Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 45: Assassin in the Machine [1]

The Forest Clearing, Two Miles South of York

In a small clearing surrounded by ancient pines, Jarl Einar had set up his temporary headquarters. It was a simple tent made of wolf skins, pitched hastily in the mud. Maps of York were pinned to a wooden board with knives.

A scout one of the mercenaries Father Wilfrid had hired burst into the clearing, panting heavily. He was covered in black soot and smelled like burnt tar.

"Report!" Einar barked, standing up from his folding stool. "Did the berserkers breach the gate? Is the city burning?"

The scout leaned against a tree, gasping for air. "It was... a slaughter, Jarl Einar. A massacre."

"What do you mean?" Einar demanded. "We had two thousand men! They have five hundred cripples!"

"The cripples have machines," the scout wheezed. "They have guns that shoot clouds of nails. They dropped black oil on us and lit it. The first wave... they melted. The second wave broke before they even reached the wall."

The scout shuddered, remembering the sound of the ’Broom’ canisters firing.

"And the survivors?" Einar asked, his face darkening.

"Routed," the scout said. "Ragnar marched out with a box of shields. A moving fortress. Our men saw it and ran. They said it was unnatural."

The news hit the assembled traditionalists like a physical blow. Jarl Sigurd slumped onto a log, putting his head in his hands.

"It is over," Sigurd moaned. "The Old Ways are dead. We cannot fight wizards."

"We are not fighting wizards!" Einar roared, kicking a bucket of water over. "We are fighting mechanics! And mechanics bleed!"

He turned to the scout. "You said the army marched out?"

"Yes," the scout nodded. "Ragnar, his father Ulf, and the giant Bjorn. They took the main force to hunt the survivors."

A slow, cruel smile spread across Einar’s face.

"So the Director is out of the office," Einar whispered. "And the Governor’s Palace is unguarded."

"Unguarded?" Sigurd asked, looking up. "What about the wife? The Witch of the Ledger?"

"She is one woman," Father Wilfrid said smoothly, stepping out of the shadows. "One woman with a crossbow. And we have the map."

Wilfrid unrolled the parchment showing the sewer tunnels.

"The frontal assault was a distraction," Wilfrid explained, his voice like silk over steel. "Ragnar took the bait. He chased the pawns into the woods. But the King is unprotected. If we take the Palace now... we take the head of the snake."

Einar grabbed his axe. The desperation in his eyes was replaced by a cold, predatory focus.

"We don’t need an army to kill a woman and a King," Einar said. "We need a team. A strike force."

He looked at the remaining Jarls ten men who had stuck with him. Hard men. Desperate men.

"We go through the drain," Einar ordered. "We come up in the scullery. We kill the Witch. We kill King Horik. And when Ragnar returns... we close the gates and crush him with his own walls."

The Jarls stood up. It was a desperate plan, a rat’s plan. But it was the only one they had left.

"To the sewers," Sigurd agreed, drawing his sword. "For the Old Ways."

...

The Governor’s Palace, York

Ragnar sat in his saddle, three miles away, staring at the empty woods.

"It’s a trap," he whispered. "Ulf was right. They aren’t here."

He turned his horse around so fast it nearly reared.

"Back to the city!" Ragnar screamed. "Ignore the formation! RUN!"

Meanwhile, inside the Palace.

King Horik was in the Great Hall, eating a roasted pheasant. He was oblivious to the danger. He thought the battle was won.

"Excellent bird," Horik mumbled, wiping grease on his beard. "The Builder’s new ovens cook meat evenly."

Upstairs, in the Archives, Gyda was not eating.

She was pacing.

The vibration in the floor had stopped. The sounds of battle had faded. But something felt wrong. The air was too still.

She heard it again. Faintly. From the scullery below.

Gyda grabbed the Valkyrie’s Sting. She didn’t call for the guards. Most of the guards were with Ragnar. The palace defense consisted of her, a few "Tech-Thralls," and the King’s personal bodyguards (who were currently drunk on victory wine).

She moved to the door.

Down the hallway, she saw a figure. It was a palace maid a young girl named Helga who worked in the kitchens.

Helga was walking toward the stairs, carrying a tray of wine.

"Helga!" Gyda called out softly. "Stop."

Helga turned, smiling. "Mistress? I am bringing wine for the King."

Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the darkness behind Helga. It moved with terrifying speed. A hand clamped over Helga’s mouth. A knife flashed.

"No!" Gyda screamed, raising her crossbow.

But she was too late. The blade crossed Helga’s throat. The girl dropped the tray. The sound of shattering pottery echoed through the silent palace.

Helga slumped to the floor, blood pooling on the stone.

Behind her stood Jarl Einar. He was covered in sewer muck, his eyes wild with adrenaline. Behind him, more men poured out of the servant’s stairwell wet, smelling of filth, and armed to the teeth.

"The Witch!" Einar roared, pointing his axe at Gyda. "Kill her!"

Gyda didn’t hesitate. She fired the Valkyrie’s Sting. The bolt hit the man behind Einar in the eye. He dropped without a sound.

Gyda turned and ran.

"Alert!" she shouted, her voice echoing down the corridor. "Breach! Level 4 Breach!"

She didn’t run to the King. She ran to the Safe Room the heavy stone chamber where Ragnar kept the blueprints and the prototype explosives.

She slammed the iron door shut and threw the heavy bolt.

An axe hit the wood a second later.

"Open it, Witch!" Einar screamed from the other side. "There is nowhere to go! We have the hallway!"

Gyda backed away from the door. She looked at the room. It was filled with crates of black powder, fuses, and experimental "Grenado Pots."

She was trapped. But she was trapped in an armory.

"You want in, Einar?" Gyda whispered, her hands shaking slightly as she grabbed a flint and steel. "Come in. I’ll show you the severance package."

Ragnar galloped through the city gates, his horse foaming at the mouth.

"Where are they?!" Ragnar yelled at the gate guards.

"Who, Director?" the guard asked, confused. "It is quiet."

"The sewers!" Ragnar screamed. "Check the palace!"

He rode through the streets, scattering civilians. As he neared the Governor’s Palace, he saw it.

Not fire. Not smoke. But the front doors were open. And there were no guards.

Ragnar leaped off his horse before it fully stopped.

"Bjorn! Erik! With me!"

They stormed the entrance. The Great Hall was a scene of chaos. King Horik was cowering behind his throne, holding a table knife. Two of his bodyguards lay dead on the floor.

Jarl Sigurd and Father Wilfrid stood over the King.

"Sign the abdication!" Wilfrid was shouting, holding a parchment. "Sign it, and you live!"

Ragnar didn’t ask questions. He didn’t negotiate.

He raised The Typewriter.. Three bolts flew.

One hit Wilfrid in the shoulder, sending him spinning. One hit Sigurd in the leg. The third hit a mercenary in the chest.

"Director!" Horik sobbed, dropping the knife. "They came from the floor! They smell like poo!"

"Where is Gyda?" Ragnar demanded, stepping over a body.

"Upstairs!" Horik pointed. "Einar went upstairs!"

Ragnar’s blood ran cold. He sprinted up the stone steps, taking them two at a time. He heard the hacking of axes against wood. He reached the landing.

The hallway was filled with Einar’s men. They were chopping at the heavy door of the Safe Room.

"Almost through!" Einar yelled, swinging his axe. "Break it down!"

"Hey!"

Einar turned. He saw the Director standing at the end of the hall, covered in mud, holding a strange, boxy crossbow.

"The Builder," Einar sneered. "You are too late. Your wife is trapped. Your city is mine."

"You broke my door," Ragnar said.

He pulled the trigger. The Typewriter clicked empty. He had fired his last bolts downstairs.

Einar laughed. "Out of ammo, wizard? Now you die like a man."

Einar charged.

Ragnar reached into his belt pouch.

He pulled out a small, spherical clay pot with a short fuse.

He lit it with a match a sulfur-tipped stick he had invented the week before.

"Catch," Ragnar said.

He tossed the pot.

Einar stopped. He tried to bat it away with his axe.

The grenade exploded in the confined hallway. It wasn’t a huge explosion, but the concussive force in the stone corridor was devastating. Einar was thrown backward into his men. Smoke filled the air. Ears rang.

Ragnar drew his sword not a Viking sword, but a short, heavy falchion designed for close quarters.

He charged through the smoke.

He was an engineer. But he knew where to hit to cause structural failure in a human body. He stepped over Einar, who was groaning on the floor, clutching his face.

Ragnar reached the door of the Safe Room.

"Gyda!" he shouted, pounding on the splintered wood. "It’s me! Don’t blow the powder!"

The bolt slid back. The door opened.

Gyda stood there, holding a lit torch over an open barrel of gunpowder. Her face was pale, but her eyes were steady.

She looked at Ragnar. She looked at the carnage in the hallway. She blew out the torch.

"You took your time," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Ragnar dropped his sword. He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug that cracked ribs.

"I had to calculate the arrival time," he gasped into her hair.

"You miscalculated by two minutes," she whispered, burying her face in his smoky tunic. "I was about to liquidate the assets."

Behind them, Einar groaned. He tried to stand up.

Gyda pulled away from Ragnar. She walked over to the fallen Jarl. She looked down at him with the cold eyes of an auditor finding a discrepancy.

"You killed Helga," she said.

She raised the Valkyrie’s Sting.

"Request denied."

The bolt hit Einar in the chest. The Jarl of the Old Ways slumped back against the wall, dead. Ragnar watched her. He didn’t stop her.

Ragnar walked over to the window. He looked out at the city. Bjorn and the Industrial Corps were rounding up the remaining rebels in the courtyard.

He turned back to Gyda.

"Are we safe?" he asked.

"For now," Gyda said, reloading her crossbow. "But we need a better door."

Ragnar smiled weakly. "I’ll design one. Steel reinforced. Time-lock."

He slumped against the wall, sliding down until he hit the floor. The adrenaline was fading, leaving him shaking.

"Gyda," he said. "I think I need a vacation."

"No vacation," Gyda said, sitting down beside him among the debris. "Tomorrow is payroll."

Ragnar laughed. It was a hysterical, exhausted sound.

"I love you," he said.

"I know," she replied, resting her head on his shoulder.