald Ribbing, and another fellow...a strange man he didn't recognize. How tall he was, he had to duck low to enter through the doorway and he stood at least half a foot higher than the Marshall of the Realm. He had wavy brown hair, well-cared for and a carefully trimmed beard. He wore a tunic of iron chain and a cloak of furs that only added to his regalia.
Ribbing looked to Auden with concern, and then closed the door behind him. Hertug-Biskop Auden Tokesen was alone with this stranger, and unsure of what to do.
“Do...do I know you?”
The tall man stepped closer, looking a little sad at the question. “It's me, father. It's your son, Harald. Has it really been so long?”
“Harald...” A look of recognition came over him. “My god how you've grown...you're huge!” Auden laughed a little, then coughed and winced. “I didn't recognize you with that beard...”
Harald knelt down at the bedside, gingerly pulling the blanket to one side. Bandages were wrapped heavily around his father's side, and stained with the darkness of dried blood. The old man's skin was pale and much of his former vigour and strength seemed to be gone. He had been in good health upon leaving Sambia, or so his messengers had said...what happened?
“Ribbing said you were bedridden, gravely wounded, perhaps mortally...” Harald swallowed.
Auden gave a thin smile. “God has seen that the time for me to pass on has come. You look white as a ghost, my son. Surely with the war, you have seen dying men before?”
“That was different, father.” Harald stood and sighed. “What happened to you?”
“A terrible beast...descended upon our fair Sjælland. Torsby, the village to the west, had sent pleading reports of a great beast attacking and killing cattle. Two peasants who tried to confront it were killed. They claimed it was a demon, and begged me to save them and send it back to hell.”
“Was it?”
“A demon? No, were that it were.” Auden coughed a little more and winced. “It was just a bear, but the largest damn one I've seen in my life, and aggressive too. He came at me out of the trees, eyes red with hatred, spit foaming at its mouth. It was completely lost in madness and intent on killing me and my escort. We all shot it, but it didn't slow down until our blades had pierced its flesh many times. I earned this wound for my troubles.”
Harald shook his head. “A bear...truly? I've not heard of a bear in Sjælland for an age, I thought they mostly lived in Skåne.”
“Perhaps it swam, perhaps somehow it crossed on a boat, I do not know, all I know is that it was God's will for me to meet it, and it is now God's will that this wound will not heal. I'm dying, my son. I have made peace with my life and I am ready to pass on.”
Harald shook his head. “No, father...you can't die yet. I'm not ready.”
“You have to be, my son. Sjælland is in your hands now, the Hvide will almost certainly select you to be their leader. You've grown into a fine man.”
“You...aren't angry at me?” Harald seemed genuinely taken aback.
“Angry?” Auden smiled again. “I was angry, very angry. Now, on the edge of worlds, it seems so pointless. You've done well for yourself, Harald, you don't let anyone tell you what to do. You'd make a good King someday, I think; you have authority and a quick mind. Your mother and I were always proud of you, even if I was not always good at saying it. I'm sorry that I was not there for you more, but I wanted to raise you to be strong.”
“You hardly raised me at all.” Harald said with a touch of bitterness. “You left Cecilie to do most of the work and rarely spoke to me of the important matters of life. My mother did little but string me along trying to earn her approval.”
“Perhaps you don't approve of our decisions, but we loved you in our own way, never forget that.”
Harald paced restlessly around the room. After a long silence, he finally turned back to his father. “You don't have to die. You should know that I defeated Olaf at Aalborg and successfully prosecuted our claim. As my prisoner he agreed to surrender northern Jutland to us. Hvide has another victory, a victory I earned for you, father.”
“You did well, my son, but my time is past. Listen to me, and have some faith in me, my son. It is now your job to lead our people.”
Harald knelt by his father again. “And what would you have me do, wait for you to die?”
His father chuckled a little. “Stay with me Harald, keep me company...please, tell me what you have been doing since I left. I want to know what parts of your life I have missed...”
The Hvide heir folded his arms, seemed to hesitate, and then finally nodded. “Very well, father. What would you like to know?”
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
Late into the night, Harald finally emerged from solitude. His face was swollen and red, but firm and calm in spite of that. No one had noticed his emergence until he finally found his way to the great hall, where many of the Clan's most prominent members had gathered to discuss Hvide affairs. There was a silence as he entered, a dozen concerned faces staring at him in expectation.
“My father...” Harald's voice was a little weak at first. Clearing his throat, he tried again with more confidence. “My father is dead.”
Fin~
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
To clarify, the end of Auden's reign is now the end of Piety of the North Star. The Baltic Crusades have come to an end with Harald's victories in Estonia, the Hvide Clan encompasses a larger territory than ever before and has a young, burgeoning family at its head. The one who is elected as Chief by the Hvidesting will face the daunting task of keeping their vast holdings together and appeasing the numerous kingdoms surrounding them, as well as heading the Christianization of the Baltic states. It is a demanding task, but Harald is determined to make it his own.
I won't be writing for Piety anymore for a few reasons. Firstly, I feel that this was very much a grand experiment. As my first AAR, I went into it very writing-rusty (I hadn't written anything lengthier than forum posts in a few years, I think) with poor knowledge of Paradox Games and a weak knowledge of the historic background. I did not have a well-defined style for the AAR and was constantly unsure how I was going to proceed with it. Results have varied wildly but a few of you have stuck around to the finish with me, and I thank you for it. It's been a good run.
