Night came and went, washing over City Titan like a dark blanket. Dawn was here.

"Get up, you lazy bastards!" Erik yelled, kicking the wooden leg of Halig’s bed. "The sun is up, and we have a frozen island to conquer!"

Halig groaned loudly, pulling his wool blanket over his head. "Erik... my head is pounding. That dark ale we drank last night feels like a brick sitting in my stomach."

"That is the price of glory." Erik laughed brightly, tossing a leather waterskin directly onto Halig’s chest. "Drink some water and splash your face. We sail at first light, and I refuse to let Ragnar’s men wait on us."

They spent the next hour packing their weapons and gear. They didn’t need much. Erik strapped his iron broadsword to his waist and threw a bear-fur cloak over his shoulders.

They stepped out of the barracks and into the biting chill of the early morning air.

City Titan was already wide awake. Carts loaded with black coal rolled down the streets, and the workers were rushing to the blast furnaces for their morning shifts.

They walked down the sloping streets toward the massive military docks. As they turned the final corner, Erik actually stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening.

Standing still on the planks of the harbor were 1,500 musketeers. They were lined up in disciplined rows, wearing the dark grey wool uniforms of the Iron Empire.

Behind them, 10 massive transport ships bobbed gently in the water, fully loaded and ready to sail.

For a journey to Iceland, each of the 10 transport ships is loaded with 40 large barrels of fresh drinking water, 60 crates of hardtack bread, and thousands of salted fish. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

More importantly, the black powder must be kept in the center of the ship, wrapped in thick oilcloths.

If the gunpowder gets wet from the crashing ocean waves, the muskets become useless, turning 1,500 deadly soldiers into men holding metal sticks.

Standing at the front of this massive army were 5 leaders. They wore slightly different uniforms with black leather coats.

"Good morning, boys!" Erik cheered, throwing his arms open. "I hear we are taking a little trip to the ice today!"

The man in the center, a tall, serious-looking warrior with a braided brown beard, stepped forward and slammed his right fist against his chest.

"King Erik." the man said. "I am Commander Torstein. These are my fellow leaders: Kåre, Leif, Gunnar, and Arne. We command the 5 battalions of the musket division. Lord Commander Leofric told us to follow your orders the moment our boots hit the snow."

"Excellent!" Erik grinned, looking up and down the disciplined lines of soldiers. "You boys look sharp. But tell me, Torstein... do your men know how to fight, or do they just know how to stand in straight lines and look pretty?"

Halig let out a loud snort behind Erik. "I bet half of them cry if they get mud on their shiny boots."

Torstein looked at Halig. "Listen here, my men fought at the siege of Wessex. If you think we are soft, I will gladly show you otherwise."

Erik threw his head back and laughed. "Good! We are going to need that fire because Iceland is freezing."

"We are well prepared." Torstein said, "But there is something you need to see. The Iron Father ordered a massive change to our armory for this mission."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "A change? What kind of change? I thought the muskets were the greatest weapons in the world."

"They are, for distance." Torstein explained, gesturing for Gunnar to bring forward a long wooden crate. "The muskets take time to reload. If those exiled farmers ambush us in close quarters, we need a way to break their skulls."

Gunnar popped the iron latches on the crate and threw the lid open. Erik and Halig stepped forward to look inside.

Lying inside the crate on a bed of dry straw were dozens of brutal weapons.

They were maces.

Traditionally, a 9th-century mace is just a heavy lump of iron spiked onto a wooden handle. It is good for crushing armor, but the wooden handle often snaps if you hit a shield too hard.

These new Iron Empire maces are forged entirely from steel. The handle is a hollow metal tube wrapped in thick leather, which makes the weapon light to carry but unbreakable.

The head of the mace is a solid iron sphere with 6 sharp steel flanges welded to the sides.

A soldier doesn’t need to know fancy sword techniques to use it. If an enemy gets too close, the soldier simply pulls the mace from his belt and swings it wildly.

The steel flanges concentrate all the force into a tiny point, easily crushing a human skull, shattering a thick wooden shield, or breaking solid ice with zero effort.

Afterward, Erik reached into the crate and pulled one of the maces out. He gave it a few test swings in the air.

"...this is beautiful!" Erik whispered.

"King Ragnar ordered 400 of them forged over the last three days." Torstein nodded, looking proudly at the weapon.

"Load the men!" Erik shouted, raising the mace high into the air.

The 1,500 men cheered. They began to turn in order, marching in neat lines up the ramps and onto the transport ships.

Erik turned to Torstein, still holding the mace in his hand.

"You know, Torstein." Erik said, watching the black sails being lowered on the ships. "Leofric mentioned that 200 scouts were sent to Iceland a month ago and never sent a raven back. Have you heard anything about that?"

Torstein stopped looking at the ships. He looked around to make sure the other soldiers couldn’t hear him, then stepped closer to Erik.

"Yes, my King. I read the final message the scouts sent before they vanished." Torstein whispered.

Erik frowned, "Well? What did the message say? Did the farmers ambush them?"

Torstein leaned in closer. "The last message said the ground was torn open, and that the shadows in the snow were moving entirely on their own... "

Shadows moving in the snow?

"Are you telling me..." Erik started, "Are you telling me we are sailing to a frozen rock to fight ghosts?"

Torstein stared at Erik. His brown beard twitched. His lips pressed tightly together.

And then, Torstein burst out laughing.

"I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, King Erik!" Torstein wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "You should have seen your face! You looked like you were going to drop that new mace and run all the way back to Francia!"

After hearing such words, Erik felt a hot flush of embarrassment and anger rush to his cheeks. He raised his hand and shoved Torstein hard in the shoulder.

"You fucking bastard!" Erik barked, "You do not joke with me about ghosts! That is bad luck!"

"I couldn’t resist, my King." Torstein chuckled, finally catching his breath. "I had to see how tough the great King of Norway was."

"I’ll show you tough when I throw you off the ship halfway to Iceland." Erik grumbled, hooking the steel mace onto his leather belt. "So, what is the actual truth? What did the last message say?"

"Nothing..." Torstein admitted quietly. "The 200 scouts sent a raven two weeks ago saying they had landed safely and found the sulfur deposits. After that... silence. They were supposed to send a raven every 3 days. We don’t know if it was an avalanche, a sudden storm, or if the exiled farmers ambushed them."

Though Erik was relieved there were no shadow monsters, the reality of 200 missing men was still a heavy burden.

"Fine." Erik sighed, "If they are dead, we will bury them. If they are captured, we will crush the skulls of the men who took them. Get the men loaded. I have two more things to do before we leave."

Afterward, Erik turned his back on the busy docks and walked toward a small building near the harbor’s edge.

Erik pushed the door open and stepped inside. Hundreds of black ravens were locked inside small wooden and wire cages.

A young boy wearing a thick leather apron hurried over. "King Erik! We are just finishing loading the travel cages for your ships. We have 40 ravens prepared."

A raven born and raised in City Titan will always try to fly back to its nest. So, an army takes cages of City Titan ravens with them on their campaigns.

When they need to send a message, they write it on a tiny piece of thin paper, tie it to the bird’s leg, and release it. The bird flies straight back to the capital in a matter of days.

"Make sure the cages are covered with thick blankets." Erik ordered the boy. "The sea wind will freeze them to death if they are exposed, and I don’t want to be stuck on a rock without a way to call for help."

Erik left the rookery and walked toward a heavily guarded brick warehouse. Two guards quickly lowered their spears and saluted.

Sitting behind a desk near the entrance was the quartermaster, an old, bald man missing his left eye.

"Leofric said King Ragnar left a tool for me here." Erik said.

The quartermaster reached into a locked drawer and pulled out a small, polished wooden box. He slid it across the desk. "Be careful with that."

Erik opened the brass latch. Inside was a round piece of glass covering a small, floating metal needle resting on a tiny pin. The needle was pointing steadily in one direction.

"How does it work?" Erik asked, tilting the box side to side.

"The painted tip always points North." the quartermaster grunted. "Use it to keep your ships in a straight line, and you will hit Iceland in 4 days instead of 7."

Erik smiled widely, closing the box and tucking it into his fur coat. He left the warehouse and walked briskly back to the docks. All 10 transport ships were fully loaded.

"Pull the ramps! Raise the sails!" Erik ordered.

The wooden ramps were pulled away, and the black sails dropped down, catching the morning wind.