TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  "I departed from my beloved North to move away from the cumbersome shadow of my brother! ‘He is the Rampage of the Gods!’ is what the fleeing enemies shout as they are chased and beaten mercilessly. The rest of the armies of the Divine Steel and I are not taken into consideration at all. For this reason I ask you not to compare me with Gottbert anymore. In exchange I promise you I am an indomitable and unstoppable warrior!" Gotthard answered, halfway between seeming nervous and indifferent.

  "I apologize to you. I will no longer compare you to your brother, but will you be happy to be warrior number fifteen?" asked the Lord of the South respectfully.

  "Yes, my King, you have your fifteenth weapon!" the warrior from the north answered vibrantly, with determination.

  The strange and well-armed group of knights began stocking up on supplies in an attempt to waste as little time as possible. The Lord of the South and his much more numerous escort bid farewell to their hosts with all due rituals of the situation. They began their journey with discreet speed. King Godwin, on his way out of the city, was struggling to recognize it, as it was so different from that macabre and gloomy pile of buildings encountered the evening before in absolute silence. The entire religious capital had become a magnificent butterfly, blossoming from a dark chrysalis, now transformed into a joyful and noisy city accompanying them towards their destiny.

  With their ears still full of stories of what was lurking below the earth of their beloved lands, Godwin and his armigers could not help but turn their eyes towards the Abbey Fortress. With the same lost gaze as a child snatched from his parents, they shivered, driven by awareness of the infinite maze of tunnels below their beloved Portal of the Gods, capable of regurgitating all kinds of nefariousness in an attack on their loved ones.

  "Hopefully Titus's hawk will soon arrive and they will seal the ways of the dead in time," Godwin whispered to himself. From the steel of his helmet escaped all his fears for his family.

  "Don't worry, my King, your son Angus is a great warrior. Speaking objectively, all your children are great swordsmen. As well, they are protected by the Prophets of the Sword," the good black-haired armiger consoled his King.

  Godwin smiled, looked at him and answered:

  "Do you know what I think? You are a good man, but you have never told me your name!"

  "My Lord, my name is Lorin, son of Gowein, Lord of the Shoes," replied the laughing horseman in an attempt to set the mood, highlighting the humble origins of his shoemaker father.

  "Well, son of Gowein, I'm happy to have met you!" the Lord of the South answered kindly, smiling.

  Chapter 15

  March to the south

  The sun, now high in the sky, made the shadows small and puny, lying under the feet of the hooves of the travelling horses. With Vyborg at their backs, now just a step of their journey in everyone's memory, they were tired of the long ride that had been underway for several hours. The column, led by the Lord of the North travelled along a stony path, used often enough by merchants and pilgrims returning from the sacred places. They crossed many bubbling brooks, fording the cold crystalline waters where the fish, busy swimming in the rapid flow, peeped out caressing the surface with their backs, causing slight ripples.

  The winding route through the green Vyborg Hills was the easiest and least worrying. The garrison, however, though they would have a fair psychological impact against any attackers, remained on guard not ever allowing themselves a moment of leisure. There was not a single crackling in the bushes that didn’t attract the attention of Holaf. He was often the first to carefully move through the greenery, running down only small rodents, sparrows or wildlife frightened by the Great King. Towards the horizon to the south, where the peaks of the mountains stood out gigantic and austere, it was possible to observe large clouds gathering with their bellies swollen with rain, ready with a quite unpleasant welcome for the military parade.

  High often strained his acute vision hoping to prevent any approaching evil, focusing on every shadow or strange movement that attracted his attention.

  "What do you see there, good brother?" Holaf he asked, trying to read the pentagram of destiny.

  "I don't think I can see much more than you, my friend!" replied the God-Slayer, smiling because of the veiled flattery.

  "In the north we have a saying, we always believe that when standing guard it is better that there are two," Holaf justified with an old Nordic saying his attempt to copy the Lord of the East. The Nordic culture was full of ancient sayings, handed down by the elders. These sacred celestial saying concealed obvious ideas, on which the warriors still relied.

  "If we sent two soldiers ahead as scouts, they could see what is happening there and come back to report as fast as the wind from the east!" High exclaimed with joy and pride over the proposal.

  "Yes, but the horses would get tired right away," Holaf replied sceptically. "All that going back and forward would be hard on the poor legs of the steeds. I would prefer to stay together and overwhelm any enemies like a charge of bison.

  "I want to offer myself and gallop as far as the next hill!" exclaimed Boris smiling.

  "You alone?" asked High with a strange expression on his face, like the look you see one in the eyes of a man who avoided some evil event.

  "No, not alone, my King, if you will allow me, I will watch over the prince," the Wolf proposed, surprising everyone with his unexpected and yet very welcome proposal to act as nurse to the young Boris.

  "If you are sure, my knight, I will not object at all!" nodded King High relying on good luck. For Holaf there was no need to say a word. The War Masters enjoyed such consideration that they could speak openly and in no uncertain terms, even with Kings and Queens. In addition, they were usually cantankerous beasts, stubborn as mules, and arguing with them often turned out to be a waste of time.

  The strange couple of Boris and the Wolf galloped ahead several times. To save the breath of the horses, if there were no dangers, they stopped to wait for the rest of the group. The road in the Realm of Vyborg was worthy of the peaceful times of the past. All travellers they met and interrogated on the way seemed worried, but only about the usual everyday situations, certainly not of evil beasts or horrific Orcs.

  Miles had been rolling by the tired legs of horses for some time now, not to mention the broken backs of the knights. Now enveloped in his black mantle of the night, the Kings opted to stop the column and let men and horses rest:

  "Let's look for a place quite far from the road, even better, if at our backs there is an impassable cliff!" High ordered, as he painstakingly lit a torch to look for something.

  The War Masters slipped silent like shadows into the luxuriant bush that grew over the rocks and boulders. Despite the great experience of the Nordic warriors, it was a Vyborg soldier who discovered the right place. Wedged between a spur of rock and a ravine on the riverside there was a small hollow. The opening was not very wide and or hospitable, but it was enough to accommodate the three ladies and the young prince.

  On the rocks, which were covered and softened by a thick layer of damp moss, the soldiers lay down all around the ladies, creating a sort of circle. A few paces outside this circle, eight lookouts in turn watched over the sleep of all, often hidden in a bush, either on a tree or in the cavity of a rotten trunk. Four men on horseback rode far and wide in search of threatening traces or scents, concealed by cautious assailants. They were without the warmth of a fire. They reluctantly did without warm coals for it would have endangered everyone by signalling the position for many miles. The new warm coats kept the ladies cosy, enthusiastic about the splendid stars beautifully sparkling in the sky, which was for now clear and cloudless.

  "Such splendour, don't you think?" asked the beautiful Sersy of her Dragon lying next to her.

  "The sky is always magnificent when it is free from vaporous cloudy veils. In the north we enjoy such splendour every time we raise our eyes to the Gods," the third rune replied, looking in a vain attempt to se
e at least the light reflected in her eyes.

  "What will become of me now, my warrior?" asked the woman with a worried voice.

  "I don't understand, what will become of you in what sense?" The man answered lifting himself up on his elbows.

  "In short, you have redeemed me, but what am I now?" asked the woman feeling stronger with darkness concealing their faces. "Am I your slave?"

  "But what are you saying!" the Dragon, immediately biting back a loud retort so as not to wake all the others. "You are free, you can choose in full conscience where to go and with whom!" the warrior of the dragon whispered sweetly.

  The silent night did not offer any crackling, squeaking or hissing to disturb the sweet sleep of tired warriors. Only the subtle words of the pair could be heard, light and discreet.

  "If I must be honest, I hoped you would be interested to hear that you have taken my heart. Your presence is fresh spring breeze, sea foam carried by the wind, my intentions were not to hide the idea of asking for your hand, but I thought it was understood," the heart of the Dragon was completely open, revealing a sweet loving fruit.

  The lucky maiden did not answer and wrapped herself in her mantle, leaving a heavy weight in the heart of rune number three. The third warrior of Trondheim was silent. He remained in the shadow of the night with his burden and his enormous and very strong pride badly wounded. Perhaps two or three hours passed. Night time mocks the insomniacs. The third rune, in a rush of anger, moved away from the hollow in the hope of calming his fury and to avoid saying anything he may later regret.

  The night passed without real misfortunes or ugly surprises. Only at first light the great figure dressed in steel and leather returned to the ranks, silent and gloomy like the winter of Trondheim. Holaf, having witnessed the affair without the great Dragon noticing, came up to him. Holaf made the tall and robust third rune look like a young boy barely grown up. Looking down from his great height, Long Sword asked:

  "My warrior, did you have a wild night?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty, but do not be afraid, I have such anger in my heart that I am ready to fight an entire army of Orcs!" Dragon’s the furious response was protected by the armour of total ferocity.

  "I'm not worried about your fury, you have enough for all of us. On the contrary I'm very interested in your mind and your morale!"Holaf answered seriously and calmly as if he were talking to a dear friend.

  "Your words honour me, my King, I will do my utmost to reciprocate your good heart," replied rune who was wounded not physically, but deeply.

  "Let's go, my warrior, the road is long and full of turns. We can't guess now the turnings our future will take, which way or river we'll travel on tomorrow. Everything in this life can fall like butterflies and change as quickly as those dark menacing clouds full of rain," prophesied the Lord of the North walking smiling towards his steed.

  High, whom nothing ever escaped, laughed under his moustache, which flourished prosperous on his face in an unusual way. The Dragon headed towards his horse, passing by the God-Slayer and commented:

  "I believe, the Lord of Trondheim did not refer to the journey to that settlement.

  The God-Slayer tilted his head to the side and smiled, answering in a playful voice:

  "I think you're right."

  The Prince of Vyborg meanwhile showed his talents as a great swordsman, repeatedly piercing a poor birch. The royal blond lad was a total novice. Nothing in his style could be said to be correct, neither the position of his legs nor the way he grasped his sword. Boris held the weapon in his hand in a way that was far from convincing. He touched it as if it were something slimy and repulsive. Not even his head moved normally. He tossed it about like a bell ringing for a feast day.

