TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  "My dear Vassal, we should discuss another much more enjoyable question," King Holaf began while massaging his bandaged shoulder.

  "I am intrigued, my King, do not delay in enlightening me!"

  "I am under no illusion that joy in the eyes of Princess Tyra at the entrance of the fourth Master of the War has escaped you. Since our departure the two young people have formed a strong bond. The Bear's Head often worked to defend and support the young Lady and she willingly did the same for the warrior. Tyra has said that she wanted to present the fourth Master to you but she fears a rejection," Long Sword was abruptly interrupted by King Grigor, who impulsively stated:

  "My King, Tyra will never be given in marriage to a knight without land, even if he does belong to the order of the Masters of War!"

  The Lord of the North was amazed by such energy and rapidity in making his objection known and enquired:

  "My good Vassal, what is it that disturbs you over such a proposal?"

  "The War Masters are great fighters, but they go to the battlefields leaving their women at home. Moreover, what future could he offer the princess or my family," her father replied with clear signs of nervousness.

  "If it is the dowry that worries you, the Queen of the North and I will be proud to represent the groom's deceased family. But if your concern is caused by something else, I can't change your beliefs," Holaf answered, bitter because of the man's stubbornness.

  "My King of Kings, your interest in the fate of our daughter brings us joy, but it would perhaps be better if Tyra and Erik, your eldest son were to be married. If my sources don't deceive me, your heir still has no wife," suggested Queen Olga cleverly. She was a skilled and expert in palace games.

  The thoughtful North Lord remained silent for a few moments before asserting himself:

  "Dear Queen, you don't know how much pleasure it would make me have Tyra in my family. She's a wonderful and sweet girl. My son would be enthusiastic and very lucky. Fidelity to a Vassal, however, is also paid for with the regret of a father, who is forced to deny such a gift for his son. It is not within my authority to decide who should love whom. Tyra is in love with the fourth Master of the War, and I would never dare to get in the way!"

  An embarrassing total silence fell among the nobles present. The Dragon without fear of anything or of being inappropriate suggested:

  "King of South Winter, a duel between the two suitors could decide the question; a non-lethal battle! As in the best chivalrous fairy tales, the hand of the sweet princess will be granted to the winner."

  "I don't think this is an option that can be considered," replied the blonde Lord dryly.

  "I accept the challenge, black knight, a duel for the hand of the beautiful Lady!" thundered the young voice of Eskil resounding in the great hall, as he presented himself in shimmering armour.

  The Lord of the North jumped out of his seat, as did the good Grigor, but the Dragon was faster. He was rapid and better armed as he moved towards the clumsy and unprepared prince.

  "Stop, Master of War," King Grigor ordered loudly, but the march of the touchy warrior did not hint at slowing.

  "Knight of the Dragon, I ask you to contain your fury! You are the least suitable of all for non-lethal duels!" exclaimed Long Sword in a friendly manner, approaching the duellists.

  The black mantle stopped shaking, as did the bones attached to it as drums of death. The hammer and the axe slept at his belt, disappointed by the lack of conflict, while the man in him got the better of the Dragon.

  "As you wish, my Lord," the warrior exclaimed, retreating to the table to the satisfaction of the apprehensive and frightened parents.

  The not so bright prince shouted exultantly:

  "You concede defeat by retreating, knight!

  "Shame, on you, you idiot! Instead of being grateful you behave like an oaf," his father rebuked him, often arrogant, but skilful enough to recognise a warrior not to insult him when he met one.

  "My King, with your permission, that of King Holaf, and the nomination by the third Master of War I offer myself as champion for the non-lethal duel," proposed the Lord of the East astonishing everyone.

  "If you give me your word you will not to harm the body of my stupid son in any way, he deserves a good lesson!"

  King Holaf did not deny his permission, and the Dragon reluctantly accepted his replacement, although underneath it all he appreciated the gesture of the God-Slayer. The only one to make a complaint was Eskil:

  "But the Lord of the East is a nobleman of too high a rank for my military arts!

  "Not because of modesty, young Prince, but out of wisdom I myself would never have dared to face a warrior, half as capable as the one you so lightly offended!"