The story, however, is not over. I'm working day and night on a mod with a fellow AAR writer somewhere in this very thread. We're doing an extensive map and gameplay overhaul of CK2 and we've been making decent progress despite a general lack of time/motivation all around. I almost have Scandinavia prepared enough to start making some posts about it. The Tale of the Hvides will thusly continue on in this CK2 mod as a custom scenario put in place by myself, continuing its focus on Harald Audensen of the Hvide Clan. I will need time to not only get the mod to something screenshottable for the AAR, but also to come up with a new banner, new art and a defined system for how I'm going to approach this.
Oh, and I'll need a name. I'm trying to think up something to do with the North Star (I'd like to keep it as the defining theme, despite its connotations of post-apocalyptic manga), but I'm unsure what to call it. All I know is that with the end of the Baltic Crusades and the rise of Harald Audensen, the age of Piety is over for Denmark. Now begins the age of high feudalism.
Well, whatever. Thanks for listening to my rambling and comments, I hope you enjoyed the story, and I'll be sure to let everyone here know when the first post of the CK2 version goes up!
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And so the Piety ends. It's been a grand adventure, and I'll still be rooting for Harald in the future, when the CK2 AAR will come along. Part of me is sad to see this one end, it's been a great pleasure to read this story, always exciting and unpredictable. But on the other hand, I'm excited to see what will happen in your CK2 scenario as Harald takes his place as head of the Hvide clan...
Great job as ever, I truly love this AAR! <3
Great job as ever, I truly love this AAR! <3
Great work all around, Saithis, and way to end on a classy note.
I very much concur with your plan to include "the North Star" in the title of your sequel. I will try to come up with a few good suggestions.
My initial thought is, what is the piety of Skjalm and Auden going to be replaced with? If the story is taking a darker turn, then perhaps something like "The North Star Darkens" would be appropriate.
I very much concur with your plan to include "the North Star" in the title of your sequel. I will try to come up with a few good suggestions.
My initial thought is, what is the piety of Skjalm and Auden going to be replaced with? If the story is taking a darker turn, then perhaps something like "The North Star Darkens" would be appropriate.
I started reading / lurking in this AAR a couple of weeks ago, and have finally caught up—only to witness its end! :sad: But oh, what an end.
Your story is well-crafted and the quality of the writing is superb, Saithis. I had only a slight interest in CK beforehand, but the tale was engrossing and spurred me to pre-order CK2—so that I could explore the dynastic scheming of the High Medieval Era firsthand.
Like everyone else, I look forward to the resurrection / continuation of the Hvide epic in CK2. And speaking of which, here are some potential titles for your consideration. Since piety is one of the key chivalric values, you may consider mining the others (honour, valour, courtesy, chastity, and loyalty) for a suitable title.
- Honour / Valour of the North Star (either is suitable for the feudal era, I think).
- Chronicle of the North Star (a la the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, a key record of the time)
- Demesne of the North Star
- Apogee of the North Star
- North Star Ascendant
Your story is well-crafted and the quality of the writing is superb, Saithis. I had only a slight interest in CK beforehand, but the tale was engrossing and spurred me to pre-order CK2—so that I could explore the dynastic scheming of the High Medieval Era firsthand.
Like everyone else, I look forward to the resurrection / continuation of the Hvide epic in CK2. And speaking of which, here are some potential titles for your consideration. Since piety is one of the key chivalric values, you may consider mining the others (honour, valour, courtesy, chastity, and loyalty) for a suitable title.
- Honour / Valour of the North Star (either is suitable for the feudal era, I think).
- Chronicle of the North Star (a la the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, a key record of the time)
- Demesne of the North Star
- Apogee of the North Star
- North Star Ascendant
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I like this one, provided Harald Audensen and company will be displaying this attribute in copious quantities.
Merry Mutton-Munching Mead-Drinkers of the North Star. Harald Hvide, you're a genius!
A very solid update again, and I see Auden is muscling his way into sainthood as Harald is muscling his way to the crown. I'm sure we'll see a continuation before long.
A very solid update again, and I see Auden is muscling his way into sainthood as Harald is muscling his way to the crown. I'm sure we'll see a continuation before long.
Ilyavania: I'm glad you've enjoyed it and doubly glad you've read along so long. :3 Harald's not Chieftain yet though, he'll have to convince the Hvidesting that he's best suited.
AlexanderPrimus: It's hard to entirely say which direction it will go, Harald if he gains power is very much going to be the warrior king, and I expect a lot of war, but I don't actually have any descendents for him yet so in the long run of the story I'm not sure how it will go. Thanks, by the way, for reading!
Chris Taylor: I'm sorry, but it will return soon! It warms me up as a writer to hear that I was able to inspire that much interest in the game, and I'm glad to have done my part. I like references to both Valour and Chronicles, I think they fit the sort of rough mental image of the next 30 or so game years coming up.
WelshDude: Hm, it's a possibility. I wouldn't want to shoehorn myself into having to win though, at the same time.
RGB: CK2 desperately needs another Knud Knytling style AAR!!!
AlexanderPrimus: It's hard to entirely say which direction it will go, Harald if he gains power is very much going to be the warrior king, and I expect a lot of war, but I don't actually have any descendents for him yet so in the long run of the story I'm not sure how it will go. Thanks, by the way, for reading!
Chris Taylor: I'm sorry, but it will return soon! It warms me up as a writer to hear that I was able to inspire that much interest in the game, and I'm glad to have done my part.
I like references to both Valour and Chronicles, I think they fit the sort of rough mental image of the next 30 or so game years coming up.WelshDude: Hm, it's a possibility. I wouldn't want to shoehorn myself into having to win though, at the same time.
RGB: CK2 desperately needs another Knud Knytling style AAR!!!
