TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  "My Lord," shouted a small dot, delaying himself in such a way as to make recognition difficult.

  "Sire, one of our men who stopped out of necessity, must have come across something unusual!" exclaimed one of the three archers of the Black Portal.

  "My Lord, a corpse dead ten days at most, fallen into a pit there at the bottom, beyond the hillock," reported the man exhausted by running, because his green companions had taken his horse with them as joke or wickedness, leaving the knight without a horse and with no other means of transport.

  "Tell us, soldier, does the body give any clues?" asked King High, always looking for information to deduce the movements of the enemy.

  "My King, he was certainly a man of arms. His sword and shield lie with him, but the corpse is in terrible condition, swollen and putrefied, his face feast of worms," replied the green knight.

  "Bad!" High exclaimed, looking around and not seeing any danger. "Perhaps it would be better to move on. Maybe it is an accident or a tragedy that has ended the life of the stranger, but you can never show too much caution. Men, we'll ride as long as the sun gives us light to see!"

  At the order of the God-Slayer, everyone spurred their horses in unison, as generous as they were tired. The sky was darkening with the sun low on their left, while the long, silent shadows were swaying sinuously on the ground. In the darkness of the celestial vault the moon began to show its timid face, its pale light shooting between the sparse clouds lulled by the wind. The shadows began to merge, giving life to imaginary monsters and ghosts and at the same time concealing rebellious eyes from the humans. The hairless beasts could be seen briefly emerging from a bush or from the shadow between two boulders, in order to intimidate the hearts of the tired travellers, disappearing again quickly into the congenial darkness.

  "Unwelcome news," High commented briefly, drawing the attention of Holaf. The Northern King, bored by having to remain silent, was waiting for nothing better than a good excuse to speak:

  "What news is it unpleasant to you, my brother?"

  "Beasts, driven by renewed cravings, they are testing the way to devour our flesh," answered High icily looking around in the ever more pressing darkness.

  "Those cursed beings again! The men have been complaining because during the changing moons those disgusting beasts have been pestering and sniffing at us," the Lord of the North exclaimed, holding back words, not suitable for a Sovereign.

  "I confirm that they have been following us for days, but never so close and with such brazenness. I fear an attack during the night," explained the King of the Kings of the East.

  "If there is to be an attack, then we will have to find a congenial battlefield for us," the King lying on his stretcher pronounced in a serious tone.

  "Brother, you should think only of rest. Leave the remaining burdens on my shoulders," the God-Slayer delicately reproached.

  Holaf smiled silently, watching the sky, but using only his silvery eye to avoid fainting. High, clever and cunning, he noted a small group of healthy firs, accompanied by boulders and mosses. Remembering the excellent decision to fight among the trees, supported by his brother in arms, it seemed a good idea to him to stay overnight on the edge of the small fir forest.

  The King of the East gave orders to every man so that everything could be ready before the darkest shadows fell. The small group had a great deal to do, those who cut long poles, while others collected wood for a fire, and finally piled up stones with the intention of slowing down the beasts who move too fast for the average man, but above all there was an urgent need to understand which side the assault would come from.

  "My King, doesn't the fire seem a bit risky to you?" Arian asked worriedly.

  "Yes, of course, but it would be even more reckless to think of facing these enemies blindly," replied the Lord of the East, revealing an irrefutable truth.

  The Commander of the lancers did not say anything, because between two evils one always opted for the minor one.

  The girls were placed in the centre of the defensive ring, protected by the large bodies of the horses, almost all of them exhausted and swaying sleepily. As well as the quadrupeds, there were the men on guard who whispered prayers, tense and worried. Some of them rediscovered their ancient faith, buried deep in the rubble of their hearts. In front of the knights there were only sharpened poles, brushwood and piles of stone, insignificant defences when compared to the armament of the enemies, but it is always better to do something useless than having to repent for not having done anything.