  With great chivalry, the prince laid his shield on the ground, because the King did not have on. He took his position on guard and was the first to launch an attack. The young prince’s blows, even though skilful, seemed slow in the eyes of the spectators, so fast were the movements of the God-Slayer in avoiding the blade. Only after the sixth failed attack of the prince, a resounding metallic noise gave the first point to the Lord of the East, a lightning fast blow to the large target offered by his opponent, striking him with the flat of his sword. The prince became a fury, not a very precise one to tell the truth, but certainly faster than before. The blows whistled fluidly forcing the God-Slayer to a more active defence. Often the two blades struck each other and crossing stridently and loudly each denying the other an effective blow, but the second point rang on the young man's helmet, like the clapper inside a bell.

  "One more point! You haven’t won yet Majesty, don't give yourself airs of a winner," Eskil proudly warned, throwing himself forcefully against the King of the Kings of the East.

  The God-Slayer dodged the blade and the knight, in a rapid and unexpected turn, which ended with the guard of the sword, used as a club. This manoeuvre hit the weight-bearing knee of the prince unbalancing him and making him fall noisily to the ground. While the prince was slithering like a worm in an effort to get up, the Lord of the East aimed the point of his sword at the prince’s face and commented:

  "Prince, you've been beaten three to zero, do you accept the verdict?"

  The heir of South Winter, raising the visor of his helmet, answered boldly:

  "I didn’t hear sound of a third blow!"

  As the prince made a quick attempt to return to the game and the duel, King High rang another loud chime with this blade on the top of the prince’s helmet, closing the visor and causing his opponent to fall to the ground again. Loud applause filled the air spontaneously from the spectators standing up from their comfortable chairs. High held out his hand to the struggling prince, who accepted it with shame, knowing that he had lost badly not only his duel and pretensions, but also his pride.

  "Lord of the East, it really seems that my children should spend less time with ladies and in libraries, and more with fencing teachers!" exclaimed King Grigor as he applauded satisfied with the display.

  The Queen, mother of the lad, made sure her son had suffered no physical damage, but since no damage was found, apart from his dignity, she was heartened and warned the boy:

  "I hope that this dispute can be considered settled, my dear. Now go!"

  None of those present disagreed in the slightest with the conclusion of a futile but amusing entertainment.

  Chapter 31

  The Bear, the Dragon and a Nordic goat

  While King Grigor and his son Geir prepared their army to follow the Lord of the North toward Midgard, Holaf and High went to the study to write the messages. They devoted a great deal of time to the boring task of writing identical letters, in the hope that they would serve for the necessary gathering of the armies. Holaf gave priority to the parchment for Demitry, King of Vyborg, father of a son who fell with valour. The heartfelt letter of condolence told Boris' father that the Empire of the United Men was now a less pleasant place. The Lord of the North, much moved, recounted in detail the
incredible ideas which the blond prince had been able to invent, and finally asked for help from the armada of the Free Kingdom of the Green Hills of Vyborg for the common good.

  The second letter entrusted to the claws of the hawks was addressed to the south to the attention of the Lord of the Sepulchre of the Gods. Holaf had not forgotten the agreement made in Kitan with the brave Godwin, regarding the transfer of his two young daughters to the home of the Lord of the South. Long Sword, after having to suffer the trip, was no longer convinced it was a good idea. There were too many enemies and problems related to the rivers to be faced by two ladies and a handful of knights. The only way now possible seemed to be to keep his offspring safe in the shadow of the imposing walls of Trondheim, saving his little girls danger and time for the men of his Royal friend.

  High uncertain about what to do asked advice of Long Sword:

  "My brother, please help me with a dilemma, I have some doubts as to whether to send a hawk to my Vassal of Gorod. Sveslav is a difficult King to manage both in peace and in war! There is an agreement between us and on those points it will be difficult to move him."

  "Difficult or not, faithful or separatist, I would not wait before warning him. Whether King Sveslav and his cursed offspring join us or not, the war will also overwhelm him," Holaf answered with great wisdom.

  "You are also coming to Tombtower with the third Master of the War, aren’t you? You won't leave me alone with Sveslav and his rabid children," High wanted to be reassured of the physical support offered by his brother in arms.

