TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  "You are right, but the path you want to follow hides many dangers and will take us horribly close to the mountains. There are many forms of evil against which we will have to fight to survive," Holaf stopped for a thoughtful moment, and then pointed out, "Four beasts in not unfavourable terrain cost us eleven men and four wounded. With the same number of enemies what could you do on such a small bridge? Or among the barren rocks?

  "Your fears are the same as those I have, brother, but the situation imposes risks or no one will survive," High reluctantly commented as he walked alongside the Lord of the North.

  "My Lords, don't be afraid, we'll protect you!" shouted the Dragon full of ardour, beating his chest with his dark fist, a gesture immediately repeated by all the War Masters.

  The archers of the East also offered themselves, though aware that they did not have the same capacity to instil security as the Masters of War of Trondheim. Boris urged his men to keep the pact made by the King of Vyborg with High and Holaf. He emphasizing that the two Sovereigns had respected their part of the bargain. Only the ladies did not speak a word. Tyra collapsed into disconsolate weeping, supported by her sweet Lady. Sersy, shaking her head in disbelief, sighed disconsolately, looking from one Lord to the other, in the hope of a different answer.

  "My Lady, don't be afraid, I will protect you, even if I have to dig out the eyes of a thousand enemies with these hands of mine," reassured the third Nordic rune with words that were not well thought out and completely unsuitable to the ears of a fearful woman. Sersy seemed turned to stone not even able to think. She answered neither with thanks nor a cold involuntary comment, ruining the effort of the Dragon to behave kindly, which was far from his usual manner.

  Chapter 21

  The obligatory way

  After choosing the route and starting the march, nothing changed in the grey and flat landscape despite the sun. Not even the people they met along the way were very cheerful: always dead bodies, often burning and never revealing anything new. Only the morale of the travellers changed, with each step becoming gloomier and more uncertain, aware of the arduous task ahead. They reached a skeleton of a village, which had been devoured by flames a long time before, because neither smoke nor embers could be seen among the black and isolated ruins. The palisade of the enclosure had been broken and mostly burnt. Behind this ineffective protection there were a dozen ruined huts, dead and black. As well, dark and lifeless, there was the usual heap of horrendous creatures piled triumphantly in the middle of an open space. Their charcoal-like corpses lay on top of each other, contracted and rigid, with their fingers in an eternal grip of hatred and longing for a weapon. The long, narrow muzzles, like those of horrendous rats, showed menacing jaws bristling with teeth. The black burnt flesh had shrunk creating large cracks showing yellow bone. Where a skull was missing, you could see a candid brain.

  The soldiers inspected the village stone by stone, but found nothing out of place. The inhabitants had been buried in good order by a charitable hand as usual, away from their executioners. Everything seemed silent and surreal. Not even the sparrow’s noisy careless singing could be heard.

  "Yet another battle, and we are helpless, far from our armies!"

  "That's right, brother, every new piece in this mosaic seems to indicate a plan to invade us. And we are distant from the centre of power and the Emperor who is blind and fearful regarding these beasts, leaving the enemy plotters a free hand," Holaf replied thoughtfully before sharing his own worries: "The usual question: who guides these Orcs? But there's a new question: I'd like to know who is responsible for killing our dead enemies."

  "In my opinion, the right question is not so much in who commands them or stops their hearts; rather, how do such unclean beasts pass through our borders? There are so many of them, they are so big, rather noisy and more ignorant than anything else in creation so it should be impossible for them to evade our controls," High commented, staring at the ground with a dark face.

  "My King! An alert!" the green knight acting as sentinel shouted with all the breath had in his body.

  "What can you see?" Holaf asked, shouted shortly and unceremoniously.

  "Knights galloping around, I don't see standards or banners," replied the lookout.

  "Gather the men at the gate! We can expect a visit soon," ordered the God-Slayer running through the damp grass of yet another dawn.

  Initially small and indistinct they quickly became clear and detailed. There were about twenty knights, very well equipped. Long spears shone in the shy rising sun. They had no banners and wore heavy chain mail. Some wore bronze, others steel, all tightly stretched because of garments worn beneath the armour to limit damage during battles. The knights had ample blue cloaks wrapped around their shoulders and arms. Not all wore cloaks but all carried shields, and the device on the shields showed undeniably two ochre towers divided by a blue line.

  "Tulsky! They are knights of Tulsky!" exclaimed the Lord of the East with satisfaction and amazement.

  The knights made no effort to slow their pace, on the contrary, they increased their speed. The ground began to tremble under the feet of the Kings and their escorts. The heavy horses, banded in steel from nose to hooves, beat their iron shoes the ground exhaling clearly visible puffs of breath in the cold morning, appearing like dragons. The shimmering pikes dropped down, ready to attack, shuddering and vibrating at every step over the rough ground. A powerful cry resonated in the midst of the hammering hooves of the horsemen, then the enthusiasm died, its flames went cold. The spears returned upright with the sun's rays catching them. The cavalry line slowed down, stopping at about ten meters from the open gate, where the company appeared.

  "We ask your forgiveness, but in the distance your large forms, covered with black shaggy cloaks deceived us, for this reason we were about to attack," explained a knight who went a few steps further, apologizing.

  His face could not be seen. The helmet had a protective mask and nothing could be guessed from his metallic voice. It was the Commander who got down from his barded horse and approached in a friendly manner.

  "I am Arian, Commander of these talented warriors." The man introduced himself by raising his helmet decorated with ram horns and revealed a face marked by battles.

  A large burn disfigured his features giving him a creepy appearance. His left eye was missing, as was his ear. His voice told a different story: warm and deep, it offered phrases with beautiful manners, despite a slight speech defect due to damage to his lips caused by burns.

  The Lord of the East came forward. The knight of Tulsky had long, smooth wood-coloured hair and his scars, but it did not take more than the blink of an eye for him to fall to his knees.

  "My Lord, what a joy to see you healthy and on your way home!" exclaimed the prostrate knight.

  "Get up, brave Arian, and tell me what is happening in my lands," the friendly God-Slayer invited, approaching and offering his hand.

  "My King, your rulers do not speak to each other or cooperate. In your absence, ancient rivalries have reappeared, giving life to foolish counterproductive manoeuvres," the knight took a breath for a moment thinking about what to say. "At the same time as your journey to the Citadel, the raids of the Orcs intensified. These horrendous beasts, knowing the roads were unprotected, reached as far as the lands of Tulsky."

  King High curiously angry interrupted him:

  "But didn't any of my nobles lift a finger? Obviously excluding those present!"

  "The Nobles preferred to take refuge in the cities, accumulating supplies and weapons to withstand sieges, but there has not yet been a siege. The small farming villages were the only ones to suffer attack, deaths and mourning," replied the soldier of Tulsky.

  "They are creating a distraction, a smokescreen," Prince Boris exclaimed in one of his rare explosive flashes of genius, surprising everyone. All those present watched the young scion rearrange his hair, ruffled by the wind, trying to understand if this was the same Boris, who needed explanations
from Sersy.

  "A diversion," commented thoughtfully King Holaf.

  "Certainly, that could be it! With all the power locked up behind high walls hiding from small groups of raiders, who is left to watch and guard the passes?" asked the God-Slayer looking up at the sky.

  "Without explorers in the barbaric lands of the East, no one will ever know what is hiding there, or what forces are about to attempt an invasion," King Holaf deduced.

  "Faithful Vladimir, Lord of Istraa is still there!" exclaimed the Lord of the East with confidence, as if the King of the outer territories were the last hope.

  "My King, my heart overflows with suffering but I have to tell you of a distressing fact which was recently reported," Tulsky's warrior stopped speaking with a gloomy look and began muttering to himself for a moment.

  "What has happened that is so serious, don't beat about the bush, soldier," spurred the visibly alarmed Lord of the East.

  "Forgive me, my King, I am not the most suitable person to tell such stories, but you will have to be satisfied with my report," said the disfigured man said, bowing his head. "My Lord, not all of your Nobles remained inactive, like cork floats clinging to the line. My King Kiril sent many messenger hawks over the mountains as soon as the systematic nature of the enemy's attacks was clear, but none of them returned. The enemy manoeuvres proved to be too well planned from the very beginning to be the idea of a simple Orcs chieftain. Driven by his legendary anger, King Kiril ordered his men to kill every evil creature as cruelly as possible and then give their souls to the fire.

  Kiril sent a group of expert hunters to Istraa, to speak to King Vladimir in the halls of the fortress of East Lancia. To date, no raptor has returned with any news, nor has any information or sign come from the men that were sent. The other rulers, questioned about the situation in Istraa, reported that they had had no news from King Vladimir for some time now. Probably his last communication dates back to the annual meeting of the Vassals, held in your presence before the trip to the Titan."

  There was a moment of bitter silence, which passed relatively quickly, but it gave the illusion that it had lasted a lifetime. The Dragon approached King High, who was silent and visibly shaken by the likely passing of his trusty Vassal and brother-in-law Vladimir. The Dragon put a hand on his shoulder, as the God-Slayer often had done for him, and tried to console him:

  "My King, the fame of Vladimir the Conqueror echoes deep into the mountains and gulfs of the north, nothing can be said until the evidence is certain," he stopped for a moment and addressed the man from Tulsky and with arrogant distrust he insinuated: "You are of far too low a rank, judging by the small number of men you command, to be party to such information. Either you are concealing your real name, or you are boasting about news coming from overindulgence in alcohol and brothels!"

  "How can you, a dog from the north, spread such insults about! I am Arian, son of Artax, first spear of Tulsky and now I will wash this outrage with your red blood," shouted the offended knight of Tulsky unsheathing his sword with its crenellated tower-shaped pommel. His long blade was engraved with the motto of Tulsky's lancers "Deep into the bowels!"

  The thirsty hammer also made its appearance, craving for new blood, howling cutting through the air, quickly swirled by the enormous Dragon, ready to reclaim yet another smashed cranium.

  "Stop, both of you!" King High ordered, shouting. He had never been seen so tense before.

  "Third rune, we appreciate your gesture, but separate now and put your weapons aside," the Lord of the North exclaimed. Allowing no appeal to his judgement, he approached and with the palm of his hand, lowered the hammer, which was firmly in the grasp of his Champion.

  "I am King Holaf, Lord of the North," presenting himself courteously and obtaining in exchange a deep bow from the calmer Arian.

  The Commander of Tulsky felt compelled to ask pardon:

  "My King, I ask for your forgiveness and I apologise to you for having offended all the brave people of the North with my foolish, disrespectful and inappropriate words."

  "You don't worry about offending, you're not the only one who must apologize. Now the misunderstanding has been clarified, I hope we can continue," Holaf replied, to whom offenses mattered little, given the times. "So, Istraa fell?"

  "We must suppose that the worst has happened: black plumes of smoke were soaring over the mountains from the direction of Istraa a few days ago. Even the most optimistic can have little hope with such designs flying in the sky," Arian replied, disconsolately shaking his head.

  "But Istraa is several days away from Tulsky. How is it possible to see traces of fires beyond the Tombs of the Giants?" asked the Prince of Vyborg still in the role of Boris the Unknown.

  "If you had seen the Citadel after the fall of the titan of fire, you would understand," replied the Dragon's Head frostily, injecting a poisonous thought, evoking the complete destruction of the magnificent city of Istraa.

  The silence became embarrassing, bringing with it imaginings: no one really wanted to think of such a disaster happening in total silence. Everyone hoped for a scientific explanation leading to a lack of evidence for such a catastrophe. The most insidious fact for their tired minds was the total lack of opposing information, which gave strength to their fear and despair. The soldiers whispered defeatist phrases among themselves, full of stupid superstitions and foolish beliefs. The cavalry of Tulsky also murmured darkly, while the horses, as if to reflect the black mood of their masters, neighed nervously beating their hooves violently on the grassy ground, producing deep thuds.

  "My knights, let's just keep to what to our knowledge is real and tangible. Orcs wandered freely in the land until the lancers of Tulsky destroyed them, overwhelming them with their heavy charges. As for me, if I had some cider, I would toast the talented men of the East, the first force to shed blood for the common good," shouted Holaf raising his closed fist.

  "Hurrah for Tulsky and Vyborg," echoed King High as well, raising his fist to the sky.

  A flood of optimism invaded the men and women present like the tide on the beaches. Boris also raised his fist and shouted:

  "Glory to Trondheim and Black Portal! Both Lords of these capitals turned with a satisfied gaze, slightly lowering their heads as a sign of gratitude.

  When the moment of invigorating shouting died down, Arian asked cordially:

  "Where are you heading, what are your orders, my Kings?"

  "Our march leads us to the Mouth of the Dead to cross the Vhola River and continue northward." King High was interrupted by a question from the brave knight of Tulsky:

  "Why do you go north, my King. What strange form of madness takes you to the Mouth of the Dead? Tulsky's bridges are well defended and without hidden dangers!"

  "We are aware and sure of this, brave Arian, but to the north there are questions awaiting answers, that can only be understood through runic omniscience," High stopped for a moment looking at Holaf, in whom the Mouth of the Dead created repulsion. "Nothing repels us more than the idea of facing this horrid situation. Even more so now we have discovered the blood-thirsty waters yearning to take lives, and knowing well that the Orcs are on the move. They are not the only awful creatures to threaten our Kingdom. Time is running out for us. Unless we plan to arrive when all is over, there is only one possible way.

  "Excuse me, my King, what do you mean by ‘bleeding waters’? And what other enemies trouble our lands besides the Orcs?" asked the flabbergasted warrior of Tulsky.

  "Sire Arian, we no longer have time to indulge in pleasant and useful speeches. If you join us, we will explain everything on the way, in every detail. The price you pay in following us will be to have freedom of opinion and decision," King High answered with a sincere heart.

  "Men! Prepare to follow the Lord of the East beyond the Mouth of the Dead," Arian shouted as he looked at his knights.

  "With the God-Slayer to the end of the world," replied a strange looking warrior. Because of his helmet, adorned with tal
l twisting horns and an unusual visor.

  His helmet left his eyes nose and mouth exposed, but covered his chin and was fixed there solidly. The strange helmet gave the man a menacing expression, characterizing his noticeable figure. The whole rust-coloured steel armour had gold inlays depicting flowering cherry trees and small birds, as well as disturbing illustrations of dismembered men, burned and boiled under the depiction of nature in flower. Large plate shoulder straps curved down from the gorget until they were riveted to the couters covering the elbows. Even his thighs were totally protected by tassets made of overlapping plates, falling as far as the poleyns at his knees and fixed there.

  He held a long, very sharp, heavy cavalry lance in his hand and, as well as his sturdy, black steed, a large, two-handed sword was almost as imposing as the one belonging to the Nordic King. A red belt, made of thick used leather, held a pair of daggers at the knight's waist. Another detail was impossible to conceal from for Holaf's careful gaze.

  "You, Sire, have been awarded the honour of Hero of the High Tower! What would your name be?"

  The knight in strange armour with a white moustache promptly dismounted from his horse and knelt, answering:

  "My Lord, I am Evghenij Rackov, also known as the Devil of Vilniar."

  Among the knights of Vyborg a murmur of amazement passed from man to man, all of them looked almost incredulous.

  "Vilniar you said," the Lord of the East asked for confirmation.

  "Yes, my King!" Evghenij answered, briefly, without raising his gaze.

  "So you are the Devil of Vilniar; I ask you to forgive the amazement of the men, but insistent voices held that you fell in a duel," King High explained with satisfied face for the unexpected good news.