TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  "We have decided what to do on the north and east, at least for now. The next task is to decide what to do in the west and south," Godwin exclaimed, standing up and pointing his finger at his possessions. "In the south we have no problems with ruthless beasts. There are only barbarians who, of course, are many. Every day they land somewhere, plunder small villages and leave. It would not be a problem for me to move troops to the east or north. It is only necessary to decide how many and send the request to the relevant Vassals.

  "Are you not the Lord of the East?" asked Sire Grigor provocatively.

  Godwin just looked at him, filled with sorrow and replied:

  "Yes, of course I am, but asking permission from those beneath me helps to avoid rebellions. If you had known that, maybe now you wouldn’t have to pay off two rebels!" After such coldness Grigor was silent, crossed his arms and looked at Godwin breathing heavily.

  Godwin continued after the interruption:

  "I could send part of the Shields of the Faith of the Holy Wall momentarily to one of the cities to the east, or send the Protectors of Hal Barat’s Pass to aid King Tad. Urag Dorin is always loyal and faithful to my crown and will give protection to troops right on the eastern borders.

  "Dubranek's beasts would be a big help, dear Godwin!" exclaimed Holaf. This statement was also supported by High, who added: "Wiggo, Lord of the Beasts should be asked if it were possible to increase the breeding and training of those monstrous cats of his."

  "If you think it's a good idea, I'll go to the lands of Wiggo," Godwin said doubtfully.

  His undecided behaviour attracted the curiosity of the Emperor who asked, interested:

  "What makes you doubt the beasts?"

  "My Emperor, they are strong, fast and effective animals, when they are ridden by good warriors. They are irreplaceable. The problem is the death of the knights. The Leveron is a very aggressive cat and in a melee he tends not to distinguish between enemies and friends. In any case, I will send my son to Dubranek to make your requests," Godwin said.

  "So, the south has declared its intentions and its duties too, now it's up to the west," said the Emperor cheered because he could see the end of the restricted council and he was tired of sitting and listening.

  Grigor looked as though he had awoken to find that a bad dream was real. He looked around, as if to discover if he were the only one dismayed by such a statement. Noticing that all eyes were turned on him, he got up, settling his shimmering armour and began to declaim:

  "My Lord, in the west we do not have mountains, but only plains and rivers that defend the Kingdom. I cannot deprive myself of any men!"

  The three Generals did not speak, but sighed and exchanged glances. Before one of them could speak harshly to Grigor, the Emperor himself spoke up:

  "My dear Grigor, you know how much I esteem you and how much I appreciate your work, but in this case I find myself forced to ask you to rethink your forces and to release a large number to be placed near the borders to the north or east.

  "Your Excellency, the problem of rebel cities persists in the north!" Grigor clumsily exclaimed.

  The Emperor, beating his fists on the table protested vigorously:

  "You said just before that you had an agreement with those cities and now you tell me, that they are a problem!"

  Grigor, having put himself in an awkward corner, mumbled grumbling:

  "After this political embarrassment, I will send a message to Half Mountain for King Hamond, asking him to prepare his men for a possible transfer to the north. And a message to Xerxes of Tahnatos, warning him that his army of Myrmidons must be ready for manoeuvres to the east," Grigor. After proclaiming his commitments, he collapsed in heavily into the chair, making the precious metal of his armour ring.

  Holaf was not at all happy with the news he heard of receiving military support from Hamondof Half Mountain. This leader had no army, but a jumble of peasants dressed and armed with anything they could find, hay forks, sickles and wheat scythes were the proud weapons of his army. However a ruler, who had earned himself the nickname of ‘Pork’, could not be considered a valid ally at this juncture.

  High, on the contrary, was delighted by the idea of receiving help from Xerxes' Myrmidons. Tahnatos' men were valiant warriors, disciplined and effective. Word had it that they were the best fighters of the west. But it was best to overlook their custom, rare among men, of practicing cannibalism to absorb the strength of the enemy.

