Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 211: Silent Fjords

Erik turned from the window. The third mortar shell chose that exact moment to strike. A brilliant flash lit the hall through the window, followed an instant later by a concussion so powerful that dust rained from the rafters and several torches guttered out.

The outer wall shuddered visibly, and a great section of parapet crumbled away.

At the moment the thunder faded, Erik’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

He had faced death in open battle, had blackmailed kings and murdered rivals... Yet never before had he watched an enemy strike from beyond the reach of any bow or spear.

Eira stepped closer. "My brother, the men are watching you. They need the Gore-King now more than ever. Though the walls tremble, your will must not."

Erik drew a slow breath. Nonetheless, when he spoke again, his voice had regained something of its old steel. "In addition to the two thousand berserkers who still roar for blood, we have the narrowness of the pass and the avalanches we have prepared.

Therefore we shall let the Iron Father waste his black powder upon stone while we prepare our true answer. The hidden paths, the poisoned wells, the berserkers who will charge through fire... all of these remain ours."

Yet even as he spoke the words of defiance, another mortar shell arced high into the sky, its fuse burning bright against the clouds, and every soul in the hall watched it descend with the helpless fascination of men who had just realized the mountain they had trusted for generations might not be eternal after all.

It became clear that the mortars would destroy the walls of The Fang, whether sooner or later. Since the first ranging shot had arced across the sky, Ragnar had chosen to observe the destruction from a safe distance upon a rocky outcrop overlooking the narrow pass.

There he sat upon his horse while his most trusted companions gathered around him.

Every time another shell screamed upward and detonated against the mountain fortress, the ground trembled beneath them. Though the range was considerable, the six siege mortars performed their deadly work with merciless precision, their stubby barrels angled high as the crews worked in perfect coordination under Gyda’s watchful eye.

Leofric, mounted upon a powerful warhorse, slammed a gauntleted fist against his breastplate. "If there was one thing I wanted to see before I died, it was a savage king watching his impregnable fortress turn to rubble while he could do nothing but cower inside it!"

Bjorn, standing tall beside the horses, let out a deep laugh that echoed across the pass. "Since we began the bombardment an hour ago, the walls have already begun to collapse in several places. Meanwhile, not a single vassal has ridden to the Gore-King’s aid. Not one jarl, not one minor chieftain, not even a single longship flying any banner but his own. Truthfully, I expected at least some fools to answer his call. Yet the fjords remain silent. As a person who has fought beside these northern tribes for years, I can only say this... They know the cannibal king’s days are numbered, and they are happy to see him fall."

Ragnar nodded slowly. A great section of stonework finally gave way, collapsing inward. Dust and smoke billowed upward, revealing the inner buildings and the great hall where Erik’s remaining forces now huddled.

"Indeed," Ragnar said, his voice growing darker with satisfaction, "it would appear that the Gore-King stands alone. Despite his berserkers and his remaining longbowmen, not a single vassal has answered his desperate call for aid..."

Ragnar rose slightly in his saddle. A slow smile spread across his face as another mortar shell streaked toward The Fang.

"Therefore," he declared, "we shall give the Gore-King one final chance to witness the future before it consumes him. Continue the bombardment. When the outer walls have been reduced to rubble and his men cower in the great hall, we shall march forward and offer him the choice between surrender and annihilation. Meanwhile, the silence of his vassals has already pronounced his sentence..."

Yet even as the walls continued to crumble and the cheers of his men rose with every successful strike, Ragnar’s eyes remained fixed upon the distant great hall where the Gore-King surely watched in growing terror.

Indeed, for though the fortress was falling, the man inside it was still dangerous.

--

With a massive shock, the final mortar shell struck the outer curtain wall of The Fang. In less than a heartbeat the entire bastion collapsed inward.

And there it was... the impregnable fortress reduced to broken stone and open sky. During that moment the remaining army and people of the Gore-King fled in every direction, some scrambling deeper into the inner keep while others simply ran.

Just as one final plume of black smoke rose toward the heavens, Ragnar raised his cane and gave the order that would end the siege.

"Advance!"

"Shield wall to the fore! Grenadiers, maintain formation and prepare the grenades!"

With that said, the two thousand steel-clad Grenadiers moved forward, their blackened shields locked edge to edge while the three hundred axe-men of the North formed the outer layer of the living wall.

None of that truly mattered now... not the distance they had marched, not the spies that had watched them, not even the lingering cold that clawed at exposed skin for victory was already written upon the broken stones of The Fang. Realizing that the outer defences had fallen, the host pressed onward dragging the silent mortars behind them upon iron sledges.

In less than an hour the column reached the shattered gates of the inner keep. Grenadiers saw the last desperate longbowmen upon the remaining parapets and, without hesitation, sent their iron spheres sailing upward on burning fuses.

The explosions that followed were mercifully brief yet devastating. Screams echoed from the heights before silence returned.

Meanwhile, high within the great hall of the inner keep, Erik Blood-Tooth stood at the arched window beside his sister Eira and his three remaining counsellors.

Though the mountain still sheltered them, the walls around them trembled with every distant detonation.

Eira placed a gentle hand upon his arm. "My brother, the men are breaking. The longbowmen who survived the last barrage are already whispering of surrender. If there was one thing we could still offer, it is the chance to save what remains of our people..."

Erik’s counsellors nodded in grim agreement, yet it was Eira who spoke the words that finally pierced her brother’s pride.

"Realizing that your vassals have abandoned you, that no jarl rides to our aid, that even the old gods seem to turn their faces away... would you truly let pride destroy what little remains of our bloodline?"

During that heavy silence, Ragnar’s voice suddenly carried up from the shattered courtyard below.

"Gore-King of the North!" Ragnar called, "I do not seek blood this day, nor do I desire the slaughter of brave men who have fought for their home. I require only this land... its deep-water fjords, its timber, and its unyielding stone. Pledge your allegiance to the Iron Empire, lower your banners, and open your gates. In return, I offer every warrior here life, food, and a place within the new order I shall build. Refuse, and the next shells will fall upon the great hall itself. The choice is yours, Erik Blood-Tooth."

Inside the hall, Erik turned slowly from the window. Eira stepped closer, her eyes shining with quiet desperation. "My brother, the men are waiting. If there was one thing you taught me, it was that true strength lies in knowing when to bend so the people may survive."

Thrain bowed low. "During all our wars we have never faced an enemy like this. None of that truly mattered until today. Surrender now, and live to see another dawn."

With that said, the Gore-King drew a long breath and walked toward the great doors of the hall. He pushed them open himself, stepping out. Below, Ragnar waited upon the courtyard, surrounded by his iron host.

Erik raised his hands slowly and spoke. "I, Erik Blood-Tooth, once called Gore-King of Norway, hereby surrender the fortress of The Fang and all lands under my rule to the Iron Father, My warriors shall lay down their arms. My people shall open the gates."

Realizing that the words had been spoken at last, a great cheer rose from the ranks of the Iron Empire.