  "Boris, my Prince, what offence has that poor tree given you?" asked King Holaf as he waited for his breakfast.

  "It was in my way!" The blond prince answered jokingly.

  Holaf asked the soldier on duty in the kitchen how much more time he needed to prepare sustenance. Since he more time was needed Holaf looked at the prince and gave the order:

  "Now I am coming, put on your helmet!"

  "The great heroes do not use helmets and often do not hide themselves behind shields!" he asserted with all the chattering and excitement of a young buck.

  In this place my eyes do not see great heroes, but I do see great soldiers and mighty warriors. Do you know what else I see?" asked the Lord of the North of Boris.

  "Yes, you see a small and useless prince!" replied the blond youth, mocking himself, despondent.

  "No!" Holaf exclaimed strongly. "I see helmets protecting each of these talented men!" Long Sword picked up two long heavy branches from the ground and gave one to Boris.

  "My King, what can I do with a stick? We're certainly not going to face brigands with wood!" asked the prince reluctant to grasp the branch.

  "We don't carry training swords with us, so we'll make do," replied the great warrior of the north.

  Boris slipped on his green sparrow beaked helmet and grasped the large and unusual Vyborg shield, which was new, without a scratch.

  "Widen your legs! You look like a bush! You will end up with your ass on the ground immediately!" Holaf, shouted as he nonchalantly walked around the boy. "You must never tremble before the enemy, the Gods are watching you to decide whether you are worthy of feasting with them in the great hall, or whether your place will be here, under the ground left to rot!" The King of the North shouted again.

  "I can see nothing through these holes, my King!" the novice exclaimed metallically, provoking smiles of ridicule among the soldiers of Vyborg.

  "That is the reason why I move in a circle around you, my Prince, at least you will learn, what it means to frame the opponent," Holaf replied harshly, but correct.

  "Now what must I do?" the prince, intent on turning himself around to keep the master in his very limited vision.

  "If you want, good Boris, you could try to attack me," suggested King Holaf, before ringing a nice chime on the helmet of the prince, quick and inexorable as the tide.

  "You see, Prince Boris, in a duel that metal that you would have your heroes renounce, could save your life!" specified High sitting on a rock, calming observing.

  The head of the young prince rang out many more times, and several times the young prince swore most un-regally.

  "Come on, Prince Boris, at least try to hit me!" the Lord of the North incited the boy with the promise of glory and honours.

  Although the young prince hurled himself at the old King with ardour, there was no clatter from the black armour of the north, but at most a few cracks of wood against wood.

  Looking at the two noble duellers, the warriors began to enjoy the show. There was nothing bad in this, if it were not for unworthy behaviour of crude soldiers, who aimed insults at their prince, their derision brought on by boredom. They, as ignorant peasants, did not give him any credit.

  Holaf attacked the good Boris, as he would have done in battle, not giving quarter because it was play. In a fraction of a second the blond lad was hurled to the ground, the sound resonating loudly. Between the sound of the young man crashing into a hollow tree, which thundered like a drum, and the ringing of the chain mail, several phrases that were not very suitable for a prince rang through the air again, even though for all his life he had been a suave man of the court. The roar of laughter filled the battleground, as the men added more ignorant teasing to the discomfort of the young man:

  "Surely one thing he knows, is how to fall down!" a green knight shouted, spitting out his breakfast soup. Other foolish and irreverent comments were added among general hilarity.

  "Silence!" shouted King High standing up. "You are being disrespectful towards your prince. What kind of knights are you?"

  "We're Vyborg's knights, loyal to King Demitry, not to his youngest son!" a man in armour answered arrogantly, standing up on a stone to give himself more dignity.

  "Please, great knight of Vyborg, come and sho
w us how you fight among the green hills!" the Lord of the North invited him.

  "I won’t cross blades with an incapable young man. I don’t want to hurt him!" The soldier cleverly replied.

  "Knight, you won't fight against Prince Boris. He will watch you in a passage of arms against me," replied King Holaf seriously and austerely.

  The soldiers all fell silent, watching the face of the Nordic ruler, hard, forged in the ice, his penetrating stare fixed on the irreverent green soldier.

  "Your Majesty, I could never oppose a nobleman of your rank. If I were to strike you, I could never forgive myself. I certainly do not want to risk it!" the knight desperately sought a foothold to escape from the duel.

  "Forgive me, Sire, maybe I could offer myself as a more appropriate target for your doubtless deadly attacks!" The Wolf's Head surprisingly suggested with his spoon still in his mouth.

  "But what sense there be in such a duel?" asked the thin green braggart.

  "It will be only and simple educational round. You can learn a lot also by observing a duel. Of course, the end is usually horrific, but in this case it will be pure academic," replied King High, curious to hear the answer of the Vyborg cavalier.

  The Wolf helmet shook out his long blond hair and came to stand next to Holaf. He took the King's staff in his hand and whispered softly, so no one could hear him from more than five steps away:

  "Should I knock him down like a chamois?"

  "Faster than lightning and louder than thunder!" was the response of the King of the North.

  The Wolf went to Prince Boris and asked him for his stick, opened his visor showing his smiling face and exclaimed: