Shouts still rang out through the war camp, echoing through the shallow valley and making it difficult to tell which side of the besieged city they came from. The tents surrounding the breached stone walls sported almost as many scars and stitches as did the warriors running to and fro, each focusing single-mindedly on his assigned task with little regard for the corpses littering the blood-stained grass underfoot.

The fourth wave had fallen back after the walls had been breached, both yielding with only a bit of reluctance to Commander Ragnar’s orders. The man’s voice rumbled through the valley like thunder from Thor’s mighty hammer, audible above the din even when one’s own voice was not. Had it been anyone else leading the siege this season, the ferocious Ulfhednar berserkers in their wolfskin coats would have forced their way into the city, its houses, and any peasant men or women holed up within. But it was not yet time. Ragnar was said to know everything except defeat, and his warriors held none but the gods in higher esteem. The fifth and final assault would not begin until he gave the command.