  The Kingdom of wonderful stars caught every being in its soft wings causing bewilderment and abandonment to those with weak souls. The Dragon's Head thoughtfully approached the ladies and asked:

  "Ladies, do you still have the swords, given to you during our first misadventure?

  Lady Elisabet after moving aside the saddle blanket, showed the two swords to the warrior.

  "So, unsheathe them and use them well! May the Warrior Gods guide your hands," wished the Dragon his voice full of his usual exaltation and madness.

  The women did not understand the Nordic wish, except for Tyra, who replied:

  "I wish for you that the Gods will be filled with admiration for your deeds."

  The Dragon bowed down opening his arms, the arms hammer and the short axe held tight in fists and with the bright light of fire playing on them. The menacing and gloomy helmet painted with strong shadows and shining light made him look like a real dragon. Then the warrior of the third symbol disappeared into the shadows, his place for the night.

  King Holaf momentary disarmed also took his sword from its scabbard and, keeping the strange eye closed, first looked at the black-haired beauty, fearful and trembling, then the wise and skilled Elisabet, busy making an inventory of bandages and medicinal herbs praying in a whisper. Finally, the Nordic Sovereign turned his benevolent gaze to the blond haired daughter of the North. In her he saw the strength of his wife, perceived the desire to live and not to succumb to the terror that raged around them. He smelled the sweet scent of pride, able to incite the princess to become a warrior, taking out one of the two swords and testing the weight and control.

  "You make me feel proud, Princess Tyra. Let's show these souls the sort of steel used to forge the men of the north!" The wounded King of the North shouted with strength and anger as he rose to his feet and brandished his sword straight to the skies.

  The Lord of the North stood out like a statue in front of the big fire of hot flames, offering the knights a vision of epic value.

  "Men, I am with you! Let's fight with courage and, if you are called to the Gods, make sure to present yourselves adorned with enemy blood!" he harangued the soldiers with a forceful surge of energy, not unlike an anomalous wave, able to sweep every glimmer of terror away from the hearts of his companions of misfortune, like ships swept away from the docks.

  A strong shout arose "Now I see my father!" coming from the mouths of the Masters of War, galvanized and boisterous, noisily beating their weapons together, calling to the enemy. The rapid whistle of the long spears of the surviving knights of Tulsky, shaken to the sky with the characteristic cry of their army: ‘Better you than us!’ The Devil of Vilniar's white moustache also shook vindictively, as he shouted the names of his children, killed by Orcs. Vyborg remained strangely quieter, but the soldiers were clearly fired up and on guard.

  The terrible beasts were in no hurry, walking under cover of darkness not too far away. Occasionally a white snout appeared illuminated by the yellow light of a torch, but they pulled back immediately soon as they were seen.

  "Not very courageous, these enemies! Going by the previous meeting I would have expected more dash," commented the Dragon almost disappointed.

  "Do not call them, brother, when they are ready, they will not fail to come!" exclaimed the Bear's Head covered by his round shield.

  The situation seemed to conceal mysteries even to King Holaf, sitting on his bedding:

  "It doesn't really
add up. They approach silently, stealing to within a few metres and then run away, as if they were in danger. I remember them as they were without fear or restraint, eager to kill and nothing else."

  The crowned heads exchanged numerous quick glances of full of doubt and misunderstanding. It was clear what the mystery was, but nothing could have prepared their defences for what destiny would soon offer them. Attracted by the festive sparks bursting from the fire and the busy human shadows, a huge evil force was awoken from the dark shadows. A guttural roar from the underworld powerfully shook the air. It came from among the thick dark branches of the trees. The ground shook really hard once, and immediately after that a second vibration preceded a third. The terrifying beasts that had been circling hurried to escape without trying to hide their large bodies in the darkest shadows. The tremor felt stronger and closer, just beyond the edge of the woods, which were now shaken and bent by a force like a hurricane. The Lord of the East concisely ordered: "Put out the fire!"

  But Long Sword immediately gave a counter order:

  "Stop! It is too late now, my beloved brother!"

  The two narrowest firs, close to the heat of the fire, were grasped by two enormous hands with three strong and knotty fingers, to which two other limbs were added which bent the creaking trees, until they their trunks gave way, opening the space the size of a large door. While the destroyed trees were felled to the ground, from the darkness of the forest emerged a large round head, adorned by an infernal mouth with harsh rippled lips. Seven translucent ivory tusks, stubby, massive and hooked, arranged irregularly, emerged from the mouth of this horrifying ruminant, as if its creator, tired of such ugliness, had taken a handful of tusks and had thrown them distractedly into that black abyss. Rivers of saliva flowed from the edges of the abyss, falling in sticky globs down the pendulous cheeks. These two growths were furrowed by deep scars, so thick that the skin seemed wavy. They looked like two steel plates of a helmet, protecting the face. They looked nothing like the bold flabby cheeks of a dog. The mighty trunk of the beast, covered in powerful muscles, appeared of a very light blue grey colour with a reddish belly. It was scarred all over giving a clear idea of the monster’s warrior temperament. On the back of the gigantic monster, taller than three men, sprouted numerous prominent bony protuberances, like large stone flakes. The same bony growths could also be seen on the outside of the arms, but not as big.

  "A Mountainshatterer," Jan shouted.

  "What the hell would a Mountainshatterer be?" King High asked agitatedly.

  "A stone troll! We know there is no standing against them in open battle," replied the warrior of the Damwall in panic.

  The snarling beast moved forward slowly, attracted by the succulent agitated horses, intent on neighing and kicking, tied to an empty old trunk.

  "Men, be firm, dodge, and strike quickly," ordered the God-Slayer approaching the stony beast with his sword in his hand.

  The three ladies were taken away by King Holaf who hustled them quickly past the last row of men. The troll, unaware of the little humans, stretched out a hand towards the horses choosing to take Dawn Reflection. The Lord of Trondheim, seeing his four-legged friend grasped by the beast, ran towards him screaming with fury and anger, but the first weapon to strike the monumental enemy was Boris's very trembling and ineffective one. The prince stubbornly struck the palm of the beast’s hand, with great effort forcing the steel through the hard skin of the troll. The animal took his hand away grasping it with the other three hands. The monstrous troll stood still to assess the damage, giving the young Boris time to untie some of the horses, including the Dawn Reflection, rescuing them.

  The prince's daring and perhaps his crazy example was a stimulus for the men, who had turned into statues at the sight of such a monstrosity. King High struck the leg of the astonished beast with all the strength in his possession, drawing a good stream of blood from it. It took all the speed of the God-Slayer to escape the violent reaction. Twice the furious troll tried to strike the Lord of the East with every fist granted to him by nature, but four times the dull thump of the blows hit the bare ground digging knee-deep grooves. The men attacked the Mountainshatterer, striking it like the bees sting a bear that is intent on raiding their precious nectar.

  In that instant, the fateful anger overwhelmed the enemy, changing his colour from a calm blue grey to a dark red worthy of the underworld. With its little black eyes protected by a whitish sheath, the troll began its heavy dance. Turning on the spot it used its big hands as gigantic sledgehammers. The impact was so great that he sent a Vyborg knight over the trees. All that was left was a cloud of red droplets. The rapid, thunderous spinning did not last long, luckily, as it made the attack impossible.

  It was the Dragon who struck the monster’s knee with infinite violence. The blow was so forceful that the troll lost its balance. Other blades had an easier time of it wounding the giant troll in various parts but not fatally. This action produced only anger. The Mountainshatterer grabbed one of Tulsky's lancers, arrogantly intent on pushing his long hooked spear an attempt to blind the troll. It crushed the man’s body, squeezing it as if it were half a lemon. The worst thing happened to a knight who was needlessly trying helping his dead companion. The scream of man resonated chillingly, while the monster, grasping the man’s arms and legs, effortlessly dismembered the unfortunate warrior, beating the bleeding remains violently on the ground and causing red blood to splash on the faces of his companions.

  Men's weapons had some limited effect, especially where bone plates were less dense. The God-Slayer, moved by anger and despair, went as far as his enemy's belly, as the troll was intent on slamming two soldiers of Tulsky together. King High soaked by blood and mush as a result of the macabre applause offered by the horrible troll, sank his blade next to the large genitals of the being, hoping to cut some artery. The cry of pain the beast gave was heard far beyond the mountains, and the Lord of the East was forced to abandon this sword to save his life between the legs of the Mountainshatterer who crumpled curling up on himself screaming.

  The troll took out the sword, dropping it at its feet. Then holding its hands low on its groin it chose the God-Slayer as its only enemy. Shaking its head, it took a slight run and, showing unimaginable agility, took a twisting jump hoping to land on the unarmed King's back. The thud made the earth tremble, like a volcano ready to erupt. The moving air generated by the jump almost extinguished the fire, leaving the men amazed. The beast rose quickly to check that it had fulfilled its cravings, but its hope remained disappointed. It began to throw heavy punches in a desperate attempt to hit the God-Slayer, but the Sovereign was far too agile and too skilful at dodging opponent’s the slow motion blows.

  The beast was extremely ignorant, but to a lesser extent than was thought, so it grabbed one of the two torn up trees, and with a great bite shortened it to the length of a club. All the troops attacked to help the King of the East, now exhausted by the continuous attempts to escape. The Devil of Vilniar with his sword was able to inflict a deep wound the troll’s foot. It responded by roughly striking the man with the broken tree, throwing him back several meters. Evghenij’s life was saved only thanks to the branches still attached to the club, which blocked the violence of the impact, but left him stunned and momentarily unable to continue the battle. With all the warriors upon the troll, the powerful enemy gave a couple of blows with his club without any effect, and chose the tactic of the spinning top again. The men were too close to escape, so many were hit, some reduced to bags of flesh crushed by the swinging hands, others were crushed under its feet as the beast danced around. The troll didn't spare a Tulsky knight and without a thought chewed off his head while still spinning, leaving a body without head or chest but still with shoulders. The corpse, stuck into the mixture of blood and mud, remained erect for a few seconds showing an incredible semicircular mutilation in the typical shape of a bite, before being falling again, crushed by the fury of the enemy.

  The Wolf’s
Head skilfully dodged the monster's hands and managed to inflict a mighty blow on the enormous enemy, who felt the effect of the injury and interrupted the gruesome dance. It was the moment the Masters of War were waiting for. They mercilessly attacked the creature, not yet aware of what had struck it. The archers of the Black Portal, feeling useless because their crossbows did not even scratch the sheath of eye protection, grasped their swords and threw themselves into the fray. Even Tyra went into the attack despite the categorical prohibition of King Holaf, the only one left out with no energy to spend.

  Wounded, but not tamed, the monstrous being of the mountains, full of anger began to unleash punches and kicks again. A blow fell deeply into the mud, not far from the first Master of the War, who was pushed to the ground by the debris thrown to one side. Boris went to help the warrior nearby, but the weight of the unconscious man was too much for the blond boy sucked under by the bloody quagmire, his feet sliding and sinking. His face illuminated by the fire, the prince felt sure he would die when the shadow of the enormous roaring animal covered him. The beastly being stretched out his hand towards the young man who had been turned to stone by fear and saw the big grasping fingers chopped off by the Royal sword of the north, wielded by an exhausted King, who collapsed to his knees immediately after landing the blow.

  "Run away, boy," ordered the Lord of the North, with no strength left, next to one of his unconscious warriors. Boris did not obey him and started pulling the warrior lying on the ground.

  Out of control, the beast attacked again using all its hands, ignoring the copious blood flowing from the groin wound. High took the first abandoned sword and helped weak Holaf and Boris with the Wolf’s Head to move away. The God-Slayer, looking at the young prince, ordered him: