TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  "Father, you cannot order me not to take part in the decisive battle of the destiny of our race!"

  It was the Bear's Head who was the first to reply:

  "My beloved, you're not skilled in the art of war you'd only be a risk!"

  The young girl's father, with a thought strangely similar to the warrior’s, was shocked:

  "Little girl, don't think you can fight just because you have a sword!"

  "No of course, father, but if the Lord of the North and the King of the East give me lessons, I can learn just like Boris, who left Vyborg never having unsheathed a sword and died as a hero, after vanquishing many enemies," the beautiful Tyra, almost unrecognizably dressed in steel, resolutely answered, sure of her convictions.

  "Exactly! You see, my daughter, young Boris is dead. And I don't want the same thing to happen to you," Grigor objected.

  "My life is no more precious than yours, father, nor of any of these men. I also feel I have a role in the pages of the history of the human era, and with or without your permission I will go with the army!"

  In the meantime, a large number of warriors in shiny armour had lined up in the square, which was covered with splendid blue and white tunics, from which gave the name to the army. At Tyra's words there arose a sound, at first distant and murmured, then loud and shouted:

  "Glory to Princess Tyra, the Warrior!"

  Holaf began laughing and the God-Slayer gave a wide smile. Both found the exaggerated nickname of the young blonde to be funny. Her father Grigor, moved both by a preponderant feeling of pride equalled by his concern for her, began complaining:

  "It seems that I find myself with a Valkyrie as a daughter! In any case, you will have to submit to orders, given by those who have more experience than you, and promise to apply yourself whenever possible to practice and exercise with the sword and shield."

  A roar broke out on the square:

  "Long live King Grigor and his warrior children."

  "Hurrah for fearless Tyra!" sang a minstrel to the side of the square.

  A soldier, who had stepped forward, knelt and said:

  "My beloved Kings, I inform you of that the preparations are complete. The troops are ready and the supplies prepared. Only you can decide when to move."

  From the window Queen Olga and Tyra’s sisters shed tears with a strange bitter taste because of the risk of losing loved ones in the war, and sweet because of their pride in seeing her daughter resolute and now a warrior, intent on pursuing the oldest Nordic tradition.

  It took only a few hours to move the imposing army of Whites, led by King Grigor in person and by the princes Geir and Eivind, the third son, who was much more skilled and indomitable than the second, who had avoided marching with them in a cowardly fashion. Tyra was not abandoned by her duenna. Elisabet was now so attached to the blonde that she considered herself to be her grandmother. Even Sersy, despite the offer to stay in Tyra's rooms, declined the cordial and kind invitation to throw the dice of her life again next to the third Master of War.

  Arian and his decimated men were merged with a heavy cavalry unit of the Whites, with the promise of the Northern Lord that they would enjoy a certain amount of autonomy. Evghenij preferred to join the Masters of War, as he fought with ferocity, in a similar manner to them. Jan was momentarily left free from battle orders. The priority for Holaf and High was to get meticulous information regarding the Damwall, and only he had recently been to this fortress. The two Kings wanted to learn of weaknesses and virtues of the structure, so as to study the best plan of action to cross it, if it had already fallen into enemy hands.

  Loving tears flowed from the eyes of the women, mothers and wives of departing knights who passed through the streets of the city. All of South Winter had poured into the main street, squeezing into every single space. All the people wished to cheer and farewell the Sovereigns and all of the brave men in a worthy fashion. White paper petals in the shape of flowers were thrown from the houses and from the crowd along the long procession; others offered cured meats and flasks of liqueur to the soldiers, who theoretically were not allowed to accept gifts, but in reality welcomed them.

  They crossed the passage over the moat surrounding the circle of defensive walls, and King Grigor, without turning around, commented:

  "Here the great war of the era of men begins!"

  A heroic silence fell, interspersed with the drumming of the horse’s hooves on the wood of the massive drawbridge.

