TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  "Why has the crypt been closed, my silent Chamberlain?" asked the Righteous, tired of not saying a word. It felt as if it had been agreed that they were at the bedside of a dying man.

  "You are a good observer, my King!" Cyril answered, as skilful in avoiding explanations as any good politician. "I don't think I have the rank to answer you, Lord of the South!"

  "I came from the capital with my mind weighed down by strange doubts and questions with many bitter suspicions. I would like to leave tomorrow with the load on my mind lightened." Godwin answered courteously.

  The Chamberlain turned to observe his interlocutor worried about future events.

  "You are the First Lord of the South, and also Hero of the Gods First Class, for such an honour it is essential to be a master of an unshakeable faith. Therefore, if so many troubles fill your heart, new horrors will be coming." commented the chubby man of faith who had extreme competence and insight, continuing to walk fast, with his cat-like steps he seemed intent on hunting in the gloomy and badly lit square.

  "I presume you have already seen horrors within these walls, but do not dare to say so!" exclaimed Godwin as frosty as the city.

  "Like nothing that has ever been seen before!" the man replied, quiet and cryptic shivering both because of the cold of the wind and the lacerating memory evoked by the Righteous.

  An imposing structure served as a theatrical backdrop for the vast bare square, dominated by the immense pointed arches, one above the other, almost reaching the top of the central tower. All the emptiness of the windows was filled by magnificent stained-glass in stupendous colours. The stories told by the glass appeared flamboyant in the light of a beautiful day, as dark as dark at night, barely illuminated by dim lights inside. This fragile magnificence gave life to a large group of rampant arches, an architectural element widely used throughout the city to strengthen the facades.

  With the exception of the stained-glass windows, the rest of the central body used building elements of clear military origin. Numerous small loopholes, protected by deep chamfered ledges, gave archers abundant possibilities for shooting. In the event of an invasion two huge steel doors, heavy and of mountainous dimensions, were slowly closed by means of counterweights lowered into the heart of dark abysses in the earth. This defensive solution turned the monastery into a virtually unassailable fortress. Protected by battlements, high walls, with batteries of trebuchet siege engines and guarded by selected armigers helped by divine providence, this structure was superbly protected. Moreover the Fortress Monastery concealed an internal monolithic and autonomous fortification. It was carved so deeply into the mountain that it offered an escape route to the besieged, through dark and winding streets, using the labyrinths and catacombs.

  The four men walked past the mighty triple stone door. The first room was a large decorated narthex, where the usual two-headed lions stood with their backs stabbed by columns rising like gigantic swords. The demonic beasts seemed to be roaring and fighting trying to escape the sword thrusts, as a sheet of water flowed from the wound caused by the columns, sliding cheerfully towards the ground. The cool liquid was collected in marble basins. Inside the bowl were stone heads with terrifying expressions. The eyes and mouths were wide open in an attempt to gasp in a last breath of air, before becoming inexorably covered by water. The sculptures were of questionable taste and their purpose was to intimidate the observer and so to maintain an iron grip on the minds of the faithful.

  The bare throne room resembled a basilica because of the architectural elements used and because of the style of the decorations. It was divided into five naves by four rows, each with six columns. They were rough and simple, no stucco or decoration embellished them. Nothing masked the pure and technical function of support. Not even the capitals had any ornamentation. The form was essential; an inverted pyramidal trunk was worked roughly with engravings of glyphs, crosses and other religious symbols.

  Splendid tapestries were magnificent. They were stretched on supports fixed between the columns, delineating the central span. Created over a thousand years before, they are size of a sail of a transport vessel, covered in embroidery in gold and silver threads. These masterpieces represented scenes from the life of the One God taken from the Holy Book. A large transept crossed the aisles at the end, dividing the apse from the rest of the chamber. Rows of beautifully carved statues adorned both sides of the transept. As silent judges, these effigies of heroes belonging to the lineage of warrior monks, watched over the sacred relics, visited in veneration by many of the faithful in pilgrimage.

  The apse was higher than the nave, raised by a dozen polychrome marble steps, the same material as the rest of the floor. In the centre a skilfully carved wooden throne, covered all over in gold leaf. Behind the throne was the high altar, simple and adorned only with an engraved cross, preceded by a pair of large statues in dark stone. The statues, bowed down and weary seemed to pour real drops of sweat. Their powerful muscles were swollen and tense in the effort of supporting a pulpit in white stone. Above the white pulpit was an amazing golden cross, worked as if it were a fire enveloping the effigy of the One God, dominating the entire room with its glittering beauty.

  Both the poor lighting, and the insufficient heating made those thick walls quite inhospitable. There were only small oil lamps clinging to their chains, hanging from the bare white vaults. The only decoration was the blue reinforcement ribs.

  "His Excellency the Abbot will receive you tomorrow morning. Now I will accompany you to your cells. I'm sure they'll appear comfortable," said the Chamberlain. It was not unusual that his own King was absent, considering the late hour.

  "You will not lead us into any cell, traitor!" The voice of a knight escorting the Lord of the South thundered, echoing several times in the empty room. The soldier, unsheathed his sword, assumed a position of attack and began to take small side steps.

  "My man, thank you for your impulsive defence, however we do not need a display of steel just yet. These cells are small rooms, where monks pray and sleep!" instructed Godwin smiling, amused by the terrified face of the Chamberlain at the sight of the unsheathed sword.

  "My Lord, therefore, we not going to be imprisoned?" asked the soldier, lowering and sheathing his weapon, like a lion retracting his claws after threatening a duel with another male.

  "No, calm yourself! You need not frighten our kind companion further," Righteous replied to his soldier.

  After making sure that the soldier had understood, filling the natural gaps in his knowledge due to his lack of education. Those who spent their time on the battlefields, while young men, instead of being educated in humanities and science were often ignorant. King Godwin turned to the Chamberlain:

  "Excuse me for alarming you, we're just tired. Would it be possible to have a large room to accommodate everyone? We would rather remain together.

  "Don't worry, my good King! As you have certainly understood from my round appearance, I am not a warrior monk and, despite my fear, you have nothing to forgive," the chubby man resumed walking immediately followed by the three warriors. "As for your location, there are only single cells, but nothing stops you from staying in one all together. You also know how small they can be, so I would advise against this idea."

  "We will accept your advice, my kind Chamberlain, as long as the rooms are next to each other!" King Godwin answered with great cleverness and diplomacy. Anyone who had spent the night in those tiny rooms in the past would remember well the discomfort of their straw beds.

  A doubt was devouring the Lord of the South; he was still not sure where the fidelity of Titus, Abbot of the Fortress, lay at that moment, so the idea of sleeping under his roof hid many uncertainties. The only thing was certain for Godwin; it seemed to be a good idea to stay indoors, given how many cutthroats and worse there were, immoral beings crowding the lands of Beneathathrone, especially at night. Following the corpulent monk they passed through an infinite number of halls, stairways and corridors all in the
same bare style. Totally unadorned, the corridors were embellished by only racks full of weapons of various kinds, making a display in front of the cells in the empty spaces. Each warrior monk left his weapons on these racks before going to bed, because the cells were seen as sacred places, for prayer, restoring the body and spirit.

  "Here we are, my Sire, the three doors at the end of the corridor are yours. I wish you a goodnight. I will come to awaken you at first light. The Abbot gets up very early, but is at prayer until the morning light shines high in the sky," explained the friar, lowering his head with its ridiculous helmet. He then went away quickly and quietly.

  The cells seemed like large luxurious rooms to the tired travellers, although they were narrow and tiny, like deep corridors. In side there was little in the way of furniture. A short wooden bed with a straw mattress and at its head, a wooden desk with a slightly inclined top, with a shelf above it, on which laid only one book, the Sacred Text. The rest of the cell allowed just a slight gap along the length of the room, barely enough space to pass through.

  Godwin lay for a long time in the almost complete darkness of the cubicle, broken only by a small glimmer of light, filtering from the light above the door to the corridor. He felt unsettled. The mind of the Lord of the South was consumed by inauspicious thoughts. The future appeared terribly uncertain to the great King. The decisions to be made were so many and the possibility of making mistakes very great. Moving thousands of men to the east and north could be done. It would be a good idea if the situation was really as they imagined. There were however, many doubts and the entire west was prey to revolutionary movements, some quite vocal. This could lead to uncontrollable developments.

  Another serious issue was afflicting the Righteous, continuing to evoke idea of the beasts. These were like dreams from the imagination of disobedient children. Such beings until a few days ago were pure fantasy, but they now created real terror in adults, generating important variables to take into consideration. The Lord of the South could not risk leaving his lands unprotected. The marauders, crossing the Deep Sea, could seize the opportunity and invade in strength, destroying and conquering the holy places of faith. Godwin's decisions were taken after cold and well-considered calculations, evaluating every possibility. His rational tactical and calculating skills had always led him to great victories in the past. Now doubt crept in, undermining all thought. This did not allow him to rest well, turning the cold night hours into endless battles with sheets and pillows, which he nervously twisted around himself.

  .

  Chapter 13

  Dark-way horrors

  Absolute silence reigned in the rooms of the austere Monastery Fortress. Just when the Righteous One became wrapped in the welcoming arms of Morpheus with the stars in the firmament still in view, the night all enveloped in darkness, a resounding lament was clearly heard. Not really a jeremiad, but a supplication sung by several voices. The warrior monks had gathered in the choir. So early in the morning that it still seemed deep in the night, the monks prayed, singing in tune under the guidance of Titus himself.

  It was the beginning of a new day for Godwin as well. He almost fell from his bed and dragged his tired body to the common baths in the corridor. The Lord of the South opted for a brutal method of self-inflicted torture, a very invigorating bath of icy water to recover from his terrible night. It was ridiculous that the Righteous managed to rest more deeply under bridges, in ditches or in the open air, falling exhausted into the greenery, without doubts or thoughts.

  The pale sunlight kissed the morning, brightening up the sky. The fortress and the city of Terra itself seemed completely different from how it had welcomed them the night before. The streets were alive and noisy, teeming with life and bright colours. You could hear the chirping of birds looking for breakfast among the loopholes, where some monk had left small piles of dry bread.

  Cyril escorted the guests into a room near the large hall of the night before. It was the bright luminous throne room. A large window formed the front wall, flooding the room with light throwing playful colours around, making every stone seem decorated where yesterday they appeared sad and gloomy. The entrance to a private room was from the side of the apse, passing through a tiny door masked by a religious painting. Here it was possible to talk with Titus. A narrow tunnel of cold stone descended to a lower level. A sort of crypt with four low, wide columns, supporting cross vaults of light stone, also served as a backdrop for the council hall.

  At the centre of the room, between the mighty columns, was a round altar, surrounded by black wooden thrones decorated with lions' paws and heads. The thrones contrasted strongly with the clear marble that lined the walls and floor of the room. Titus Bolton, called the Saint by the faithful, sat on one of the thrones. Titus rose suddenly to welcome the Lord of the South, as the protocol required.

  "Well met, my Lord! I hope you have slept well!" The Abbot was courteous in his questioning.

  "I thank you, Your Excellency, having a roof and warm blankets after days of travel and sleepless nights, makes it very difficult to wake up!" Godwin lied courteously, being aware of the touchy character attributed to his host.

  "Please, Sovereign of the South, sit down and join me in this humble breakfast! It is not adapted to Your Majesty’s usual tastes, but in this fortress we practice poverty and humility," invited Titus, without taking any notice of the escorts of King Godwin.

  The Abbot was dressed in a long two-tone tunic, half white and half black, covering him almost totally. Just like the flags and banners, it had the blue cross and two stylised lions. A cotton rope an inch thick tied the tunic at the waist and carried a large cross. The sacred object was beautifully lacquered and painted. It probably contained a sharp blade, as there was a slight line, indicating a separation just below the sides of the short arms.

  Titus's gentle manners were challenged by Godwin's appraisal. His royal ears caught the quiet clink made by a chain mail tunic, hidden from view by the cassock. In addition, the pommel of a sword peeped out next to the throne, from where the abbot had risen. Not to mention the splendid embossed chrome-plated steel helmet, shimmering, resting adjacent to the throne.

  "My Lord, I thank you for your hospitality! But the words I am about to utter weigh heavy on my heart," Godwin said as he moved to the side of the altar. "You greet us as a welcome guests yet conceal your armour from our eyes, as if there were other the plans about to be put into action."

  "What are you suggesting, Sire Godwin?" asked nervous Titus. "Do you think we intend to murder you? You are very bold to criticise me, given the colour of your livery!"

  "Reveal your intentions, Abbot, and so I can make sense of my visit!" Godwin shouted. He was as tense as a rope on the scaffold during a hanging. Observing his listener carefully, as he was at a considerable tactical disadvantage, being alone and a long way from his sword. The Righteous continued: "I come have from the capital to shed light on your real intentions, concerning the Empire and the growing difficulties there. The Lords of the West seem to be in the grip of the enemies of the Empire, drawing them increasingly close to the Old Mound and Catacomb. Your peers refuse to report to the Lord of the West, failing to obey the oaths made to the Citadel!" The Righteous affirmed, revealing the true reason for his unexpected visit.

  Seeing the astonished face of Titus on hearing the imperial insinuations and seeing him shivering nervously, Godwin relaxed. Feeling relieved he added:

  "They didn't want to come and investigate as they feared you were a traitor. I was opposed giving you that mark of infamy without evidence, and I could not be more proud to be proved right!"

  "But this is unheard of! I am the Guardian of Souls! I made a vow of sacred defence and reported in detail to the First West Standard regarding all the evils that are now befalling us, afflicting my lands like gangrene, cutting down many souls," Titus replied, troubled by this lack of trust in him.

  "You have been impeccable and faithful to the role entrusted to you as Regent,
but you reported your problems to Grigor. He is weak, vain and deluded. He has not communicated anything of the troubles to His Imperial Highness. So vague was his report to, King Holaf of Trondheim, to the Eastern God-Slayer and to me that we thought that his realm is on the brink of collapse. This worrying opinion is shared by the Lord of Kitan," Godwin explained, his mood as black as the blood of the disgusting Orcs.

  "So not only have my pleas been ignored, but as well as that, the Emperor is unaware of the evil that is fomenting in the depths of the earth," commented thoughtful Titus sitting on his throne. "What can we do?"

  "I will shortly depart to my lands and send a messenger falcon with a full explanation of what has happened in my presence, also attaching your revelations," Godwin explained his plan of action.

  "Why wait? If my loyalty is in doubt, there is an urgent need for communication. I want to the loyalty of Terra to be communicated to the Emperor as soon as possible!" The insinuations made Titus nervous causing an evident tremor in his right hand. Godwin replied.

  "My good host, do not be angry. No imperial army is marching to Terra. Indeed, everyone fears the might and military ability of your Guardians of the Faith. The happy confirmation of your loyalty should not be sent directly grasped in the claws of your hawks," Godwin was interrupted by an instinctive question from Titus:

  "My King, why can’t my hawks be used?"

  The Righteous sat down, took a mug and poured cow's milk into it reluctantly, given the Southern Lord's predilection for cider or beer, but only that white fluid was offered. Godwin drank a sip of milk avidly, then responded with cunning: