TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  Where these vaporous structures met, exactly at the centre of the bed, slightly lower down there was an angel armed with a shield and a spear, ready to defend his fellow men. Drapes of purple fabric embroidered with gold thread radiated from the back of the warrior putto to the columns, and from there, they fell to the floor, enlivening the curtains used to shield the light of the fireplace.

  Both Kings, wishing to cleanse themselves, discovered the incredible bathroom complex for the use of the nobles. Going through the door of the room there were two other doors, one for the latrine, the other for the bathing area. The white marble floor of the second space sloped gently next to a private well, which lead to a bathtub as wide as the whole floor. A pair of elegant three-paned windows would have flooded the room with light if it had only been daylight, but given the hour, the Kings were satisfied with a modest candelabrum hanging from the ceiling with only three candles. To the right and left in the bathtub, immersed in the warm waves, there were two large stone benches, which politely invited the bathers to seat themselves. As a support for their backs there was a large slab of perforated and polished white marble that went from the surface of the water to the round arch of the brick vault.

  It was while Long Sword sat down immersing himself in the hot bath that he heard the God-Slayer ask:

  "Holaf, is that you?

  "Yes, my brother!

  "I hear your voice, but where are you?" asked Long Sword trying to peer through the narrow gaps of the marble slab in the half-light, enveloping the room next door.

  "I'm in the bathroom, theoretically on your right," High explained, looking through the holes. "Here, I see you, you are looking into the wrong room!"

  King Holaf did not have time to move away from the gaps before a loud and sharp female cry rose from the adjacent bathroom.

  "Who is that pervert who is trying to spy through the wall," Sersy shouted, covering her prosperous breasts with her arms.

  Very embarrassed Long Sword could do nothing but apologize:

  "Milady, what an unpleasant misunderstanding! I am ashamed and I apologize to you, I was looking for the Lord of the East in the wrong direction. Can you ever forgive me?"

  The beautiful brunette, who was not new to the experience of appearing naked, answered jokingly:

  "Only a few moons ago, my King, I would have asked you for five dinars for such a peek, but for you the first glimpse is free."

  Long sword, moving away from the wall, replied amused:

  "It's a shame that I wasted my free peek struggling through the shadows in search of High's ugly scar." There was a delicate giggle coming from the girl, intent on playing noisily in the water.

  "What a pleasant feeling it is to be able to immerse yourself and be lulled by the warm waters!" exclaimed the Lord of the East, breathing relaxed.

  Holaf made a sound of agreement with his mouth shut and immersed himself totally in an attempt to clean his long, extremely dirty hair. The Lord of the North, once he had re-emerged, was faced by an unexpected question, posed by the usually discreet High:

  "My brother, could you reveal your pact with the devil?"

  The King of Trondheim, caught unawares, took a moment, but finally gave in to the curiosity of his brother in arms:

  "Bad thing that, especially for a father so jealous of his daughters," God-Slayer interrupted him the repenting of his curiosity:

  "Brother, forgive me, it was not my intention to make you uncomfortable, I should have kept quiet!"

  But Holaf quietly answered, heartening the sorry High:

  "It is nothing very serious! When I went to Rostorov to plead with King Wolfmar to have the weapons built for the north to bring down the Titans, the Lord of the Variaghi demanded a very unusual payment, or he would not have given me the weapons to defend us," the Lord of the North stopped for a moment and the silence fell into the room, broken only by the gentle waves of the water moved by Sersy. Even the interested girl came close to the wall of the Long Sword and asked, without shame:

  "My King, what payment did he ask?"

  The Lord of the North, smiling, answered:

  "That devil of a half titan asked me the most precious thing in the world, the hand of one of my beloved little girls for one of his children!"

  "That is all!" was the disappointed comment of Sersy. She had already invented her own fantasy and in her heart craved stories of black magic.

  High burst out laughing at the frankness shown by the young Lady, while Holaf almost angry replied:

  "I would like to see you forced to offer your daughter in marriage to such beings! They are three meters high on average, and their descendants never have nicknames like the Good, the Brave or the Kind."

  "And how did you answer to such a demands?" urged Sersy again.

  "As I could do nothing else, I agreed to give my daughter Witte's hand to any of his heirs who was able to impress me with his courage, strength and balance. The King of Rostorov, standing up from the throne, approached me and put his gigantic hand on me, saying, "So be it, you will have your weapons and I will have my grandchildren!" At that moment, while Wolfmar was tightening his hand on my forearm, I realized that his nickname was correct," King Holaf said, still feeling a slight tremor along his spine.

  High gave a glance at Long Sword and summed up:

  "So you have the weapons, you were struck by the size of the King of Rostorov, called the Immense, but Wolfmar has not received anything in return so far and has not yet invaded your lands. I don't understand!"

  "Wolfmar waits patiently," Holaf replied with a dark timbre in his voice. Neither Sersy nor High understood precisely what Wolfmar was waiting for and in unison they asked for explanations.

  Holaf's brief response chilled both of them:

  "The Lord of Rostorov awaits the war, where his children will reveal themselves to me, demanding that I pay my debt." Holaf immersed himself in water to his nose, full of his own thoughts and putting an end to the pleasant chat.

  After their bath, the lights in each room went out, and the curtains of all the canopies were closed. Only the Lord of the North delayed his meeting with Morpheus, as he was followed to his rooms by two healers. The wounds that had been open and unsightly had improved considerably. They no longer exuded blood and stinking fluids, however, they still had an insane reddish colour with shades of violet, and the part of the body affected by these wounds was boiling to touch. King Holaf’s colouring was less waxy and he was amazed at how such devastating wounds could cause him only sporadic stabbing pains. The healers were even more surprised and doubtful than the Long Sword, groping in the dark for an explanation.

  "Maybe with a good bloodletting they would heal quicker," the first wondered.

  "Or with medicine by mouth," supposed the other.

  The first proposed uncertain:

  "What if we sew up the wounds?"

  The Lord of the North put an end to the disturbing doubts of the erudite doctors by ordering:

  "My good men, it is very late and I am tired, I would be grateful if you could only bind my wounds with a simple linen and let me rest!"

  "My Sovereign, but there is the risk that gangrene could take over," warned the older man, while the other one was shaking his head mechanically.

  "I didn’t rot out there in blood and mud, so I won't rot now in clean blankets and soft pillows," the King of the North answered sarcastically, sceptical of the perhaps overvalued healing abilities of the two men.

  The two perplexed healers, seeing that they were not heeded, resigned themselves and made a beautiful and perfumed bandage with the sweet freshly laundered smell. Then they withdrew with deep bows.

  Sleep overwhelmed all survivors. In the arc of the night no monster or murderer attacked the tired guests neither in reality nor in dreams. The calm crackling of the wood fires served as a lullaby and the soft mattresses like maternal arms that gently cradled everyone until late morning.

  From the very first light, the fervent life of the no
isy and careless city overwhelmed them, awakening them without any courtesy. The pages knocked at the doors of the sleepy Kings, They called on all the will in their possession and rose up politely, thanking those who awakened them offering them the courteous concession of a change of clothes, while their own were being washed. Quite another thing happened when the knights in the dormitory were awakened: this generated rude swearing and blasphemous comments, flowing from the rough mouths of the half-asleep soldiers. Only the fourth Master of the War had the strength to thank the pages in an appropriate way. Such a vulgarity forced the Lords of the Kingdoms of the North and the South to appear at the threshold of the hall. A slight cough was enough to change the curses into low mumbling. Once the complaints had been reduced to a minimum, and they were all dressed in clothes, certainly not of an adequate size for the mighty Holaf, the Sovereigns went to the great banquet hall.

  The room was like the rest of the castle; large, beautiful and extremely sumptuous. A wide ceiling, not broken by any ribbing or architecture, attracted the first glances because of the magnificence of the decoration. Warrior Gods and heroes feasted in the great ballroom of Valhalla after a hard battle, exchanging stories of glory. On the walls near the ceilings, a decorative strip of gilded and sculpted wood portrayed wild boar, deer and other game among shrubs and treetops. This fine decoration was connected to the ground by a large number of classical-style pillars unusual for a northern building. At the top of every wall reinforcement was a candelabrum now not lighted. These candles were entrusted with illuminating the dark, but at that moment it was given by a large series of three-paned windows, placed between one pillar and another. Each window was adorned with a blue brocade curtain on the right and white fabric curtain on the left. On the opposite wall, corresponding to the lights, large painted altarpieces were proudly displayed showing hunting and fishing scenes. A very long table, made from a single tree, occupied the centre of the room surrounded by exquisitely crafted thrones.

  As the Kings of the Kings entered the hall, the Regent of the Fortress, the Queen of South Winter and their now complete brood of offspring stood, respectful of each other's majestic rank. A young man next to the entrance, clearing his throat, announced:

  "King Holaf, Lord of the North, and King High, Lord of the South, honour us with their presence."

  All the servants present gave deep and heartfelt bows. King Grigor of the north pointed, smiling, to the thrones placed in front of him. The two Kings, satisfied by the good sleep they had had and the delicacies seen in the room, sat down and tasted their flavours, but above all they were pleased not to have been announced with every title and possession they had.

  "Good morning, King Grigor, good morning Queen Olga and good morning princes and princesses," the Lord of the East greeted cordially.

  King Holaf was instead captivated by the usual beautiful smile of Tyra, who, sitting among her brothers, waited anxiously for the brave Bear’s Head.

  "Well found, Princess Tyra! Admiring your radiant smile is always a pleasure," said the powerful King of Trondheim.

  "Good morning, my King! Thank you for your sweet words, but now tell us how you are. Your colour is getting better every day," the young woman replied gracefully.

  Long Sword brought his hand to his painful shoulder and told her:

  "I have to be satisfied, I feel much better. Yesterday the healers have bandaged me well and the wounds no longer feel as though they come from hell. All in all, things are going very well for me!"

  Young Sivert got up, and with his childlike eyes, he asked:

  "Is what Tyra says true?"

  Delicately Holaf replied:

  "It depends on what your sister told you, young prince!"

  The lad, little more than a child answered:

  "You've killed an Orc as big as a castle tower. She tells us of many effortlessly defeated enemies and horrendous wolves driven back into darkness!"

  The Lord of the North smiled, but it was the God-Slayer who confirmed the admiring hopes of the little heir:

  "Tyra has told the truth! King Holaf is a protector of humanity with a fearless heart, and an example for all of us!"

  The master of South Winter, smiling because of the amazed expression on the face of his child, spread himself as big as a peacock busy showing off his feathers, as he began to speak:

  "My King, not only you have killed monsters! During the night a pack of disgusting monsters looking like enormous dogs besieged the city's outer walls. We killed three with the catapults on the tower, but at least twice as many fled with their tails between their legs."

  "The hellish monsters go so far as to attack the walls. Monstrous!" was the disconcerted comment of the Lord of the East.

  Holaf nodding warned:

  "My kind host, do not underestimate these creatures, they are cunning, strong and fearless. They have escaped once, but they'll come back however many times are necessary, according to them, to create huge damage or to die!"

  "Do not be afraid, my men are second to none, well trained in combat. Also, the catapults on the walls would conquer and humble and more powerful enemies than these beasts," replied the blonde laughing King Grigor, satisfied as usual.

  The speeches were interrupted by the voice of the Chamberlain coming to announce:

  "The Fourth Master of War and Lady Sersy."

  Tyra immediately looked anxiously at her warrior advancing into the room and greeted him with an involuntary gesture from her impatient hand. The gesture did not escape the eyes of her mother Olga, who made critical comment:

  "Tyra, my treasure, don't be too bold, such behaviour does not suit your rank!"

