The Warlord's Last Oath

The mountain air was razor-sharp, cutting into exposed skin like a whetted blade. Snow crunched under heavy boots as Hakon Blackwolf crouched atop a jagged outcrop, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. Below, the winding path of Frostfang Pass twisted through the craggy cliffs, a perfect choke point.

Through the mist, he saw them—the enemy. A column of nearly a hundred men, moving cautiously through the pass. They wore the colors of King Ulrich Ironfist, one of the five traitors Hakon had sworn to kill. These were no mere scouts; they carried supply wagons, chain-bound prisoners, and enough weapons to arm a warband.

Rorik the Red knelt beside him, his breath a slow mist in the cold. "They're spread thin," he murmured. "Typical arrogance. They think no one would be mad enough to strike in this weather."

"Then let's prove them wrong," Hakon said, his voice like grinding stone.

He signaled to Leif the Shadow, who crouched further up the ridge, his bow strung and ready. Leif nodded once and disappeared into the snowfall. Somewhere above, Vigdis Iceborn and her archers prepared to rain death from the cliffs.

Hakon's grip tightened on his sword hilt. Every battle, every kill, brought him closer to his oath.

Tonight, the Blackwolf would feast.

The enemy's march was slow, their iron-clad boots struggling against the ice-glazed stones. The officer at the front—a grizzled veteran with a thick fur mantle—raised his hand. "Halt!" he barked. The column shuddered to a stop.

The silence was heavy, thick with the weight of unseen danger.

Then, the first arrow struck.

It buried itself in the officer's throat before he could shout a warning. He crumpled soundlessly, blood steaming in the snow.

A second later, the night came alive with death.

Vigdis and her archers unleashed a volley from above, arrows streaking like dark comets through the air. The enemy ranks stumbled, men falling with shafts buried in their backs and throats. Screams echoed against the cliffs.

Then came the avalanche.

Leif's sabotage had been flawless—the wooden supports, weakened days prior, gave way with a crack like thunder. Tons of rock and ice crashed down, burying the rear of the column. Horses screamed, men were crushed beneath stone. Chaos erupted.

"Now!" Hakon roared.

He and his warriors surged from their hiding places, blades drawn, voices raised in a feral battle cry. They struck like wolves among sheep, cutting down the dazed survivors.

Eirik Wolf-Blood was the first to reach the enemy. He slammed into a soldier, his twin axes carving through chainmail like dried hide. Torstein One-Hand followed, smashing a man's skull with the rim of his shield before driving a short sword into another's gut.

Rorik fought beside Hakon, his long axe sweeping men from their feet, cleaving through fur and flesh alike.

The enemy had no time to form ranks.

They fell in droves.

A desperate few tried to rally near the supply wagons, forming a shield wall. Hakon saw the officer leading them—a younger man, his face pale with fear but his stance firm. He respected the courage.

It wouldn't save him.

Hakon strode forward, gripping his longsword in both hands. "Come, then," he growled. "Let's see if you can stand."

The officer lunged, his blade seeking Hakon's heart.

Too slow.

Hakon sidestepped, caught the strike on his bracer, and slammed his pommel into the man's jaw. Bone cracked. The officer reeled, dazed. Hakon didn't hesitate—his sword found the man's ribs, slipping through the gap in his armor.

The fight was over in moments.

The last few enemy survivors dropped their weapons, their faces pale with horror.

"We surrender!" one of them shouted.

Hakon exhaled slowly. He looked at Rorik, then at Vigdis, whose bowstring was still taut. They were wolves standing over a broken herd.

He let the silence stretch before answering. "Strip them of their weapons," he commanded. "The wounded—leave them with enough supplies to survive. The rest…" His cold eyes met the survivors. "You belong to me now."

The Blackwolf did not take prisoners.

He took warriors.

And tonight, his warband had grown.