  The lengthy meeting of the restricted council came to an end, and five sighs of relief were heard clearly in the room. The Emperor stood up, stretched like a cat, and exclaimed:

  "Given the late hour, the idea of setting off on the road is to not a good one - too many robbers and cutthroats in the lands around the plateau. You will enjoy my hospitality for the night!"

  "Brigades and cutthroats?" asked Holaf worried.

  "Yes, it was the first point on my list of problems but, after listening to yours, now they appear insignificant," the Emperor answered discouraged. He wished the Generals good night and retired to his rooms, walking away looking afflicted, with his head bowed.

  Grigor got up and went out without saying good night to anyone. He was met by a servant, who, with all courtesy, escorted him to the rooms, which had been prepared for the four Generals. Godwin said goodnight and took leave of his two friends, who were still drinking cider and beer. High, hiccoughing and feeling a little drunk, proposed:

  "We will have to stop drinking, dear brother!"

  "Why?" asked Holaf.

  "Otherwise we will make it too easy for Grigor to cut our throats in our sleep!" the God-Slayer replied, bursting into laughter, causing his brother to laugh as well.

  "You are right, my dear High, let's go to sleep!" exclaimed Holaf.

  The two got up and were escorted to their respective rooms by servile pages.

  Chapter 4

  Towards destiny

  The silent mantle of the night did not give peace of mind. Holaf and High were both full of doubts and questions. Neither of them was able to sleep. High continued to think of possible problems, even remote ones and yet they seemed so terribly real. He had sensed, as had all his peers, that the Orcs had not moved so far from their hunting grounds by mistake, but some greater mind was scheming with unknown goals.

  Holaf, lying in the sumptuous bed of dark wood decorated with gold leaf, topped by a canopy carved with glorious floral motifs, couldn’t quieten his mind. He was unable to answer the thousands of questions that crowded relentlessly in his mind, nor could he study the defensive military movements that he might have to put in place, if the threat finally came from some mountainous pass or from the sea. The Lord of the North sat on the side of his bed, took his head in his hands and tried to think of his beautiful wife Anastasia, who was waiting for him in Trondheim.

  Anastasia was a warrior woman, anything but docile and defenceless. She was a bit impulsive, perhaps, but with refined ways and capable of great sweetness. She was valued noted by all the warriors with whom she had the honour of fighting in the past. Certainly it was very difficult not to notice her. Holaf still carried in his heart the memory of their first meeting. It was during a battle, where Anastasia, tall and beautiful with long black braids, gathered and falling down her back, her eyes like the ice of the north, moved lithely between arrows and enemies.

  She was wearing light leather armour, with sheets of steel cleverly shaped to do justice, as far as possible, to her gorgeous physical shape. Her long, muscular legs were protected by black leather overpants, studded with shiny, steel pyramid studs. In one hand she held her heavy, black almond shaped shield, with a red oblique stripe and white bear, the emblem of the Magnusen caste. She also held a typical the axe with an engraved blade, with which she eliminated her enemies. Her beautiful face was framed by a domed barbute formed by four sections joined by sharp steel rivets, in case it was necessary to use her head as a weapon.

  Even the heartening memory of his first encou
nter with his beloved did not help Holaf to distract himself from his own worries. They returned forcefully, cancelling the welcome memories of his wife. Holaf snarled loudly, flexing his shoulders like a wild beast. Tensing his considerable muscles, he jumped up, took his under-armour and slipped it on. He put his hand on the door meaning to go out, but then pulled back.

  High's comments about cutthroats rang through his head. Long Sword decided that it would be wise to travel armed. So he added his armbands and the body of his monstrous armour. The Lord of the North took his huge sword and his wolf skin cloak and went out to walk in the dark, to try and keep the evil thoughts at bay.

  The night was cold and humid, but without a cold wind and no clouds obscured the sky. The firmament, in all its splendour, was on display for the Nordic King. Observing such magnificence, Holaf thought that from the top of the High Tower he would have had an even better view, and he prepared to climb the endless stairs with their high steps.

  It used an enormous amount of energy, but once on top of the High Tower it was worth it. The tower rose so majestically that it seemed to touch the sky. From the top it was possible to see all four cities of the Ring of Steel. The lighted shapes of the walls and fortresses stood out in the night sky.

  To the North East it was possible to recognize the city of Rost with its fortress, Harpy’s Nest, unmistakable because of the disproportionately tall, but mighty walls. Holaf was sorry not to have had time to visit Rost and see his old friend Morten Gottson, regent of the fortress. The two had not met for more than a year, but despite this, Holaf considered a visit to be inappropriate. To the South East you could see Relic, with its fortress, Thunderstruck. It was less well lit than the other three, camouflaged in the dark and almost invisible except for a couple of lights on the towers.

  There was Kitan, a beautiful and very orderly city with its monumental fortress Tartaros, which controlled the only road from the south giving easy access to the Throne of the Titans highland. Finally, in the southwest, Doom Hammer and its fortress Khorgorath could be seen. Holaf had never been to that city, nor had he ever had the pleasure of meeting Erebus Layak, who enjoyed great esteem among warriors.

  To the south, beyond the plateau, between the hills, if he strained his eyes, he would be able catch sight of the trembling torches of Vyborg, a city free from imperial rule. The King of Vyborg was Demitry Morozov, who had inherited the freedom of the Kingdom, which had been awarded for loyalty, to one of his ancestors. Demitry was another good and loyal man, an excellent ally for the Empire. The privileges he enjoyed passed from heir to heir remaining unchanged in his hands.

  Even the sky seemed more beautiful, especially once the torches were hidden. The lookout was not in the same frame of mind. He grumbled to himself:

  "Just look at him! He could sleep if he wanted and he comes to the lookout! If only he’d take over the watch, I could go and sleep!"

  Holaf heard and smiled but didn’t react to the words. He was too fascinated by the panorama and the stars above him.

  "If the stars could speak, what would you ask them, my brother?" asked High, who was surprised to have had the same idea as Holaf, finding him at the top of the High Tower.

  Holaf turned, pleasantly surprised at the unexpected encounter. He gave a friendly slap to the God-Slayer’s shoulder and replied:

  "If it were possible, I would ask them to tell me all the movements of the Orcs’ and the reason for those movements."

  "That is too easy a question, my brother, I think, for the stars don’t bother themselves with our troubles. Faraway and austere, they offer us their distracted gaze only to receive in exchange over-sweet compliments," replied the Lord of the East, turning his gaze to his friend.

  The night seemed quiet and without any threat that could be seen from the Titan, but from such a fortress few things could ever be seen to worry the occupants.

  "You’ve made yourself comfortable I see," noticed High smiling, pointing to Holaf’s armour.

  "You know, I was still thinking about possibility that Grigor might want us to die after today's meeting," Holaf answered, smiling and looking at his friend from head to toe. "If it comes to that, not even you travel lightly!" The Lord of the North struck a blow on the chest of the God-Slayer, causing a rattling sound.

  "A shirt of mail is a good friend. I like to keep my friends close to me!" High answered seriously.

  For a moment both were silent, letting the beauty of that calm, cold and silent night overcome them. Only the sparks from the lighted torches and the repetitive thud, of the heavy and sleepy footsteps of the lookouts, broke the magical silence. High his gaze on the stars, asked:

  "Brother, in your heart what do you think? Do you say that war is inevitable?"

  He had to wait for the reply, then, ever practical, Holaf asserted:

  "I'm afraid our swords will be needed soon."

  "I'm afraid of it too, but I hope with all my heart that I am mistaken," High added, breathing deeply. But to relieve the tension that had fallen, he changed the subject asking, "King Holaf, how are your beautiful daughters?"

  "When I was at home, they were very well, and I hope nothing has changed," Holaf said in a loud voice.

  "Have you already thought about their future suitors?" The God-Slayer insisted.

  "To tell the truth, no. I have not had time, nor honestly do I wish to. They're still my little girls!" Holaf exclaimed, looking northward sentimentally, then added: "Witte is very much like her mother both in character and beauty."

  "Then whoever will have her as his wife will be a lucky knight!" High replied.