  The Bear bowed, offering his homage to all those present and sat next to the Lord of the North smiling blissfully at his blonde princess.

  Sersy, after reverently bowing to the royal family, was helped to her seat by Grigor's second-born child, who shot like an arch arrow at the sight of such beauty. Grigor, proud and arrogant, exclaimed:

  "You seem to have enchanted my Eskil, I never saw him paying attention to any woman. Where are you from, my beauty?"

  The beautiful embarrassed brunette responded in a tiny voice:

  "You flatter me, Your Majesty, with compliments and pleasant words. I am a daughter of the south, I come from a small village on the coast."

  Amazed, Grigor and the Queen complimented each other on the refined ways the young woman had shown despite her humble origins.

  "You've never considered coming to the court, girl?" asked the Queen probing the situation on behalf of her son.

  Sersy didn't know how to behave and was afraid of offending the Royal family. She waited for help from Holaf or High. The longed-for help was not given by the Sovereigns, but by Tyra:

  "Mother, father, my friend is afraid to tell you of the love in her heart that has already been promised to another man. Do not insist with such questions, please!"

  "Another man perhaps, but he certainly isn't like my son," King Grigor burst out, defending the better lineage of his family.

  "You're right, father, he's certainly not a prince, but an incomparable warrior and a delicate lover. So, the discussion should be considered concluded," Tyra replied, armed with courage in defence of her dark-haired friend.

  "Young missy, how dare you speak to us in such a way? Now I remember the reason why you were sent away," baldly intervened the second-born, who had not been called on to comment, upsetting his blonde sister, bringing tears to her eyes.

  Tyra bowed to the two Lords present and quickly ran away followed by the Bear’s Head, who thanked the royal family for the courteous hospitality he had received.

  At that moment they heard the Chamberlain admonish:

  "You cannot enter! You are not dressed properly, and weapons are not allowed!"

  The observations were useless, just as the attempt to stop the Dragon from crossing the threshold was useless. Forcibly he made his way to the table, bowing first to King Holaf, then to the Lord of the East,
for whom he had a profound esteem, and finally addressing the inhabitants of South Winter.

  The Lord of the North presented the newcomer:

  "My host and family, this warrior is the third Master of the Trondheim War. To him we owe our lives. I owe everything to him, since it was his hammer that stopped the jaws that were about to take my life."

  The God-Slayer also gave his contribution to the presentation:

  "This warrior does not yet have a nickname, but it would belittle him to use a single name for so many qualities. The Dragon's Head is the one Tyra spoke of earlier."

  The Dragon, sitting heavily next to Sersy, his not too clean armour ringing with a metallic sound and asked:

  "Was there talk of me? I hope I was described as a hero!"

  But the royal hosts did not answer disgusted by the obvious traces of blood and more, adorning the black breastplate. It was the Lord of the East who skilfully changed the subject:

  "King Grigor, we need to send messages as soon as possible to all the Vassals. Time is of the essence. We are in desperate straits!"

  "Certainly, my hawks are at your disposal. As soon as we finish our breakfast, I will have parchment and goose feathers brought to you," replied the King of the fortress willingly.

  Young Eskil, disappointed, got up and took a last long look at Sersy from the door, a look that did not escape the third Nordic warrior, nor Queen Olga. As the door closed behind the prince, his mother turned to the defiant Dragon's Head:

  "I apologise for the impudence of my son. He is young and does not pose a threat to you. Believe in the sincere words of a mother."

  "My Queen, the prince has not offered any discourtesy," was the quick response of the black Dragon, lying with a smile.

  As the Kings spoke among themselves, all the remaining guests and courtiers joined the banquet. The latter whispered smarmily to each other, visibly annoyed by being at the table with men with inappropriate manners. In spite of this, none of them had the courage to face the warriors, given their recent past.