"So also you heard me talking to the Dragon?" asked the embarrassed brunette.
"With the voice that man has, my father will have heard everything in the South Winter, too even though he was making an effort to whisper!" replied the blonde, rubbing her chilled arms.
"I really don't know, I've always been treated like an object, while he flatters me, pampers me and looks after me, not to mention what he did at Vyborg to free me. But I am afraid of him. When I'm next to him I feel hatred and frost that makes me shiver," Sersy answered in confidence.
"Do you fear him? What are you afraid of? He's a warrior! Sure, sometimes he’s rough, but he does not lose control suddenly like a cat!" Tyra gave her opinion.
"He's also a good looking man with all the right parts and no scars on his face yet!" the old Elisabet intervened though usually taciturn and reserved.
"I only need time, I need to think about it. It could be my first decision, made on my own with no orders from anyone, except that of my heart!" Sersy answered closing the discussion abruptly.
"Girls! Always full of doubts. In my time, the first to ask for a girl’s hand in marriage was overwhelmed, not only by the Lady concerned, but also by the family. And they weren't pretty knights. Maybe they owned a pig or at most a cow. As well, they could hardly speak properly and could not write. Anything but Prince Charming!" The princess's duenna muttered to herself, while, with the help of the fourth Nordic rune, she climbed onto her steed.
"You have never received such an attractive marriage proposal?" asked the warrior with fourth number engraved on his armour, causing the woman to exclaim:
"By the One God! I've never been a rough woman, and in my youth I was also very attractive, but I waited for my knight with his long hair to pass in front of me." The woman stopped breathing, immersed in the warm bath of memories.
"And what happened?" asked curious Tyra, who loved to listen to stories of love and life as it was lived.
Elisabet placed her veil on her head and hid under it a lock of stupid, runaway hair, looked at the princess and answered disconsolately:
"I got old!"
The warrior of the Bear head barely held back his laughter out of respect for the sincere answer that was without appeal.
The eyes of the beautiful Sersy and of the great Dragon did not to meet for a long time. They did not exchange so much as a glance in all the time it took to travel on horseback from the lovely small lake, where they had met the survivors, until they reached their destination.
The white vaporous clouds passed, blown by the east wind, which passed through the mountain range of the Vertebra of the Giants that stood powerful and impassable to men as a frontier for thousands of years. The strong winds pushed the floating white mare’s tails far beyond the sea bringing in return black cumulous clouds, full of lightning and thunder, making them keep vigil at night and the soldiers' rest elusive. The men were tired of travelling and soaked as the rocks of Trondheim during a storm. By day they struggled as grey and miserable as the sky. Not even at night did they have rest or peace, as they were tortured by icy and hostile winds, shaking their cold bodies, until the muddy shore of a dry stream seemed most welcoming.
Of the green hills, only the memory remained as the moons passed. The shape of the hills could be barely made out to the west through the mist. The long dark rock wall of the Dragon’s Back stood out austerely in front of the Kings and their entourage. From the high peaks they could see the black silhouettes of the birds of prey carried by the winds hovering to the edge of the sky, and then darting through the barren ridges, disappearing for some time and emerging up in the sky once again.
The moment had almost come. After so much rain the men were dry for the first time. They began to arrange a bivouac for the night about three hours from their destination. Holaf and High could have arrived among the huts of Cernyj Les during the night, but a good battle is prepared with caution. The Sovereigns in conscience preferred to stop early so that they would arrive in the early hours of the next day, when their breath could still be seen in the air, revealing beasts and enemies hidden in the shadows.
Nothing seemed natural that night. The cold was not so intense as to make men shiver, yet they were all trembling and clutching their weapons. The stench of fear could be sensed, carried in the air miles away. Some curled up clutching a small golden cross covering it with kisses, others polished and sharpened with the blades of their weapons with great care. Holaf mentally studied the very detailed layout of the village in a diligent attempt to discover possible flaws in his plan. The Northern General knew perfectly well that he had very few elements that were certain, which made the whole enterprise similar to a ship with a hull full of threatening holes at the time of its launch.
Young Andor sat down next to Sersy, who huddled up and sleeping. He was bewitched by her beauty to the point of being enchanted just by watching her. When the young woman turned in her sleep and covered her face with her long, smooth and shiny black hair, the impudent boy stretched out his hand and moved her hair from her face, to so he could continue to gaze at the radiant beauty of the Lady. The young man's sweet and but not at all chaste admiration was not ignored by jealous eyes full of anger. The Dragon, perched like a griffin on a rock not far away, spread his arms as if they were wings and took off, making a long jump, interrupted by the hard ground to the sound of ringing metal. In his hand, his eager war hammer was crying for young blood with silent screams. Its eager desire would have been fulfilled, had not been for the intervention of the insomniac King High. The God-Slayer, standing between the predator and his prey, wisely whispered:
"My valiant knight, let it run like water under the bridge. In that way it will pass without causing any damage."
They were fine words, but the Dragon had other words clenched between his teeth. They were far from being enlightened or noble. The third Nordic rune did not take a further step but neither did he calm down. He only stared at the boy who was about five or six years younger than him, and who sniggered incomprehensibly, looking at the big angry man.
"Dragon, control your anger! With such a gesture you will not find glory, but only blame," warned with sweetness the Lord of the East, still the only barrier in defence of Andor.
"My King, quietness and observing the flow of water under bridges is a pastime for philosophers or weaklings, not for warriors of Trondheim! Of course, you put my back to the wall, hindering my path," answered the third rune, almost snarling.
"I'm just trying to help you not get carried away! An extra sword will be useful for us in a few hours, and adding a poor young man who survived the beasts to the long list of your conquered enemies could only remove what is dearest from you," replied High, judiciously leaning his hands against the broad shoulders of the jealous lover.
"Perhaps you, my King, are right, as always! I am not well versed in the ways appropriate to the great palaces and even less in diplomacy, but those are not qualities required of a Master of War," replied the Dragon relaxing. He returned to his seat accompanied by the God-Slayer, who did not like too much rough anger in his warriors.
As the eyes of Andor and the third warrior of the north met again, the youngster, with a mocking smile, stretched out his hand to the beautiful sleeping Lady, caressing her raven-dark hair while keeping his gaze fixed on the Nordic warrior.
The provocation was evident and seen by all. They all exchanged looks quickly and the Kings were lightning fast in intervening. High once again put himself as a strong barrier to the Dragon trusting in the deep respect the Dragon had for High. This prevented the Dragon from pushing or moving the King of the East forcefully. While High was doing his best to calm the angry man, Holaf nervously grasped the battered and shabby armour of the foolish boy. Lifting the boy up, armour and all he pushed him roughly away from Sersy and made him sit next to the Bear's Head in the hope of limiting his foolishness. The Bear’s Head was in fact the mildest of the War Masters.
"Little flea, what do think you
are doing?" asked the irritated Long Sword forgetting good manners, correct form and everything else. "Do not create any problems for us, or force me to send you to Vyborg. No one forced you to stay with us, so stop this now, given how unimportant you are!"
"I didn't do anything wrong!" he replied arrogantly, crossing his arms nervously.
The King of the North had many other problems on his mind and he didn’t need for a single extra thought to fill his mind. In addition, the valiant Dragon had to be at the top of his strength the next day. Holaf, as he moved away and his imposing size began to melt into the black night, without turning round, he ordered:
"Fourth Master of War, make sure you close the child’s mouth, I've already heard too much!"
The more moderate Bear looked at the arrogant young man for a moment then told him:
"Do you not understand? The game you are playing could end up costing you dear. You are risking your life!"
Andor curled up with his face to the rock and sighed lengthily, giving a strong shrug of his shoulders as a sign that he didn’t care.
"You think you're tough, but until proven otherwise you've saved your skin by running away as quickly as you could. The warrior, whose love you threaten, has been in thousands of battles and has emerged from them with his life, by killing more enemies with his war hammer than you can imagine."
"I ran away to save lives, not out of cowardice!" Andor specified, sitting with his fists ready for a fight.
"You are far too immature! You have given yourself a great gift by distancing yourself from the battle. Do not throw away what you have gained, by offering insults, throwing challenges and provoking all the men, with whom you will be marching," replied the Bear's Head, lying down, tired among the stones.
The clouds in the sky had fled away, and all the Gods shone in the form of stars. The nocturnal birds of prey glided silently through the sparse blades of grass to try and find their dinner, which escaped under the rocks. The wind also subsided, giving a minimum of peace to the cold militia. Only the warriors of the north and the three ladies could lye warm, thanks to the fur mantles adorned with macabre trophies and for the ladies, the new cloaks purchased in Vyborg.
Therefore, it was clear that the Gods were set against the will of men: in the darkest hours, a mist lazily arose without announcing itself. The haze of the morning blanked out everything completely, covering creation with thick grey humidity. The veil from hell allowed them to see only four passes ahead, King High included. So adverse was the fog that it did not permit them to trot, much less gallop. To avoid breaking the shins of the precious horses, the soldiers were forced to advance on foot. All the men had empty stomachs and were exhausted by the long journey and bad sleep as they penetrated further into the greyness of that demonic morning. Andor no longer walked alongside Sersy, nor did he go anywhere near the Dragon. But he was also positioned far from the other ladies and was entrusted to the close guard of the fourth rune, who was far from happy with this task.
"How come Andor doesn't speak to me?" Sersy asked the young Princess of South Winter. She was completely unaware of what had taken place.
"To be honest, I don't know, I noticed dark looks on everyone’s faces, but I think it is probably because of the battle awaiting their ardour," Tyra replied, who was also unaware of the nocturnal events.
"If you want to know, you risked a duel this night," said an indiscreet Vyborg cavalier.
"A duel you say? And by your grace, between whom, if you can tell us, Sire?" Tyra asked not yet completely awake, but always ready to idealize duels and knights.
"That mighty soldier with the head of a dragon wanted to challenge the tiny young Andor," the soldier awkwardly replied, totally lacking in discretion.
"Could we hear the reason for the dispute?" asked Sersy alarmed.
"Milady, the reason is not clear to me, but to avoid the worst both Kings gave of their best," the knight answered inexactly, carelessly before silencing himself, with a huge bite of an apple. The bite was so big that he had trouble breathing. The interfering warrior from Vyborg, in danger of choking, spat out small pieces of chewed apple and juice. He then climbed onto the neck of his horse that didn't like it and bucked, dumping his master.
The beautiful Tyra immediately realized the damage done by the incautious and bad mannered green knight. The blonde princess watched Sersy deep in thought disappearing into the thick fog, in the direction of young Andor.
"No tender chick will be born of this situation, but a slithering forked tongued creature will be the result" commented Elisabet, usually a woman of few words but whom experience had taught to look at things in a different way.
The march was slow and even more tiring than expected. They could hear the sharp cries of the eagles echoing above them. They could barely see the black shadow of the mountains drawing high and imposing in the sky. There was not much road left to travel to the village, which nestled further under the mountains than anyone would have hoped.
"In such a place, sunrise is at noon!" commented High, looking around worriedly.
"It really seems that we won't have to worry about the sun today, my brother, the fog is persistent and shows no sign of rising," Holaf replied, not at all happy with this gift.
"My King, the road seems to continue in a long and narrow valley, with an insidious descent where the mist stagnates even more," reported the Wolf returning from a patrol.
This time, the first rune had ridden in more reassuring company. In fact, the Dragon, in order to put some distance between himself and Andor, had offered to be part of the advance party on the lookout. The Dragon’s suggestion met with no objection of any kind. Boris was also happy not to be the one who had to follow the Wolf, since he was beginning to feel rather nervous because his first real battle was probably drawing closer.
The Prince of Vyborg had learned the plan of action by heart, almost convinced that it was like a parlour game where the tokens had to be moved correctly. He had suitable weapons and men and wanted to go into battle and make no errors and so, to win the victory. The books he had read did not teach everything. They are always excellent sources, but the evolution of battle went beyond the plots and plans on paper, often developing unpredictably, and sometimes presenting unexpected twists and turns.
The Leopard, seeing the prince dispirited and remorseful, even pale, approached him asking:
"Young Prince, how are you feeling? You look very worn!"
"Why do you all call me the young prince? I am more or less the same age as all of you soldiers!" asked Boris almost irritated by the nickname.
"My Prince, you are younger than me and you are undeniably a prince, so I do not find it inappropriate! In addition, our faces and bodies have been hardened by war and repeatedly scarred, while you still have your fresh features, making you look younger. You don't want to swap do you? We soldiers look like old men, even if only by mistake," replied the second Nordic rune, calm and seemingly quiet.
Boris nodded, satisfied with the undeniably true explanation, staring at the warrior.
"What makes you to look so hard at my unattractive figure?" asked the Leopard feeling discomforted by his insistent gaze.
"To tell the truth, I admired your unshaken calm!" replied Boris sighing deeply. "I tremble as if I were naked in the waters of the sacred Vhola River, while you look as if you are strolling around the pleasure gardens of some noble palace.
"Appearances deceive, young Boris. Like all warriors, I fear death. But the difference is that I face it unreservedly, as valiantly as possible, in order to win myself a place in Valhalla," the second Master of War replied without any conceit.
"I lost touch with paradise a long time ago!" the blond Boris commented cynically.
"But what are you saying, prince? Redemption, if I am not mistaken, is within your reach with repentance to the One God!" exclaimed the Leopard.
"Of course, only I can't and don’t want to repent and renounce whores and good food, so I'm a lost soul,"
Boris answered seriously.
Leopard looked at him for a couple of seconds in disbelief and then with gusto burst out laughing. Between a breath and a curse the second northern rune found the strength to say:
"Your integrity is truly unquestionable! Perhaps it is not according to religious canons but consistent!"
In the diffused white of the mist, little by little, the clear sound of the water of a lively burbling stream indicated that they had covered the final stretch of their ride. Only a few turns of the hourglass of travel remained for the handful of warriors. The voice of the waves gurgled closer, near the bumpy road, the fog shamelessly, spread its mantle, until it seemed like the thick sulphurous smoke puffed out by the nostrils of the great dragons, now extinct, just before they attack with their fire. The men moved cautiously within arm's reach with their ears stretched. Stone after stone they moved, silently and often curved to slip down as low as possible between the rocks, copying their shapes.
"But where have you gone?" Boris shouted stupidly, frightened at the idea of getting lost in the ubiquitous white blanket of mist.
"Silence, Prince!" whispered the sharp voice of one of the green soldiers, marching behind the young blond prince.
There was a sudden order to stop the march by the frantic pace of the two War Masters returning from the avant-garde. The two patrollers, riding hard, ran into King High who was hidden by the fog, almost pushing him to the ground.
"What is it, what has startled you, my soldiers?" asked King Holaf, who remained unharmed by the human avalanche, having never seen the third Master of the War driven by such frenzy.
"My King, shadows! Shadows in the mist that are hard to make out, more than four trees along!" the Dragon responded breathing heavily after his mad rush.
"My King, nothing can be seen clearly, for the fog is getting thicker and thicker. One positive fact is that the mist is not unjust and blocks their view as well as ours," commented the Wolf's Head resting on his knees after the hurry.
TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering Page 30