  "My brother, did you think you might suggest your son Vladimir as a suitor?" Holaf asked with a touch of ill-concealed concern.

  "No!" replied dryly, the resolute Lord of the East. He put his hand on Holaf's shoulder and added, "I love my son Vladimir, but he is violent, aggressive and sadistic. Even the Grey, whom I have paid well to instil knowledge and wisdom in my son, is desperate."

  "If I may ask, which Grey have you hired?"Holaf asked.

  "Krintar, they say he is the best tutor of the whole Kingdom," High answered looking thoughtful for some minutes before speaking again. "You know, my brother, I'm so desperately anxious about Vladimir. I wouldn’t be surprised, if I were to see him strangling stones for the joy of hearing their last breath before shattering them." The God-Slayer had a bitter pill to swallow, but reassured his Nordic friend: "Until Vladimir shows signs of stability, I will not propose any marriage, not even to the daughters of Grigor."

  "That’s lucky for Vladimir! You know what torture you would bring him by getting him to marry a woman with Seeker blood!" Holaf exclaimed without thinking, making his friend laugh loudly.

  High spoke, while still laughing, trying to get back to the subject of Holaf’s beautiful daughters:

  "My brother, I thought that a North-South union would be of great benefit to you. Considering what an abundance of children Godwin has piled up in the Aureo Castle, it could be fun as well as politically advantageous. If you were to look for a suitor among his twelve children, you would surely find one that is worthy.

  Holaf listened with a strange look on his face without getting irritated and boasting as he usually did, when the talk turned to the princesses of Trondheim.

  High continued:

  "Godwin is a great warrior, but you know that already. What I think you don't know is that the Lord of the South is a perfect example of an excellent father. The nickname he bears was never used more appropriately. And touching on the venal side of things, Godwin among the richest men of the entire Kingdom." Having listed his reasons for a match, High stopped to scrutinize Holaf, who said nothing and stared at him with the hard gaze of the north. Holaf‘s eyes were so penetrating and insistent, they made High feel uncomfortable. This put High on the defensive: "There is no need to stare at me that way, my brother, they are your daughters. I consider myself only their uncle by the sword. I just expressed my opinion, and you should consider that
at the moment the South would not be a bad place to wait for the evolution of events."

  "You are a genius! You seem to talk light rubbish, but in your speeches excellent advice is hidden. You did not give me enough time for my warrior’s head to put together the pieces of the mosaic," said smiling Holaf, who embracing High, added: "Tomorrow morning I will ask Godwin if he would be willing to accommodate my wife and daughters at his estates, only until things settle down."

  "I don't think it's a problem for your daughters, but your wife will never leave you while the sounds of war ring in the air," High commented.

  Holaf, giving him a strong hug, sighed and commented bitterly:

  "Once I get home there will be quarrels and, as usual, Anastasia will be the winner!"

  High nodded, smiling and relaxed, enjoying the tranquillity of the night. Holaf after a big yawn turned to his friend:

  "Thank you, my brother, for always being at my side!"

  They stayed for a few more moments looking at the sky, then took their leave and retreated into their own rooms to take advantage of the few hours of rest left before dawn.

  The morning, quiet and calm, was however, not blessed by any kind of sun. In the dark night clouds covered all the sky. The clouds turned the scene grey and sad whichever way you looked. The cold that had become sharp was intensified by a tumultuous wind that rushed through the great corridors of the Titan, giving loud whistles and deep moans, making the advanced heating system of the fortress useless.

  Holaf, feeling the cold of the night as he had few blankets, first wrapped himself up in his thick wolf mantle, trying to warm himself. He began checking all his weapons. Then he ran down the stairs of the tower thunderously, like an avalanche. His movements were never delicate and refined. Holaf was a great warrior, humble and sincere, but his ways were often rough and rude and were often criticized by the courtiers.

  The God-Slayer headed towards the banquet hall, planning to have a hearty breakfast, before leaving with his friend High for Midgard. He found the door closed. He imagined that is was to keep out the cold Nordic climate and beyond that the door everyone was already sitting down to a feast.