"Welcome, my dear friends! My father, the Emperor, tells me not to waste any more time and to enter the great hall of the High Tower."
"You must be Calvin, son of Marius Taccer, the Emperor of the United Men, so the heir and my future Emperor," exploded Grigor, forced to stop for a moment to take breath after such a lengthy compliment. But it did not take long for the Lord of the West to attract his attention: "My Emperor calls, I respond immediately. Son, guide us!"
Calvin, a very vain young man, felt honoured to have been recognized by one of the four Sovereigns and immediately felt kindly towards that polite noble man.
"I pray, my Sovereigns, follow me!" exclaimed the young heir boldly.
"Excuse me, dear Prince, the Lord of the North has not yet arrived. It would be correct to wait for him a little more," the God-Slayer said kindly.
"Now I will tell you, what is correct!" Grigor was annoyed. "The correct thing is not to keep our magnanimous Emperor waiting any longer. Grigor turned around looking at the young man and smiled perfidiously before asking, "Right, son?"
The boy shyly replied: "If you say so, Sire Grigor, I assume it is the protocol, so please follow me without delay."
"Forgive me for insisting, but the protocol would require the four rulers to enter the great hall aligned together," said High with a firm voice.
"Come now, you don't want to adhere to protocol right now, you, of all people. You don't follow it at all! Moreover, your friend is not a child. He will be able to find the way to the exclusive council room on his own," said Grigor without even turning to look the God-Slayer in the face. He repeated to the young son of the Emperor: "Son, guide us!"
"This way, my dear friends!" exclaimed Calvin very embarrassed by the ugly scene. He took his place at Grigor's right side and lead the way.
Godwin and High looked bitter, shook their heads slightly and, without saying any more, walked behind the old man and young boy quietly murmuring. The God-Slayer had become gloomy. He was a cultured and intelligent man and felt irritated and offended. One thing was to endure Grigor's provocations in private, but quite another was to be mocked in public by a knight who was less deserving of the title than anyone else. Godwin, for his part, felt calm, as always sure of being able to count on the protection of divine providence. He was comforted by his habitual conviction that if a situation took an unpleasant turn, it was only because of divine will.
Worry and distress quickly left the knights as they approached the High Tower, until they came into its shadow. The sancta sanctorum of the Titan took one’s breath away, able to impress even the most sophisticated of beings. It was built centuries ago with the help of titans, who were slaves of the first thinking race known to history. The Erthys were a population of highly educated and technologically advanced giants, who built the Titan as an impenetrable fortress against the many warring bands, who still caused battles and disturbances in these lands.
The Erthys, who were large, intelligent, powerful and fundamentally peaceful - locked themselves up in these three enormous towers protected by a circle of walls of incredible thickness. Over ten metres deep and sixty metres high were the enormous measurements of the circle, reinforced at every corner by towers capable of repelling any attack. The Titans, tired of being slaves, gave battle to the Erthys who perched in the impassable fortress. But they made the fateful mistake of not calculating immense life-span of the titans, who only had to wait a couple of centuries, making sure that no Erthy escaped from the walls, to ensure the victory of the mutineering slaves. Once certain of their triumph, the titans withdrew to the north and east. Their alliance crumbled, generating wars reducing their number drastically.
Not only did death bloom within the fortress, but the last surviving Erthy, free from the Titans, opened the immense doors and disappeared, leaving the structure empty. Later on, the era of men arrived. They took over and adapted the gigantic lordless fortress. Each King and Emperor in turn, made changes to the towers as they followed, one after another, down the ages, so how the tower looked originally was not known. One thing certain was the majesty of the fortress and its centuries-old robustness, thanks to the huge blocks of black stone from the other side of the earth. It was said that these blocks were carried on the shoulders of the Titans one by one, after having carved them to the size of about seven men in height and twice in width.
The Titan was imposing with its immense height accentuated by the pyramid shape of the three towers, creating the illusion of connecting the sky to the earth. The buildings on the right and left, lower than the central tower, were on a minor scale, but certainly not of lesser beauty. For centuries, human rulers had added long white pillars, interspersed with gold-clad capitals, depicting epic battle scenes. All these decorations were designed to break the immensity of the matte, black, un-veined stone wall giving even greater momentum to the perspective it offered.
An added decoration to the façade was series of Gothic arches with a very accentuated pointed shape, which twisted like climbing plants, generating an amazing effect of movement. Long, rectangular, blood coloured banners depicting the golden twelve-pointed star, symbol of the Empire of the United Men, were stretched and anchored along the lower part of all three towers.
The Titan was a truly impressive monument to power and grandeur, a concept underlined by three enormous portals that preceded two others, each with three doors. But the impression of power was given most of all by the so-called War Door. It lay always open to the outer area. The doors were of forged in steel, which was so heavy that it was closed only under actual threat and needed the work of two thousand horses. The exterior doors, as high as the first row of stones, were made of solid wood, reinforced with steel and then decorated with seven strips of bronze high reliefs plated with gold. These works represented the heroic deeds of the one hundred and twenty-seventh Emperor of the United Men, Stoik Ivarson, a man very able in self-praise but totally lacking objectivity.
On the sides of the doors, an imposing white marble conch surrounded the passage with high floral relief and depictions of the struggle between dragons and men, until reaching the gothic pointed section, where a series of very refined openings framed the word ‘God’ engraved in gold. Only the main entrance of the High Tower bears this inscription. The above the central entrance of the left tower was inscribed ‘Emperor’, while on the right tower above the central portal shone the word ‘King’.
There were many rulers, most of them, not very cultured and with an exulted idea of their own importance. But there were also rulers with outstanding personalities, who sat on the throne of the United Men, one of whom decided to have more modest doors built of the within the impressive great portals. He made this choice because no matter how large an Emperor seated on the throne could be, they would never reach a height of more than three meters.
The three Sovereigns continued to look around astounded, and just as they crossed the War Door, Grigor exclaimed:
"Sometimes it makes you feel so small!"
The imperial heir turned to his admiring companion and then to the two Kings behind him, who were also enchanted and amazed.
"I, too, have struggled to get used to it, despite living here and going through these doors several times a day," the young prince commented impressed, but with a touch of pride.
"My boy, I don't think I'd ever get used to such magnificence!" Grigor replied, gazing with child-like amazement at the doors of the gilded portal.
The door had a smaller entrance cut into it, called the Door of Men. There were two guards, placed on either side. They saluted and uncrossed their halberds to greet the nobles. The two guards, in high uniform, wore gilded steel semi plate armour with an inscription ‘Ave Imperator’ displayed on their gorget. On the body, shoulder straps and right knee pad, the twelve-pointed cross was engraved. A silver-coloured mail tunic, light enough to be seen, covered the parts not protected by solid steel. The rough and serious faces of both were framed by a helmet surmounted by a blood-red
crest of long hair that reached half way down their backs. From the shoulder straps, large purple cloaks gave a noble air to both guards.
The parade halberds were made of gold, while the swords of the two differed greatly according to the capabilities of the warrior. The man on the right was carrying a bastard sword with a large, cube-shaped knob with sharp corners, a quality greatly appreciated during a melee, as the blade was not the only part of the sword used to break heads. The small soldier on the left was armed with a thin curved sword with a bronze cup guard and cage to protect his fingers.
The sight of the small sword clearly shocked High, who looked away in disgust. The Lord of the East frowned and whispered quietly:
"What a horrible sword."
Only Godwin could hear the God-Slayer's comment. The Lord of the South had taken the time to admire the high reliefs of the portal and hurried to join the group.
"My dear God-Slayer, only you could cheer me with a simple phrase!" he exclaimed smiling at the Righteous.
"What?" he asked, emerging from his thoughts.
"Nothing important," Godwin kindly replied, then after a pause he changed the subject, "in your opinion, why is the Lord of the North taking so long?"
"I don't know! Holaf hates visiting the Citadel, hates the ceremony, the protocols and the haughty Lords of the court, in fact he hates everything," the God-Slayer replied keeping his voice low to keep Grigor out of the discussion.
"Yes, he is a true man from the north! Even though he is not comfortable with these occasions, he does not give in," the Righteous replied, also lowering the tone of his characteristic voice.
"You know!" exclaimed High worried but wishing to end the discussion. "Perhaps the delay is only due to the distance he must travel to reach the capital from Trondheim."
"So, you two, can you stop whispering?" growled Grigor, nervous because he felt excluded from the conversation, failing to catch a word of it. "We have almost arrived in the Emperor’s presence and you behave like undisciplined infants! You should behave as befits your rank!" he added, as he passed through the last set of doors.
Neither High nor Godwin was bothered by the uncalled for opinion expressed by the elderly King, as he was renowned for his political mania, love of argument and fondness for attention. Then the eyes of the Kings were drawn to the new hall that opened before them. A sombre atrium, which was very large in fact, but compared to the overall size of the High Tower, the room appeared small and dark, almost like a cemetery vault. Architecturally it was in military style and certainly not part of the original structure.
This gloomy room had the evocative name of the Blood Room and served, in fact, as a funnel to block the attack of an army of aggressors, who would crowd into the room thinking they could break through the delicate door. The door seemed small and made of wood but the entire structure was made of solid steel. Once the cramped space was filled with unwelcome, furious hordes, the room could be filled with thousands of metal darts shooting through holes in the walls using machines called pincushions. These war machines, similar to enormous sling-shots, were capable of firing a thousand darts at the same time using the force of strong, twisted bow-strings.
If these deadly weapons were not enough to destroy the army of invaders, boiling water and large stones could be poured onto them from the many slits in the roof. When the massacre was over, the floor of the macabre room, built with a slight slope, slight enough not to be noticed when walking but enough to let the blood flow towards the entrance. This created a demoralizing warning for any remaining of ardour within breasts of the approaching enemy army.
Chapter 2
Tedious supplicants
In the Blood Room, the Great Chamberlain of the High Tower was eagerly awaiting them. Albion was an old man, who did not have many winters left in him. His thin, curved figure looked more like a vine than a body. A few white hairs still sprouted at the sides of his shiny head, while a long white beard fell almost to his waist, so Albion was easily recognisable. He always dressed in a black linen tunic that swept the floor. A huge and cumbersome conical hood fell down his back. Albion never pulled it over his head, but often used it as a scarf, wrapped around his neck.
This humble image was enhanced by the white vestments embellished the twelve-pointed cross, which identified his important role as the Great Chamberlain of the Empire of United Men. The waist of the elderly man was circled by a bright silver chain that caught the faint lights and amplified its gleam. He held an enormous bunch of tinkling keys on a chain with a trembling hand. The final most precious detail was an elegantly decorated golden stick, leaning, apparently abandoned, beside a small door.
"Welcome, my dear friends! Did you have a good journey?" Albion asked with in a shaky voice, squinting his old ice-coloured eyes, to make sure he had not greeted the guards by mistake.
"Thank you, Great Chamberlain! We had pleasant journey in good company. But it was ruined on our arrival at the fortress," replied haughty Grigor, alluding to his disagreement with the Lord of the East. "I see you are looking well!" congratulated Grigor, politically astute as ever.
"I thank you, my Sovereign, but by now the years are not so pleasant to count, just like the cleaning your arse first thing in the morning when it’s humid and sticky," answered Albion with a trembling but stoic voice. He was not accustomed to sycophants, but as a man of honour, he felt an almost visceral disgust for the Sovereign in gold armour.
The vulgarity annoyed Grigor and his face darkened. He was about to respond and put the bent old man in his place, but was abruptly interrupted by a nudge on the shoulder from High. It was meant to be gentle, but because of their armour, a noisy clanging filled the room.
The God-Slayer approached Albion observing him closely and said:
"You really look dreadful, Great Chamberlain, but it is a surprise and a great pleasure to see you still in your place!"
"And by your grace, my Lord, where did you think you would find me?" asked Albion puffing for breath.
High answered surprised by the question:
"Obviously underground!"
They looked at each other in an embarrassed silence that seemed to last minutes then broke into resounding laughter. High hugged Albion affectionately, taking care not to cause pain with his armour.
"I still miss you at the court of the Black Portal. The Fort of Fate is as silent as a tomb without your continuous complaining," said High, almost whispering to the old man of the court.
Albion, with an unexpected tear in his eye, responded in a gentle tone:
"You do not know how much I miss you, my King!" He interrupted himself for a moment, and breathed deeply then returned to his normal, irritable self. Proud and lacking the tact of a courtier he said: "It was your stupid, inconsiderate father who sent me to the High Tower, when you were still a little prince. Here it is horrible. They don't even have vodka. I told your father, but he didn't want to listen, and he sent me here, claiming it was for the good of the Empire. The Emperor was inexperienced, needed my help and a heap of other similar bullshit."
The smiling God-Slayer opened the bag containing the gift for the Emperor, rummaged round for a moment, and took out a bottle of clear liquid. The Chamberlain‘s eyes opened wide and filled with delight.
"There is no remedy for my father's faults, but I don't want you to invent some dark, twisted story to pass on to my grandchildren," said High, smiling. He gave the bottle to the old man, who was salivating like a cow chewing its cud. The bottle was greedily torn from the hands of the generous Lord.
"Is it vodka?" Albion asked.
"Yes! Smooth, made from wheat, just like you like it, my dear old friend!" the King of the East answered smiling.
"Luckily it is smooth, not like one of those herbal brews. Or worse like the fruit flavoured crap that the weakling offspring of the Emperor round here like so much!" said the Great Chamberlain forgetting the presence of Calvin.
"Great Chamberlain, how dare you speak about me like that,
and in the presence of guests!" complained the first heir.
"Come, come, young man, this is not the first time I have called you soft and nor will it be the last one! You had better to get used to it, as he had to," Albion answered sweetly, indicating the God-Slayer with his unstable arm, which looked more like blade of grass. The God-Slayer only smiled and nodded his head.
Everyone, except Grigor, was willingly captured by the personality of the Great Chamberlain, enjoying a moment of fun. Albion turned serious, concentrating on hiding the bottle in a bag under his linen tunic, as though he had stolen it, he said:
"Well, my Kings, let's go to the great hall!" with that he turned around and knocked on the fake wooden door with heavy hand.
At the last blow the door moved, widening the opening ponderously. An unexpected but welcome warmth flowed from the opening door. Although it was not their first visit, the room they beheld still had the power to amaze them.
It was enormous with mosaic tiling decorating the entire floor, depicting the stories of the first human Kings and Emperors. Each piece was a small precious stone, quarried in the Overland or coming from the mine called Hell. Rubies, emeralds, diamonds, aquamarines, tiger eyes and many more. Two rows of golden tiles from the front door marked the way to the Emperor's throne, which from distance appeared illuminated directly by the sun.
TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering Page 2