  Chapter 32

  In the Nordic lands

  The marching army was moving under a clear winter sky so nothing could have foreseen the stormy winds blowing in those lands. Only when they turned their attention to the north west could they see distant gloomy black banks of cloud, like smoke from burning corpses. These dense clusters boiled nervously and turbulently giving off rapid red flashes like the swirling fingers of hungry flames. Under this horrific vision rain fell heavily to the ground looking like dark volcanic ash, obscuring everything.

  Eivind, marching next to his brother Geir, asked amazed:

  "Have you seen, brother, those cloud formations full of hatred on the horizon? I would like to know what power hatches his plots in the under such a sky?"

  The older brother nodded adding:

  "For weeks that unusual phenomenon has been disturbing the horizon, getting larger day after day. It is not clear what's waiting for us. For the moment the problem would seem to be in the east and not under those clouds."

  The first northern rune at the back of the two princes commented contemptuously:

  "That idiot in the west is blind and stupid. Ruin is festering for us all there!"

  "Powerful warrior, tell me what you know, please!" Eivind asked very curious.

  But the Wolf’s Head, shaking his head, answered courteously:

  "Prince, I'm sorry but I can tell you nothing for certain. I just have bad feelings about those clouds. To tell you more would be to fill your head with rumours and I would prefer not to do so!"

  The march continued rapidly on the frozen ground in the cold and inhospitable climate, but in its own way quite it was mild, limited to cold caresses of the wind.

  "Lord of the North, I am excited to be able to fight by your side! At the battle for the Citadel, my father did not want me under his command, as your command would impose, so I was deprived of that battle and the honour of knowing you earlier!" exclaimed blond Grigor, a victim of a strange exultation.

  The Lord of Trondheim had not indeed known the father of the Sovereign of South Winter, but he also did his best to give a series of compliments, heard from his own forefathers:

  "My father held your father in great esteem. He always spoke to me of him in splendid terms and trusted him blindly. As far as the battle of the Citadel is concerned, there was not much glory. To tell the truth, there was only useless and horrendous death. Fame came later, above all for the survivors, turning them into heroes. Fighting a titan makes you feel all small and insignificant and the final result is that you earn eternal sleep. When we won, we heard nothing but the roar of a thunderous fall, followed by heart-rending cries and tears."

  Tyra, next to her warrior and her elderly duenna, was filled with doubt, and restlessly found it hard to conceal her turbulent state of mind.

  "My adored one, now you have made your choice. You are stubborn and determined, and you deserve credit for it, but sometimes it would be wise to listen to those who love you and wish to advise you," gently reprimanded the Bear's Head, also worried future risks.

  The young woman sighed and breathed deeply before responding in a trembling voice:

  "I'm very afraid of the idea of living in a war, but I'd be more afraid if I stayed at home waiting for you, not knowing what fate awaits us both!"

  The Bear's Head smiled with joy and whispered so that he couldn’t be heard by her father the King:

  "My sweet Princess, if little time remains to be lived, is not for us to know. But I couldn't be happier to find out with you
by my side!" A glorious blush covered the face of the young woman, who came closer and gently reached out her hand to her Bear.

  The road to Midgard wound through a wide valley, which had never been given its own name. Most people simply called it Rune Valley. Gentle rises and hollows alternated with steep hills and dark crevasses in the ground; the vegetation was abundant but mostly low, made up of shrubs of all kinds, surrounded by mosses and lichens. Rare firs and pines leaned against each other, creating patches of vegetation which were not even mentioned by cartographers.

  Against the line of the trees of one of those minute woods, Sersy noticed a curious collection of stones stuck in the ground. The large boulders were rough-hewn columns, tall and imposing, positioned in a semicircle around a squared off stone. Each menhir was engraved with runes and rough sketches of men, or more likely Gods, emphasising the religious significance of those strange places.

  "My beloved Dragon, what does this archaic construction represent?" asked the curious black-haired Lady.

  The third Master, after looking for a moment at what Sersy was asking about, gave her a smile and, at the same time, the answer:

  "My Lady, what you see is a circle of magic stele. There are none to the east or south, nor are there any in the treacherous west. Within this perimeter of rock are performed marriages, propitiatory rites and sacrifices when the Gods are angry. Among Gott Hammer's sacred stele, considered the oldest and most powerful, the best knights of the north are elevated to the rank of War Master."

  Sersy was fascinated by the idea of a place so full of mythical powers and asked a further question:

  "My warrior, what did you feel when you crossed that intangible threshold? Did you feel the power of ascetic stones?"

  This question was not answered by the third Nordic warrior, but by the Lord of the North:

  "Beautiful Sersy, on the day of my Champion was named as a War Master, an incredible storm broke out on the Nordic Islands. The site of the Sacred Stele was so harshly beaten by the power of the winds, that I myself had problems, holding myself upright with difficulty. Heaven seemed to oppose his elevation. As black as the abysses, it opened only to hurl thunderbolts to the ground. Just as the third Master came up on the altar between the stone columns, the voice of the Father of the Gods arrived and manifested itself in the form of an immense roar that filled the air. My Champion, instead of kneeling down, as he should have done, before the Gods, he stood on the altar raising his war hammer to the sky, shouting ‘I do not fear anyone!’ At that moment an immense lightning bolt came out of the clouds and flew quickly toward the stele as if it were an immense dragon. Its power fell right in the middle of the menhir circle, scratching one. Think, Sersy, your knight was covered in flames like a phoenix, burnt and smoking, but alive!

  The dark Lady was shocked not knowing whether to believe this story or if it was just a joke:

  "Are you, my King, making fun of my naivety?"

  But the eyes of the two men were serious, and King Holaf boasted of being sincere at the cost of seeming rude. Overwhelmed by the story and by doubts, the beautiful brunette asked:

  "My knight, how did you do that?"

  "My beloved Sersy, I can't answer your question, I have asked myself the same questions countless times, but I never come to any conclusion. Perhaps the Gods were offended by my act of rebellion, or blessed me by giving me a gift of new life," the third Master of War answered vaguely without being able to do more.

  "My dear ones, I think it is the most evident proof of divine benevolence towards the Master of War. My dear Champion, every time you give yourself in battle, your deeds repay the Gods for having honoured you in such a way," the Lord of the North offered his thoughts his eyes shining with pride just at memory of such an event.

  Curious Sersy asked yet another question:

  "But then your nickname and your armour were given by the lightning?

  "Of course, my Lady, names of animals or monsters are generally adopted, chosen according to the taste of the warrior, but the Gods suggested their preferred name, and King Holaf satisfied them.

  The journey continued happily and calmly for as long as the light made it possible. As the sun vanished over the horizon next to the terrifying clouds of the west, a thick impenetrable darkness fell over the earth, offering little choice to the marching army. The Lord of the North resigned himself to the superiority of nature and ordered:

  "Organise yourselves into concentric circles keeping stores with the horses and the ladies in the centre. At the outer edge of the circle I want one fire every five steps and another circle of fire, twenty steps from the first one!

  "My Lord, the fires are a mistake, they will attract the enemy!"

  "My Vassal, the Orcs will not attack us tonight. Your men are too many and too well equipped to fear such creatures. However, the black shadows conceal beings who are much less afraid of large numbers," answered Long Sword, looking at where the hills and heights sloped down to join the plain.

  The blond and rough Grigor, following his King’s gaze, retorted:

  "Lord of the North, are you talking about the beasts, who were defeated on the walls of South Winter, as they threw themselves into the assault?"

  King Holaf nodded his assent without taking his eyes away from the darkness.

  Working as rapidly and as strongly as ants, the men set up the camp and lit the fires as commanded. For most of them it was the first night in a military camp at the mercy of the beasts. Despite this the morale of the men remained high, although a touch of fear drove them to cast a vigilant gaze past the crackling lights of the fires. It was only late at night - so many of the grains of the hourglass had passed that it could be considered early in the morning - when a cry of alarm abruptly awakened every soldier.

  "Alarm! Monsters in the darkness! Alarm!" the night watch shouted.

  Without showing panic, the men quickly got up, unsheathing and wielding all kinds of weapons, those that happened to be close to them. The warriors did not get carried away with useless shouting to drive off the fearsome beasts. Holaf and High observed the animals' behaviour. As usual they slowly emerged snarling from the darkness, their eyes shimmering in the bright colours of the fire and then fading away and disappearing.

  "Archers, prepare to fire," ordered King Holaf, visibly tense, raising his arm.

  But the beasts showed an unusual reluctance to carry out the attack, bringing to the memory of the God-Slayer the reluctance of the quadrupeds to take action against the Mountainshatterer. High immediately picked up a stick to make a torch and then moved around the perimeter between the two circles of fire. He stopped suddenly, staring angrily at the invisible blackness and shouted:

  "Yet again! No! Cursed trolls!"

  The Lord of the East threw the burning stick hard towards the unknown. The flames drew magnificent circles of light in the black sky before hitting a fat troll of the forest on the head. It had come closer to peer curiously. The being, feeling beaten, began an awkward and not worrying reaction, but seeing the archers at the ready, he turned and ran away quickly.

  Jan approached the God-Slayer, who was disconcerted, but happy with the meekness of the troll, and explained:

  "My King, there are many trolls in the northern lands. Most of them are stupid and shy. This forest troll belongs to a harmless strain. If he met a child, the scream of fear of the child would make him run away as quickly as possible."

  High looked at the warrior of the Damwall and asked a question:

  "Can your trained eyes see dangerous trolls on this black night?"

  "No, my King, I don't see or hear them, but trolls stink and often grunt or spit," Jan told him, trying to see through the mantle of the night not so much with his eyes, but using smell and hearing.

  "I'm happy about this, but I'm disturbed by the fact that I can't explain the flight of the cursed monsters!" exclaimed the worried God-Slayer walking fast towards Long Sword.

  Despite unresolved questions, the night gave
way to a cold and clear morning. The sounds of thunder remained on the horizon, as a mere memory for the knights of the dark hours spent between anguish and turbid omens. After the night the first complaints of aches and pains began to be heard, due to the humid and uncomfortable beds, all minor problems that vanished after a pleasant but quick breakfast of milk, cheese and smoked meat.

  The soldiers resumed their march to Midgard at the first light, when the shadows were still dark in their eyes. The men were not alone feeling disturbed in their souls by the strange and clumsy creatures, who moved curiously at the edge of the bush spying on the column as they moved. The surprising absence of birds and game continued. None had been seen by human eyes for a long time. This was even more remarkable in the night hours, which were usually alive and noisy, but now were full of fragile silences. The dreadful monsters offered their goodbyes with gloomy howls, hiding among the trees and rises in an attempt to instil a seed of fear in the fertile soil of the soldiers' hearts.

  The trip could certainly not be described as pleasant but, used to much worse, the soldiers of Vyborg and Tulsky shouted cheerfully dragging the other newly acquired comrades into jokes and beneficial laughter. The King of South Winter who was dissatisfied several times, turned and considered whether to intervene to stop this din. Undecided, shaking his head, he commented with bitterness:

  "We're on the way to war, and they are behaving like children!"

  "They behave like the children they are, my faithful friend! The vast majority of them have less than half of our years," Holaf quietly answered.

  "Very true! Let's also remember the importance of their morale: if it collapses, the men will also cave in, giving rise to disagreements and very dangerous thoughts," High added, recalling the recent attempt at insubordination.

  "My King, look at the horizon," the breathless scout shouted, pointing to Midgard's square silhouette rising dark on the horizon.