  "If I didn't know you well, I would think you were frightened of the gloomy Vassal of Gorod," teased Long Sword grinning.

  "My brother, that place really freezes my blood and even more its inhabitants, but in war they will certainly be useful," the God-Slayer answered sincerely.

  Once all the letters had been prepared, they were handed over to the hawks. They sent so many that the entire falconer tower was almost empty leaving only a couple.

  Sersy and the Dragon were gently relaxing in the beautiful central courtyard, attracted by the clear reflection of the falconry tower in the surface of the fountain. They saw an infinite number of black spots detached themselves from the battlements of the tower soaring in every direction. The icy Dragon, looking at the number of birds in the sky, commented with a quietly:

  "I never saw so many, fate holds in store the greatest war in human history!"

  The comment was not appreciated by the dark beauty. She said bitterly:

  "You seem to like the prospect of such a disaster, my warrior!"

  The third Master of Trondheim did not answer so as not to tell a lie, at least to her and he held her tightly in his arms.

  Tyra and Bear’s Head, were also walking along the pleasant, well-controlled and clean streets of South Winter. They saw the dark birds of prey flying high up in the sky, reminding the young woman of the many omens of misfortune, cited in her adored fairy tales.

  "My beloved Tyra, the war looms over us, and soon I'll have to say goodbye to you for a long time," whispered the warrior in the ear of the princess gently hugging her.

  "Don’t say that! Nothing will stop me from following you. The fate has been benevolent in letting our destinies cross, so I found in you everything I could want. I won't allow any creature to take you away from me," the Nordic beauty replied smiling and carefree.

  "Where do you want to lead me, my Lady?" asked the Bear’s Head, beaten by the princess and intrigued by the provocative gaze of Tyra.

  The young woman with a beautiful smile, slightly biting her lower lip, with her eyes shimmering, said:

  "I'll show you the sword I'll be using to dispel the hordes of Orcs, our enemies!"

  With a quick step the two lovers passed through the cheerful streets of the city stopping only in front of a weapons and armour shop. On display was a splendid black steel breastplate with meticulous gold decorations, showing the story of a young warrior about to kill an anthropomorphic God. The Bear looked at Tyra and exclaimed:

  "That breastplate is magnificent, and if it were made of good steel, it would be perfect to replace the one belonging to King High!"

  The two entered the armourer’s shop, after a bow and a greeting, offered to the beautiful newly-returned princess by the master. The lovers inspected the breastplate. What they saw left them amazed. There were three lilies on the reverse side, which immediately made them judge it as excellent in the eyes of the northern warriors. The fourth rune to tried it on, as he was more or less the same size as the God-Slayer. He found it absolutely perfect; light and comfortable, but the asking price was quite mad. The merchant, seeing the disappointment on the face of the young man, was sorry and kindly enquired:

  "My Princess, to who would this object be destined?"

  "To the Lord of the East, who is without a breastplate because his was ruined in battle," the sweet Tyra answered cordially.

  The merchant looked at the princess and the breastplate undecided and hesitant, but in the end he suggested:

  "My Lady, I will give you this breastplate, if you give it, in your turn, in my name to the Lord of the East. The magnificent decorations tell the story of the origin of his nickname: the rightful owner of this piece is the High King!"

  Tyra, in the beginning tried to refuse the overly generous offer, but at the insistence of the old merchant she gave in and accepted with the promise of praising such a gesture to the ears of the King, her father, and the other Kings at court.

  The lovers ran to the fortress of Warm Ice and, once they crossed the threshold, they ran through each narrow and dark service corridor with the hope of avoiding the long glances of the courtiers and the protective advice of the Queen Mother. They passed through the chaotic and laborious kitchens. Through the rooms and warehouses they moved quietly like small rodents until they reached the falconry tower, from which a narrow, rarely -used passage, given the cobwebs, led them to the gallery of the royal family. A huge frescoed hall, covered with magnificent decorations, pillars and architraves in gilded wood opened up and was proudly shown to the eyes of the fourth rune. Architectural elements broke up the space on the walls creating niches for an infinite number of hard-faced portraits.

  "They are the effigies of my ancestors, of my loved ones and, look, there is mine there, but as you can see many niches are waiting for the future inhabitants of these rooms," explained Tyra, jumping joyfully around her warrior while he was walking around the room.

  The Bear's Head, looking around slightly dazed, did not even realize he had crossed the threshold of Tyra's private rooms. Immediately the blond smiling beauty climbed on a bench adjacent to the large fireplace with a brightly burning fire. She took down the sword she had spoken of to the fourth Master of War. The Bear's Head, at the invitation of the princess, lifted down the rare sword forged by the Volcano.

  "Magnificent!" exclaimed the enthusiastic warrior, not enchanted by the rich decorations and engravings with which the blade was adorned, but by the astonishing lightness and balance of the weapon.

  "Do you like it, my knight?" Tyra asked, smiling and shivering with joy at the idea of having the fourth Master of the War in her rooms.

  "Certainly, my Lady! You are lucky to be able to boast such a weapon at your side. It will certainly be an ideal companion, given the times about to overwhelm us," replied the great warrior of the fourth rune visibly delighted.

  "The Father of the Gods does not want this sword to be wielded," King Grigor vigorously exclaimed, who arrived in his daughter's rooms without knocking.

  "Father, what are you doing here," Tyra asked with her head bent.

  "Do I need a reason to want to see my little girl?" the Lord of the fortress answered with a question, very unhappy to have found a man with his daughter. "You must be the fourth Master of War! I know of the great esteem with which you are customarily treated at Trondheim, where everybody bows down reverently to those belonging to your order."

  The Bear's Head hinted at a
bow and offered his greeting gracefully despite the latent hostility:

  "I offer you my compliments, King Grigor, your hospitality has no equal in my memory!"

  The King, wandering around the room, pretending to be calm, scrutinized everything in looking for signs of that an indecent relationship had taken place. Finding no trace of it, he took the sword from the hands of the fourth Master of the War, and brandished it in the air with all the skill worthy of a brave warrior.

  "You're a long way from home, knight, keep it in mind!" exclaimed King Grigor with a harsh, rough and threatening gaze, removing the ill-fitting mask of a friendly father.

  "Have I somehow offended you, my King?" the Bear's Head he asked with the all the gentility he could muster.

  "I owe you no explanation, knight! Stay away from my daughter," the Lord of the fortress replied annoyed.

  Tyra, almost enslaved by her man, burst into tears and collapsed on her bed. The visibly angered Bear's Head clenched his fists hard, perhaps to gain time and consider his options, but a solution could not be seen from any point of view.

  "What should I do according to you, Lord of South Winter, in the face of such treatment?" asked the Bear on guard and careful to avoid any demonstration of foolish aggression by his host.

  The King eyes and nostrils widened in anger over the offence taken over his words and, consequently, to his authority.

  "Heinous attitude! I will not allow you such liberties! Who do you think I am, the fool of the North?" King Grigor shouted so much that noise attracted Sersy and the Dragon so they came into the room. The Queen had been showing them some of the wonders of her home.

  At the first blow, the Bear stepped away quickly to the cries of Tyra who implored her father to leave. Two other attacks led King Grigor to the disarmed fourth rune of Trondheim, who was much more skilled in duelling than the blond Sovereign. The tip of the sword moved swiftly toward the beloved warrior in a space with little opportunity to escape. The point of the blade stopped a few centimetres from the stomach of the Bear and was then removed, even though the King still held it, by the providential Dragon. Launched with unprecedented violence, the unfriendly host ended up at the mercy of the human beast with a black heart. Without his helmet with the face of a dragon, he lowered his warrior’s head and moved towards the King who was surprised and dumbfounded by the impact. Grigor brandishing his sword hit his opponent with great force, but the solid steel of Trondheim rang out with a negative sound. Once the arm holding the sword was immobilized, the Dragon brought his cold and angular knee, like a mountain into the chest of the now defeated King. The third Master of the War found himself with a war hammer that demanded destruction and tears in his hand. When the weapon was raised above the head of the terrified King, the warrior's arm was held by the sweet Sersy. The girl threw herself around the neck of the warrior, whispering to him frightened in his ear: