TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

"We’ll start by lightening the horses of saddles and victuals," suggested High to a distracted Northern Lord with an apparently lost gaze.

  It was the Wolf who first ventured into the black abyss, with as much as he could carry on his shoulders. He stepping cautiously and finely balancing his weight with each move. As he moved he seemed to have left his role as a warrior and taken on the identity of a tightrope walker. The enemy wind, treacherous and unpredictable, several times tried to get the better of him, always being defeated. The first Master of War, having crossed the black abyss, unloaded his burden and unbelievably crossed the abyss again, returning to his friends.

  "My King, the enterprise is far from easy, the wind gusts vigorously and where there is ice the way narrows dangerously. All this is worsened by the snow blowing into your eyes with making you look harder at the hellish black abyss," said the mighty Wolf's Head short of breath and with an accelerated heartbeat.

  "What do you suggest, my warrior," Holaf asked, trusting blindly in the judgment of the First Master of the War.

  "It would be better to wait for the weather to clear, but time is limited for us in this enterprise. Horses should pass last and alone, the risk of falling to the underworld dragged by the animals is too high. We will convince them by whipping them hard not leaving them any choice. I offer myself for this task right away" number one of the Masters of War cynically expressed his ideas.

  "But the horses are too precious for us knights of Tulsky, without considering how slowly we would travel if they were lost," Arian objected, echoed by a murmur of support from his men.

  "What alternative do you, suggest knight," High objected.

  Stung by his answer the man thought for a moment and spoke:

  "Every soldier will cross the abyss with his horse, as he did just now along the descent, certainly, only after having lightened them completely!

  Even the knights of Vyborg seemed to like the proposal of the warrior of the east more than the Nordic one, convincing even the two Sovereigns.

  "So we have a plan! Every man is responsibility for his own life and that of his horse! Nothing could be simpler than that," commented Holaf, causing a nervous laugh in almost everyone present.

  The Wolf took charge of the goods of the Lady Elisabet and transferred them with risk and effort to the other side.

  "Dragon, help Sersy, and you, Bear, Princess Tyra!" thundered King Holaf doing everything in his power to keep his angry Champion calm.

  Strangely enough, Sersy was smiling and very happy to have her own dream knight as a support, although he was for her a man of extreme ways, and the cause of great fear.

  When the women were safe, one after the other the knights had to test themselves over the difficult crossing, challenging wind and weather, but not giving in to the fear deep in their hearts. King Holaf ferried his steed without even noticing that he had at most three or four spans of solid rock under his feet. High was on the pass between his archers and their animals, when loudly and lightning fast, an arrow whistled past his royal head. Others followed, burying themselves in the snow or tinkling against the rocky bridge.

  "Arrows!" the God-Slayer cried out with all his breath, and at this point his soldiers echoed his call.

  The wind was roaring so hard that the words did not reach the Lord of the North, intent on trying to understand the cries. The explanation of such animosity was shown to his eyes, quick and insidious, in the form of black rusty arrows, sticking in the snow at his feet.

  "Arrows from the cursed Orcs," Holaf immediately shouted, giving the alarm, as he ran to protect himself with his round shield.

  The Dragon approached the King, behind them the Bear and other soldiers of Trondheim took position. They formed a small tortoise of shields in order to protect themselves. Many other arrows fluttered in the wind. Fortunately they were inaccurate due to the inability of enemies and the will of elements. None of them hit the target. High pulled out his sword and with incredible rapidity he first deflected an arrow aimed at his horse, hesitating behind the shoulders of the Sovereign. He repeated this feat every time it was necessary to protect himself and his steed.

  While the enemy archers showed a preference for shooting at those who were risking their lives across the long bridge, King Holaf carefully scrutinized the snow-covered mountains. The snowflakes, carried by the wind, created a sort of annoying mist, behind which an entire castle could be hidden.

  It was the Dragon who sensed where the arrows were coming from and shouted loudly peering from the shields:

  "Behold, my King, they are shooting from the road we have just travelled to reach the abyss.

  "This is good news! It will give us an advantage, as they will also have to cross the Mouth of the Dead, if they want to continue chasing us. We'll lose them as we go down the rapidly descending road, while they are still hovering over the abyss," said the God-Slayer just as he arrived at the shelter behind the shields.

  Some ten men were still missing from the group, undecided, standing sheltered among the rocks on the opposite side, more worried about the arrows flying than about the risk of falling. Thundering, the roar of the waves offered an auditory cover to a group of Brown wrinkled Orcs; these carriers of ruthless ferocity raced along the side of the road, up to the rocky outcrop where their prey were hidden like mice.

  It did not help to waste energy shouting to warn the latecomers of the threat, nor was a risky race to the pass by the God-Slayer helpful. The beasts came unexpectedly, cutting off their escape. They were anticipating the sweet taste of human flesh. Heavy wooden clubs, covered with large nails and splinters, hit the ground and the rocks several times, but with very little result, because the small men were without armour, as it had been carried across to the other side, so they were able to sneak into the smaller gaps and spaces. In this way the warriors caused great difficulties to the weak brains of the Brown Orcs. A plan of attack was a question that was too intricate for them.

  "What can we do?" asked Boris, looking at Holaf who, in turn, was intent on observing High, still under the enemy fire on the strip of rock.

  For four of the knights nothing could be done. They were struck repeatedly by the monsters and partly devoured by a group of attackers. But the tragedy was also a greatly needed diversion, prayed for by the good King High as a sign of the presence of the One God. Rapidly the Lord of the East, sword in hand and with nothing to defend himself, attacked the Orcs intent on tearing horses to pieces. The cold steel of his sword ripped the greedy bodies, mixing their evil-smelling black offal with the red offal of horses and poor soldiers. The God-Slayer very quickly dodged the incapable attack of one of the not yet defeated horde. A quick step to the right to stun the stupid beast was enough for King High to deal the blow. The blade came down, hissing straight against its neck, partially cutting off the small head, causing a large stream of black, dense blood to flow.

  God-Slayer’s breath was now short, but his eyes were alert and his movements controlled. Nothing seemed to frighten him, not even the whistling arrows aimed at him. He dodged them with great dexterity. To the eyes of those who watched it looked like a dance between mortal enemies, splendid to admire in safely behind their shields. Not all the knights were inactively watching the display. Reinforcements came at the hands of King Holaf in rash race across the bridge giving a notable demonstration of balance. High struck yet another ignorant being on the chest, wrecking his birch wood protection tied on with ropes. The Orc did not like the blow, reacting with anger and instinct, returned the courtesy, hitting the Lord of the East with a glancing blow and throwing him unarmed to the ground. The Orc took the usual leap to landing ruinously on the helpless God-Slayer. High rolled on his right side to dodge the first deadly blow, and then to the left to avoid the second and save his skin.

  The sword of the King of the East lay on the ground not far away, but too far away to be wielded by the God-Slayer in his defence. The Orc in a gleam of ingenuity set his foot on the King's hips, nailing him to the gro
und. While the monster’s flabby great silhouette hung above and it was arching its back, arms to the sky to give the deadly blow. The huge sword of Holaf whistled in the wind, slitting snow and the abdomen of the Orc. Screaming with a force only equalled by that of the blow inflicted, the demon of Trondheim pushed the blade so deep, that it came to a stop on the spine of the monster. The beast’s club fell behind the shoulders of the Orc. The Long Sword pushed the beast aside with strength and anger. The dead attacker fell alongside the God-Slayer lying on the ground, his horrendous smoking entrails and black blood pouring onto the snow.

  "Move your ass, brother," Holaf ordered, shouting running towards a Brown wrinkled Orc intent on dragging one of Vyborg's soldiers out of his shelter.

  There was no appeal for the stupid Orc: split in half from neck to groin by the Nordic steel sword. A monster, fearful of the sight of the Demon of Trondheim, began to retreat, until he had nothing but the emptiness at his back to support him; his escape continued until he had only the tips of his paws on the solid rock. It only took a stone, thrown by the God-slayer, well aimed at its head, which was not protected by anything except for simple leather, to make him jump. The arrows continued to rain down stubbornly, but the wind destabilized their course, so they only fell onto the extraordinary thick armour of King Holaf. Two more Orcs fell under the unstoppable blows of the Nordic King, but not even the God-slayer stopped to look, not sparing a glance for the departure of his enemies. The action of the two reapers ended only when the opposing Commander remained, stunned by events.

  It was a young apparently inexperienced Orc leader. This notion could be deduced from his small size: in fact, it was only a little larger than the Lord of the North. The Orc was well dressed with large wooden planks reinforced with steel, covering his chest and face. He waited carefully for the next move of his opponents. Less reckless than his warriors he had waited for the outcome of the battle and for the two royal soldiers to tire, before preparing proudly for the duel now. A poor knight of Vyborg was crushed like an insect, kept alive and screaming to be used as a bogeyman, hoping to bring down the morale of the two Kings. As soon as he dropped the smashed body with its head crushed by a club, the monstrous adversary his weapon still dripping with blood, swung himself round in the storm and tried to strike the King of the North. Despite the Orc’s effort, it wasn't a difficult task for Holaf to parry the enemy action, proving insatiable in the face of victory. Dodging one assault after another, he kept his distance and with his long blade drew a fast and precise semicircle, while lowering his head so that the enemy cudgel whistled over his head.

  A loud sound of shattered wood came before the typical sound of a club falling to the ground. The blade ended up missing Long Sword’s intended target, cutting off the fingers of one hand of the big beast, but not putting an end to its life. Resounding screams of pain and anger filled the air, as the Orc rushed, wounded, in a last attempt to bite the mighty Nordic King. Holaf took two jumps in retreat, then three and finally another, emphasized by the crashing of his armour. He looked up at the monster then took a great breath. He exhaled. In the cloud white and vaporous escaping from his lips, Holaf raised his long blade with absolute precision, putting it into the beast's mouth. The sword destroyed the bones and brain, emerging next to its shoulder blades, crushing and removing, thanks to the strength of the thrust, some of the ribs. The biggest of the Browns fell to the ground trembling, shaken by spasms and spraying the white snow with black liquids.

  "Fortunately, the head is sunk into the chest in the anatomy of these beasts," the Demon of Trondheim spoke disdainfully.

  High had let the soldiers and the five surviving horses pass across, for four of them had been devoured by the Orcs, and one had fallen victim to lucky arrows.

  "Let's move," King High shouted anxiously as he struggled to walk.

  "My brother, are you in pain because of the attack of the Orc?" offered Holaf, who was also tired and unsure on his legs.

  "No, my brother, don't be afraid, it's my pride that is injured! Saved again by the man from the north! If this continues they will take away my command of the east!"

  "You will certainly be ridiculed and expelled from the east. But don't worry, we'll find a little castle with four huts in the north for you," the Lord of the North responded despite his breathlessness.

  Boris exclaimed, with his eyes full of admiration, standing beside him and smiling like a child, finding himself in the presence of his mythical heroes:

  "You are the biggest concentration of warrior virtues breathing the air of the Kingdom!"

  "Thank you, young prince! I’d say that’s a great compliment!" thanked the smiling God-Slayer.

  "King High, you should teach me to repel the arrows with a sword and how to be swift and lethal," the Prince of Vyborg spoke dreamily. Boris, after asking High for a lesson, also demanded the same from the Long Sword: "King Holaf, how can you wield weapons the size of your sword; it is far taller than me, yet you hold it with one hand as if it were a spindle?"

  "Young Boris, some were born to divide mountains with a blows of their sword, others are skilful at jumping over them in a single leap, while still others are able climb dangerous slopes with no risk at all," the Lord of the North answered with kindness.

  "Excuse me, my King, but I do not follow!" the blonde prince revealed his bewilderment with his vacant gaze.

  King Holaf smiled paternally and patted Boris’s blond hair messing it up:

  "You see, Prince, the three warriors arrive at the same conclusion: they all cross the mountain, overcoming obstacles, each in the way that is faithful to their individual characteristics."

  The young Boris intent on settling his hair, probably understood nothing again, but the two Kings did not care much at the time. Orcs archers had been shooting arrows up to a few minutes earlier, when they had stopped because the distance between the two sides was too great.

  "Brown Archers? Never heard of Browns being much good at archery!" exclaimed High almost annoyed by what the day had revealed.

  "Don't worry, King of the East, today we found no Brown wrinkled archers, but only Orcs with bows in their hands," commented bold Arian, with disrespect for the fallen.

  "Those Orcs cost us two riders and five horses, weakening our ranks and slowing down the march, forcing three soldiers to travel on a single horse," High warned. A reminder that was not well received, given the unkind reaction of the injured of Tulsky, pretending to hear nothing.

  With the Mouth of the Dead satiated by the tribute of bloodshed, the group was about to begin the descent to lands that were once calm and friendly. Little by little, the snow diminished until it was only a silent presence on the edges of the road and between the folds of their coats.

  Chapter 23

  Hunted

  The wind gave no hint of dropping but to the joy of everyone it diminished and now only whistled gently through the slits of the helmets. But the cold showed no sign of abating, or becoming less vicious but continued to burden the travellers. The frost was still rigid and persistent forcing the ladies to control their chattering teeth, in spite of their cloaks that had been new and fragrant once. A snow fox joined the group for a few miles walking shyly alongside, hoping to receive food. The branches of the bushes formed in an icy and shimmering crypt. Drops of moisture frozen along the branches trapped every plant, shrub or climber in ice like a snowy omen after a blizzard. Even the road sometimes played hide and seek, occasionally reappearing out of the white blanket, like a dolphin from the sea. The mountains, still very close, all covered in white, dominated the view to the right of the Kings, silently accompanying them on their long journey.

  "Take this, Princess, it will warm you up," a young soldier from Vyborg offered a blanket, which had belonged to his companion, who had fallen horribly under the arrogant strength of Commander Orc.

  "I thank you, knight, I will not hide my joy at receiving such a gift. I can hardly feel my legs anymore, and my hands are warm only thanks t
o my kitten," Tyra answered warmly and smilingly.

  The Princess of South Winter interested Holaf greatly, leading him to hope she could become the wife of one of his children. The only limit the King of the North could see was the remarkable infatuation, demonstrated by the fourth northern rune for the beautiful blonde. King Holaf had no wish to see one of his own offspring duel for the girl against a War Master so he did not cultivate the idea.

  Deep thuds were unwilling carriers of evil news. The pale and exhausted rear guard knight arrived with remarkable haste. He galloped towards the Kings to report on what his eyes had been able to see.

  "My King, Orcs are gathering chaotically at the foot of the mountains on the road we are taking!" the knight of Vyborg reported in panic.

  "How many and what horrendous creatures have you seen hunting us?" asked the Lord of the North, lightly shaking the weary man dressed in green.

  "My King, I don't know exactly how many, one hundred or perhaps two hundred of them, but I saw the enormous silhouette of an Orc with a complete armour of heavy iron plates.

  The story was interrupted by the God-Slayer alarmed and unable to repress a question:

  "How coarse is the skin and what is its colour?"

  "My Lord, about twice King Holaf in size, and I didn't get to see its skin well, but the Orc was much darker than his companions, and was looking at the horizon with round fiery eyes," replied the rear guard trembling.

  "What else, soldier, we don't have time," incited the Lord of Trondheim, excited.

  "I saw several Brown Orcs and about ten bigger and more erect ones, finally two white muzzles with no hair were among that demonic horde. It’s a type we know of already to our sorrow," the terrified man ended his exposition in front of the astonished great heroes.

  "Those bastards, what devil are they doing among the Orcs? And above all, during the day," the Dragon's Head burst out.

  "Sire, they lead them on chains like bloodhounds following a scent," revealed the soldier carrier of unpleasant news.