"How... what the fucking hell is holding that ice together?" Erik whispered, his eyes wide.

The flawless trap had completely failed. The 5,000 screaming rebel warriors were sprinting across the exact center of the frozen lake, their boots slamming against the fresh ice.

But instead of shattering and swallowing them into the freezing depths, the ice held firm.

"Erik!" Halig roared, grabbing his mace with both hands. "They are crossing! They are already at the bottom of the hill!"

"Musketeers! Halt the retreat! Form the line! Prepare for volley fire!"

"Form up! Damnit, stand your ground!" Erik shouted, drawing his mace and waving it wildly in the air.

But it was too late. A massive shower of steel-tipped arrows rained down from the sky, whistling over the heads of the charging rebels.

Several musketeers screamed as the black arrows pierced their wool coats, dropping them into the bloody snow.

"We can’t hold them here!" Torstein yelled over the deafening noise, ducking as an arrow shattered against a rock right next to his head. "They are right on top of us! If we engage in close combat now, they will slaughter us with their numbers!" 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"So what is the brilliant plan now, my King?!" Halig shouted. "I thought you said your uncle was a frog in a well!"

"The frog has really thick legs, okay?!" Erik barked back, his mind racing to find a way out of the disaster. He looked at his disorganized men, then looked at the massive wave of exiles closing the distance. If they stayed, they died.

"Run!" Erik screamed at the top of his lungs, "Forget the formation! Everyone run back to the beach! Get to the ships!"

As such, the Iron Kingdom army completely abandoned the high ground.

The elite musketeers turned their backs on the enemy and broke into a desperate sprint through the icy pass.

They left their dropped crates and empty buckets behind, kicking up massive clouds of white powder as they ran for their lives.

"COWARDS! DO NOT LET THEM ESCAPE!" Uncle Halfdan’s voice boomed from the back of the rebel charge. The old warlord was riding his massive warhorse, whipping the reins to push the beast up the steep, snowy slope. "KILL THEM ALL!"

Erik, Halig, and Torstein ran at the very back of the Iron Kingdom crowd, acting as the rear guard.

Every few seconds, Erik had to turn around and swing his mace to block a thrown axe or a flying arrow. The freezing wind burned their lungs, and their heavy boots slipped constantly on the treacherous ice.

"Keep moving!" Erik yelled, grabbing a stumbling young musketeer by the collar and throwing him forward to keep him from being trampled.

Though the rebels had a massive advantage in numbers and momentum, a crucial detail of Icelandic geography prevented the Iron Kingdom army from being completely wiped out in the snow.

In 870 AD, breeding and keeping warhorses alive on a frozen, barren island like Iceland is incredibly difficult.

Uncle Halfdan had his own massive steed, and maybe 10 of his top clan leaders had small, shaggy ponies.

But the other rebel warriors were on foot. Furthermore, the exiles were wearing thick, heavy wolf furs that were still wet and frozen from falling into the lake the day before.

Thus, the Iron Kingdom soldiers had a massive speed advantage. Their fitted gray wool uniforms were lightweight and allowed them to sprint much faster than the bulky, exhausted farmers.

Slowly but surely, the 1,400 musketeers began to pull away from the screaming mob, putting precious distance between themselves and Halfdan’s axes.

"I can’t breathe..." Halig gasped, his chest heaving as he pushed through a thick cluster of snow-covered pine trees. "Erik, my lungs are going to burst! Are we almost there?!"

"I can smell the salt water!" Erik yelled back, jumping over a fallen log. "Just a little further! Push your lazy legs!"

They burst out of the tree line and sprinted down the final rocky slope. The cold, dark ocean stretched out before them.

Bobbing gently in the shallow, freezing water were the 10 massive transport ships of the Iron Kingdom, their black sails rolled up tight against the masts.

The musketeers flooded onto the flat, sandy beach, panting heavily and collapsing onto their knees in exhaustion.

"We made it!" Torstein gasped, leaning heavily on his musket as he looked at the wooden ramps leading up to the decks of the ships. "King Erik! Give the order! Let’s get the men on board and push off before they catch up!"

Erik ran halfway down the beach, his boots sinking into the wet, freezing sand. He looked at the 10 transport ships, and then he looked back at the narrow, winding path they had just run down.

"We can’t board the ships..." Erik said, his voice dropping into a dark, serious tone.

"What? Erik, are you out of your fucking mind?! The ships are right there! We are standing next to them!"

"Look at the ramps, Halig!" Erik pointed his mace at the narrow wooden planks connecting the ships to the beach. "They are only wide enough for 2 men to walk shoulder-to-shoulder! To load 1,400 panicked men onto 10 ships will take at least an hour! If we try to board now, we will be stuck in a massive bottleneck on the beach. Halfdan will just shoot us in the back while we wait in line!"

"Then what do we do?!" Torstein asked.

"We stop running..." Erik said calmly. He turned his back to the ocean and faced the tree line. "We fight."

"Torstein!" Erik commanded, "This is a flat, wide, perfect beach! Form the lines! I want 3 ranks deep! Shoulder-to-shoulder! Load your weapons and fix your bayonets!"

The musketeers didn’t hesitate. They formed a massive gray wall along the shoreline.

Just as the final musketeer cocked his hammer, the tree line exploded.

Thousands of screaming rebel warriors burst out from the snowy path, pouring onto the upper edge of the beach. They looked like a wild, terrifying wave of fur, steel, and pure rage.

Uncle Halfdan rode out from the center of the mob, his warhorse stomping heavily in the sand.

He looked at Erik’s army, standing with their backs just a few feet away from the crashing ocean waves.

Halfdan lowered his double-bitted axe and let out a booming laugh that echoed over the roaring sea.

"Look at you!" Halfdan laughed, pointing a finger at his nephew. "You ran all the way to the water like a frightened child! There is nowhere left to run, Erik! The great Iron Kingdom is pinned against the sea! Are you going to fight us on the beach? Hahahaha!"

The entire rebel army began to laugh with him, banging their axes against their shields.

They heavily outnumbered the musketeers, and the smooth sand offered no high ground or cover. To the old Viking warlord, this looked like the easiest slaughter in the world.

"He still doesn’t understand..." Erik whispered, a slow smile spreading across his face as he looked at the tightly packed rebels standing perfectly still on the open, flat sand without any cover whatsoever.

Erik slowly raised his mace high into the air, locking eyes with his laughing uncle.