TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  "Oh yes, my dear Prince, but don't be in too much of a hurry! First you have to pay for your passage, as always," replied the Master of the Gate, sitting on a tiny chair behind an ugly table, placed on the bridge, right in the shadow of the tower, from whose summit the plume of smoke was rising. "So!" exclaimed the unctuous toll collector, counting the number of travellers with the tip of a goose feather, "there are thirteen of you, one coin per person and two per horse make thirty-seven silver dinars!

  "But I am the prince!" Boris replied irritated. "Surely I can travel in my own land without paying?

  "Every time you cross this bridge, Prince, you make the same objection. I carry out orders, and to be precise, the lands are not yours, but rather your father's. So, pay up or go back to where you came from!" the tax collector maliciously answered.

  "Thirty-seven silver dinars are too many, they are my father's guests," grumbled the young son of King Demitry, angry and offended.

  "My Prince, you can pay for everyone, if your guests are unable to pay the toll!" teased the Gate Master smiling mockingly. He was well aware that the prince was reluctant to pay.

  "Take three golden dinars and give me the change," High said, handing the money over to the tax collector, who avidly grasped the money from the hand of the East.

  High surprised the shameful individual by grasping his wrist tight and twisting strongly. He reprimanded the gatekeeper:

  "Understand this! I am the King of the East, and if I heard of such behaviour from one of my men, I would certainly not condone it, especially if it concerned one of my children!"

  The tax collector, twisting in pain, answered:

  "I understand, King, I ask forgiveness. Forgiveness!"

  "No, Master of the Gate, you have proven that you didn't understand me! Apologies should not be made to those who reprimand you, but to those who have suffered through your inappropriate behaviour," replied the God-Slayer, freeing the man from his grip.

  "Forgive me, my Prince, such arrogance will never be repeated!" The Master of Gate apologized by offering to return the golden dinars. But the offer was not accepted, though they took the change that was due from the three gold dinars.

  After crossing the military bridge over the Quiet River, they set off through the rolling hills towards the free city of Vyborg, worried about the answers that still had not arrived from the north.

  "I thank you, my King, for having defended me from the mockery of that cursed man!" Boris said to the God-Slayer, who nodded his head, and only said: "He had to be put back in his place."

  High above there were hawks hovering majestically in search of their prey. They flew through the bare branches of the willows that grew along the Quiet River. Fish in the clear waters swam against the current to reach safer waters near the shores. On the horizon there was a black spot, a knight or a wild deer, a sight frequently seen in this peaceful Kingdom. The group stopped, waiting to understand what or who it was. But it soon became clear that it was not a member of the animal Kingdom, going by the fury with which the unknown traveller followed his tortuous way.

  "Could it be bandits again?" Tyra asked worried, trying to rise in her saddle, so that she could see further.

  "It's just one man, my fearful Princess, and if he were a soldier of Varius, he certainly wouldn't ride in full sight, nor would he be coming to greet us!" Holaf answered in a tired voice, while protecting his eyes from the sun of the beautiful day.

  He beat his fist on his body armour, with a loud and carrying sound, followed by a second and finally a third, so as not to risk noble lives. The War Masters, without direct orders of any kind, went to the head of the group in a line and into battle formation. Everyone was delighted when the noble gesture was not needed, because the knight showed no hostility.

  Boris' brother came galloping towards them. He had been sent by the King of Vyborg who had been alerted regarding their arrival by a hawk sent from the watchtower. The high silhouette of the tower still stood behind them. The hereditary Prince of Vyborg presented himself wearing a superb winter coat. The garment was in precious green silk, with bizarre blue decorations of stylized waves representing the river, which was a recurring motif on the flag of the Kingdom. His tight ochre trousers contrasted sharply with his white steed. The animal stood restlessly, beating the ground with his front hooves and panting heavy steamy breaths. The prince did not carry any weapons with him. Igor was not trained in military arts, but had been mostly educated in the organisation of business and social events. His light brown hair, brown eyes and fine features were all evidence of how different his appearance was from his brother Boris. This could lead to many extravagant misleading ideas, but the truth was simpler: both were legitimate brothers of one mother, different because of divine will.

  "Igor, my brother, what fortunate coincidence brings you our way?" the young Prince Boris happy with an encounter that was not entirely a question of luck.

  "Our father sends me with questions and doubts about your behaviour towards our noble guests," this brother and heir answered nervously and malevolently, like an angry dog.

  "My father thinks this of me? I do not believe you!" young Boris offended, exclaimed, while his frowning eyebrows, like the mountains, underlined an all too evident deep rancour.

  "First of all, he's our father!" Igor, corrected him arrogantly. "Also, have you never wondered, why you ended up looking after country whores?"

  Holaf interrupted the acid exchange by thundering:

  "Young princes, time is our a tyrant. I don't think I should linger here discussing stupid infantile questions!"

  "You're right, my King. I apologize on my father’s behalf and I'll ride with you up to the castle of Walls Hill," Igor spurred his horse and led the way saying, "Follow me, the road is friendly!"

  Vyborg was a beautiful city, protected by wide and sturdy walls, faithfully defending the houses within them over the centuries. All of Vyborg's buildings were built in a low, simple style with no building ever exceeding the third floor and none had gates or fences. Everything in Vyborg belonged to King Demitry, who granted houses and arable land only on payment of a rent. King Demitry did not like the idea of private gardens in his town, as everyone had the right to relaxing walks along green paths.

  The main road looked as if it had been paved with a single very long stone, because of the accurate and careful laying of the different slabs. Both to the right and to the left of the street you could see large green areas, with well-kept lawns and evergreen yew hedges in front of the houses to provide the necessary privacy.

  The houses were built with sturdy external framework in charming geometric patterns given by the wooden supports in black or dark walnut. The rest of the walls appeared to be coarse-grained, white, light grey or pale hazelnut in the most unusual cases, creating a very strong contrast with the lush vegetation.

  Vyborg city has always been a place for nobles and royalty in search of a peaceful carefree way of life. It offered every kind of activity, structure and service to the point that it was considered the most famous of the cities of the Steel Ring.

  "Very idyllic your city, prince!" commented High particularly enthusiastic about the creek, flowing cheerfully between the buildings. The riverbed had been covered with white boulders with wide grassy banks, from which one could see light playful small birds darting about with their colourful plumage. Wherever the river crossed a street or alley, the lively stream flowed quickly underneath thanks to graceful dark wooden bridges with characteristic roofing. Over the heads of those using the bridges, were accentuated pointed wooden gables. The wooden ceilings were covered with thin slabs of dark grey stone decorated with paintings depicting ancient myths and legends.

  In contrast to Kitan, where the population, despite the winter cold, did not limit the number of their worldly walks, the inhabitants of Vyborg were more shy and guarded. A few of them walked along the streets or in the magnificent tree-lined parks, but no one greeted the Lords as they passed. Nor did they g
reet the Crown prince, who was clearly visible at the head of the procession. The well-known profile of the castle of Wall Hill could already be seen to the right of the quiet strait-laced city; it had been built, as it should be, on the highest land, by the ancestors of King Demitry. Inside the fortress, the innovatively designed military complex was decidedly unusual. It included a large basilica with a bell tower, a splendid and very well stocked library, which was the pride of the regent, and a small structure, housing a private collection of odds and ends, from every corner of the known world.

  "My Kings, have you ever seen the magnificent halls of the castle? I'm sure they'll leave you speechless. My great-grandfather supervised the restructuring and modernization of the entire complex," boasted young Boris, the only one who seemed to be welcomed by the people. The few greetings the group received were offered to him.

  "Silence, you, idiot! Their Majesties certainly have magnificent residences of their own. They have also travelled to Titan, an unparalleled fortress for luxury and strength!" Igor answered, like poisonous a viper whose tail had been trodden on.

  "Verily, princes, the Titan is far too luxurious for my simple warrior tastes. Too many frills and ornaments fill the rooms, and there is certainly no need for all the decoration outside. I believe that the true nature of the fortress has been lost!" Holaf commented, diverting the minds of the two young princes from yet another quarrel.

  "Interesting. It gives you something to think about, don't you find, princes?" asked High secretly making fun of the two scions. The brothers fell silent nodding, pretending to have understood what the Nordic warrior had said.

  It took very little time to reach the walls of the castle. Outside a welcoming committee waited with a band of cold musicians following behind. In the middle, standing tall and proud, old King Demitry waited, wrapped in a mantle of red velvet edged with soft white fluffy ermine fur. His imposing crown, gave height to his slight figure, very rare in a man. He fixed the two nobles with a firm gaze. His eyes were wise and noted their escorts and the two quarrelsome princes. The King approached quickly, just as the guests dismounted from their horses, tired of being in the saddle and quite cold.

  "Good morning, my welcome guests, I am happy to welcome you to my land! I hope you have made a pleasant and peaceful journey!" The King of Vyborg exclaimed smilingly with open arms. He was protected by a most unusual armour of plates the colour of grass, now visible in all its splendour.

  "Thank you, my King, since we have been under the protection of your men, nothing bad has happened to us," High answered with complacent courtesy, giving, thanks to which Holaf joined in first and then followed by all his travel companions.

  "Magnificent city, my King, I had never been there until now, but certainly I didn’t know what I was missing!" complimented the beautiful Princess of South Winter, smiling and enthusiastic as always.

  However, despite the education of the young woman, there was no hint of a courteous answer from King Demitry, who preferred only to pretend that he had not heard her and continued talking to his superiors.

  "My King, I received many hawks with news about your trip. One carried a not very polite and even less correct business proposal in its claws. The old white King paused for a moment in search of the words to sweeten such news, but did not succeed. Checking his pockets, he pulled out a roll of parchment, like the ones the group of travellers already had.

  "My King, we won two similar rolls in battle!" Holaf exclaimed in a threatening voice.

  "King Demitry, I’ll try to guess. It has an anonymous seal and no signature and is a death sentence against us!" High asserted, placing his hand on the pommel of his sword in a habitual gesture.

  "Exactly, my Lord!" replied the thoughtful King Demitry and wrinkling his brow. "What can I say?" the Lord of the Kingdom mused, tormented.

  "A reply can be given in no uncertain terms. My best answer is a blade, ripping the belly of the enemy!" Holaf asserted unemotionally, limiting the embarrassment of the elderly King.

  "The scroll is addressed to me and explicitly asks for King Holaf, King High and all his followers to be killed in exchange for a lot of gold," revealed the usually greedy man with his white crowned head.

  A shiver rushed down the backs of all the soldiers in the escort. The Masters in their realistic helmets appeared quickly and protected the group with shields, but King Demitry reassured them immediately:

  "Don't be afraid, my warriors! Vyborg is and always will be faithful to the imperial banner. For centuries my family has given its fidelity to the Emperor; a golden waterfall is not enough to tempt me to forfeit the thing that is most precious to me."

  "Thank you for your ethical attitude!" commented High his face becoming more serene, just like strong wind pulling the clouds into smoother formations.

  "You talked about many hawks, bearing our names. What were the messages about, if I may enquire?" the King of Trondheim asked with pretended discretion

  "The first one was sent by Albion, the Great Chamberlain, advising me of your transit through my realm. The stubborn old man wanted me to totally block all my borders!" Demitry, said smilingly.

  "Albion is such a dear person. He is never wrong, despite his age. Enemies of the Emperor have penetrated past your borders. Four were felled at the crossroads to Vyborg by the knight of the dragon. He found this message on one of them," High said, offering the small scroll to the Allied King.

  "This is madness!" commented the troubled master of the city, asking after reading: "So we are on the brink of a new war?"

  "To discover the answer this question we are travelling north to the Kingdom of Midgard in search of information and answers. We have a slender hope of still being on the brink and not in free fall into the abyss," was High’s cryptic replied.

  "So the bad news is stacking up, like corpses one on top of the other!" Demitry exclaimed. He then invited his guests to the castle to discuss the situation.

  "With great regret, dear ally, we are forced to decline your kind invitation, through bad manners but because we lack the time," Holaf answered seriously and decided.

  "Certainly, I understand! Then we'll talk here quickly without too much ceremony. Then we will fill your saddlebags and you can resume your journey as soon as possible," proposed the elderly crowned King. Demitry turned around and whispered the ear of a page who quickly, like a bird in flight, ran over the drawbridge and disappeared into the shadow of the door.

  The beautiful, sunny winter day seemed to become even colder as the three Kings of the Shield briefed each other on the dark and disturbing events. The soldiers of the escort continued to watch each minimal movement, never discarding the possibility of an unexpected attack. Only the three women seemed relaxed. They happily whispered politely between themselves standing next to the knights.

  "Third rune, come to us!" summoned King Holaf with his powerful voice.

  The Dragon hurried as fast as he could. His speed was unnecessary, but each step was noisy as his armour rang out. Once he reached the King, he exclaimed:

  "At your orders, my Lord!"

  The three Kings immediately spread out, making room for him in the circle as if he were their equal.

  "You would like to redeem a Vyborg slave then?" asked curious Demitry. He did not wait for an answer but turned around calling to a page, sending him to get the ledger of his slaves.

  "Your son Prince Boris warned me of a problem to be faced. I do not have the rank to ask such a favour."

  "My son Boris is an idiot!" the old King exclaimed with contempt, like a lion intent on tearing his puppy apart. "He's not a bad lad, but he doesn't want to apply himself to anything. He's only interested in women!"

  Holaf and High didn't want to contradict their ally at that point, but neither saw Boris as such a complete failure. Sure, Boris did seem dull with his glassy eyes and fixed gaze, but there seemed to be more in that blond youth than met the eye.

  The page returned in a rush with a large book with a beaut
iful white leather cover, decorated with gold plate, depicting the tower on the river: the emblem of the Kingdom. The King clutched the heavy volume and leaned it against the back of the young page who, servile, curved over like a peach branch, full of ripe fruit.

  "What is the name of the young woman?" He asked the King squinting in an attempt to see the book more clearly.

  "Sersy!" the Dragon answered simply, happy and hardly able to hold back an enormous smile. He kept looking at his two smiling Kings.

  Demitry's finger slid slowly over the names, but he was still uncertain whether he had read them correctly. The slow search, however, yielded no results at all.

  "What a strange thing, I can’t find the girl!" Demitry exclaimed. He called his son Boris to him.

  "Boris, my misfortune! Please enlighten me on this question!" shouted his father, annoyed.

  "Tell me, my King, how can I help you?" the prince asked defiantly with his usual absent expression and lost gaze.

  They walked away a little to solve the problem.

  "I don't find the name Sersy. Do take a look. We’ll see if it's my eyes or if it's you who is a disappointment to me!" mumbled by giving the book to the young man.

  "The dark haired whore has been put in the book," his son commented in a low voice, flicking through the book quickly, pausing before saying: "Found! She was under the heading ‘Whores’," he smiled pleased with himself, pointing his finger to the name. The sound of a strong slap rang through the air as his father boxed Boris's ears.

  "The heading ‘Whores’! Do you think it's a good idea to write words like this in a Royal register?" the tough old father asked.

  "Excuse me, father, but aren’t nurses, cooks and dishwashers divided by their tasks? That is the job the girl did!" the young prince answered clumsily, receiving as a reward a second resounding slap for the lack of refinement shown in the presence of important guests.

  Shaking his head and muttering to himself, the blond boy moved away from the group of nobles, but remained close enough to hear them.