TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  The Lord of the North brought his hand to his forehead and half closed his eye to see better, then stood in his saddle twisting himself towards the marching army, with all his breath he shouted:

  "Men, Midgard is on the horizon!"

  The soldiers responded by hitting their shields with the hilt of their swords and making a noise like the rattle of a huge blue and white rattlesnake, snaking through the countryside.

  With the Goat-Horn Mountain chain acting as a background, the army approached the defensive walls of Midgard. An archer of the Black Portal had been watching the walls for some time but they were still too far away to enjoy the details.

  "My knight, what disturbs you?" asked the ever-wise Lord of the East of his soldier in the front line.

  "My King, at first those plumes of smoke seemed harmless to me, but now I'm afraid it's something else.

  The smoke is too dark and dense to be wood smoke," replied the warrior of the escort.

  "Your fears seem to be well-founded even in my eyes," answered the God-Slayer caressing his horse.

  King Holaf joined in after listening to what the Lord of the East and his warrior had said:

  "I think you are right! I have been observing this for a long time, and taking into account the long-standing problem of the almost total lack of soldiers within the walls of Midgard, the tragic possibility of an attack by the Orcs is sadly not to be excluded. We had better send a couple of explorers to avoid falling into an ambush!"

  There was no need to ask for volunteers either. The Dragon and the Wolf promptly offered to open the way for the army. The Lord of Trondheim was not at all enthusiastic about their exuberance in the face of war, and he would have liked to hear less valuable warriors voices offering to risk their lives, but the War Masters yearned for action and sought glory beyond all else.

  The two knights with a gloomy appearance moved away detaching themselves from the rest of the army, which stopped at a distance so as not to be observed by any lookouts. The explorers moved away from the main road, and then found a suitable place to leave their steeds to graze on the hard grass of the north, hidden by a large boulder. Moving quickly through the fields and taking advantage of the limited cover offered by dry undergrowth and stones, they moved quietly, arriving under the city walls.

  The outer perimeter walls of Midgard appeared intact, with beautifully decorated with bas-reliefs and geometrical and runic motifs. These decorations had an astounding effect, as they were made of a splendid stone of a very deep orange hue, which was in strong contrast with the grey walls. The decorations followed the shape of every loophole, arch and pillar breaking the flat monotony of the defensive wall. A remarkable emotional effect was the forced on minds of any invaders, as the orange decorations seemed to catch fire, shining in the light of the sun's rays on a clear day. The walls showed slight damage, due to ancient battles: the city of Midgard went back to the first era of men and over the centuries had known very few rivals. One unpleasant detail noted by the two warriors of the north was that they couldn’t see helmets appearing and disappearing between one battlement and the other on the walkways.

  "What do you say, my brother?" asked the Wolf.

  "I say the miasma of dung hangs too clearly over this place. We should go and see if the portal is closed or lowered," replied the Dragon carefully looking at the surrounding area to understand how to move safely.

  Crawling, the two warriors moved towards the front of the city, where a massive imposing crenellated tower showed the signs of a struggle. Blackening caused by fiery arrows could be seen along the banks of the wide moat, where they lay among many brown and greenish Orcs. Some of them burned, others pierced, darkening the remaining snow around the moat with their disgusting black blood. There was no lack of smashed heads, fallen onto the grass, broken by mighty boulders, thrown from the top of the walls, and there was also a complete lack of armigers on the walkways. Deep and vivid scratches were noticed at various points, similar to those of gigantic felines, left on the trees. The lowered drawbridge did not bode well.

  "Damnation! The gates are wide open, the city lies unguarded," whispered the Dragon crouched down among the grass.

  "Yes, and I see corpses past the keep," added the Wolf.

  "It is vital that we go and explore the tower at least, and only when the escape route is firmly in our hands can we allow the army to advance. If we were to enter like the waves of the sea into a channel without controlling the bridge, they could close it behind us and massacre us," the third Master made his intentions clear, looking at the first master with firm conviction.

  "I am with you, my brother, let's go!" exclaimed the Wolf's Head, leaping quickly towards the wide-open gates of the city, followed by his companion at arms.

  The drawbridge seemed to be in excellent condition, as if they had not had time to lift it. There were no signs of hooks, usually used by Orcs to open the way, in a deadly tug-of-war. The grate had suffered a completely different fate. Deformed and largely torn away, it showed signs of the violence of a brutal force at three metres from the pavement. The two knights looked other in the eye, dissatisfied with these omens to say the least: they remembered well the strength of the brutal Green Commander killed by King Holaf or, even worse, of the recent enemy, the Mountainshatterer.

  "If we come across enemies capable of this, we could do little with just two of us," snorted the first Nordic warrior following the Dragon, who slipped through a small door to climb the tower.

  The spiral staircase grasped the walls like a snake around his prey in the narrow stairwell. The steps themselves were steep and unstable. At the top, a small, sturdy door blocked the way. The Dragon tried to open it, but obviously it was barred from the inside. The solution came through brute force, applied by the two warriors, who were able to remove the tiny obstacle, but with much effort and after several attempts.

  There was a stench of death in the room. Coagulated blood could be seen sprayed on walls, floor and even on the ceiling. Parts of bodies that had been thrown everywhere made the air unbreathable.

  "Death surprised the guards through this window. There are traces of claws, and the door is smashed," the Wolf's Head hypothesised, carefully inspecting the window.

  "That explains why the bridge lies open without any sign of struggle! They surprised and killed the guards by lowering the bridge with the winches. I suppose the reinforcements arrived, otherwise the grate would also have been opened and not broken," the Dragon used his logic to understand the meaning of all these strange events.

  The two warriors checked every room in the tower, but there was nothing presented but horrific massacres and unspeakable ugliness.

  "You go and call King Holaf with the army, I will hold the position until your arrival," proposed the Dragon's Head.

  The Wolf thumped his fist on his chest and without saying a single word he descended like an avalanche down the narrow spiral staircase. The Dragon saw him running on the bridge from the window and heading back along the way they had come to retrieve the horses. When the first warrior disappeared into the bushes, the third Master moved to the other side to observe and evaluate the situation in the city and look for information about the enemy's location.

  .

  Chapter 33

  Runic consultation

  The beautiful Midgard had been badly violated. Many of the half-buried wooden houses on the hillsides had been burned down. Of the splendid wooden carvings placed as an ornament on each architrave, jamb or column, sad embers of smoking charcoal remained. There were few buildings that could be called untouched; disfigured statues lay dying on the ground staring at those who were really dying.

  The great sacred fountain of the runes, which had always been at the centre of the parade ground, had been raped by the ignorant and iconoclastic fury of the unknown enemies. Its splendid, ancient statues lay shattered inside the pool. The God of lightning, the only figure still standing, seemed to cry out at the top of his voice, full of anger and
desire for revenge. Under the heavy stone bust of the Goddess dedicated to fertility, the pipe that provided the playful water that flowed among the Gods had been distorted and partially obstructed: now, dying, it regurgitated red liquid in bursts.

  In the far north of the city, the Runic Fortress stood timid, veiled by the plumes of smoke of now dead fires. At first glance it didn't seem damaged or defeated to the eyes of the Dragon. The soldier even allowed himself the luxury of hoping for an extreme defence by the inhabitants.

  The hooves of the horses knocked on the drawbridge thousands of times. King Holaf put himself in the front row, his helmet with its demon effigy covering his face he shouted:

  "What chaos this is!"

  "My King, the Runic Fortress, at first glance, would seem to be in very good condition. You can't see smoke rising from beyond the walls and the drawbridge is also sealed," the Dragon told the listeners, leaving out the destruction seen from the top of the tower.

  "Well, my Champion, so we have to do no more than reach it through this sea of ruins," Holaf answered ironically making the venture seem simple.

  "House by house?" asked High.

  "It would take too long and we cannot allow ourselves that luxury." Holaf answered undecided about what to do.

  "Invading a city is always a costly undertaking in terms of human lives. This is also a price we can't allow ourselves," Grigor exclaimed, trying to protect his men.

  As the Kings were talking and the men lost their good humour among corpses and rubble, a dark silhouette was coming along the ruined main street. The shadow came along on foot unnaturally calm, leading a horse by the bridle.

  Tyra shook her father to attract the attention of the Kings:

  "Who is that man, my Lords?"

  The Lord of the North, not being able to recognize him, called the warriors to attention and ordered:

  "Knights! Wall of shields! Be strong, for the Gods are watching us!"

  The figure did not vary its speed, nor did it say anything as it came close to the line of defence. It wore armour of a strange rough and opaque material, similar to solidified lava. There were no openings or gaps in that defence, but there were slight red flashes pulsating along the cracks on the surface of the plates.

  Geir asked King Holaf quietly and with concentration:

  "My Lord, should I order the crossbowmen to line up?"

  "No, my lad, it wouldn't help, because that warrior is Denethor's Sire Stern," the great King of the North answered without any emotion, having recognized the being who had appeared in front of him.

  The man with the extravagant armour did not need to talk or make any other gesture. The soldiers of the wall opened like gates at the presentation of a monarch. Stern approached the Sovereigns in all his horror. From the small horned helmet that did not cover much protruded a long ice coloured face. All his yellow teeth were on display, pointed like the tusks of wolf. His cheeks had been cut away by an incompetent hand wielding an unsharpened blade. A series of thin and bloodless pieces of flesh hung long and horribly from his cheekbones like the curtains of hell covering a black abyss of terror. The face was framed by greasy hair, coloured as black as the blackest night. From the helmet through the large round holes of the half mask protecting the eyes, nothing could be seen, only a deep void like his other brother Inquisitors.

  Denethor's warrior swallowed up all the joy and gave an absolute sense of discomfort to every living person. He stretched out his hand, armed with a chain mace. Its evocative head looked like a skull with four faces, bristling with long spikes pointed towards King Holaf. He issued a judgement:

  "You are late. Many innocent people could have been saved if you hadn't gone south only to see the dead!"

  The warrior noticed the mighty Dragon who had come forward to defend the Lord of the North.

  "How much loyalty, warrior, at least for now! I would say equal only to your anger and second only to your strength. You would have been useful to me last night against the Orcs!" exclaimed the gruesome Inquisitor, addressing the third rune of Trondheim.

  "What happened? How could such an evil thing have occurred? Why didn’t the defences hold up?" Grigor asked impetuously, not knowing anything about Denethor's Inquisitors.

  The perverse being turned slowly towards Tyra's father and spoke to him:

  "Don't you see? Can't you recognize a battlefield anymore? You have been far from any action for too long. You are the same as the fat monarchs of the west allowing much of your proud Nordic origins to shine through. What defences are you talking about? The city was in the hands of the elderly, too old to wield a weapon and young people too inexperienced to face an enemy. Only those who managed to reach the fortress survived. I myself died thousands of times to drive the beasts out of the city."

  Stern looked at High and Holaf and informed them:

  "The city is now empty, not a living man moves among these pious places. Go to the Runic Fortress and talk to the survivors about the tragedy in the imminent future. Ask the runes what you already know in your heart and march towards death!"

  No one breathed. All of them were turned to stone in the presence of that entity endowed with extraordinary power, able to make the air vibrate around them and annihilate joy. Mounting on horseback, he came close enough to Long Sword to show him his forked blue tongue hidden between his teeth as he spoke:

  "Show me your eye, Lord of the North!" Stern ordered.

  Holaf took off his helmet and stared at the creature with the eye of magma. The flames immediately enveloped him, seeking pain and suffering, but they were unable to find any trace of it.

  "My Cyfer brother must have believed greatly in you to make you such a gift," the anguished being commented in his hissing voice.

  "I, to tell you the truth, am not able to control this eye. Every time I try to use it I faint," replied the King of the North.

  Stern, shaking his head and moving away, exclaimed:

  "The Trondheim Demon can't handle an eye of the ancient demons? Not good! Once you learn, you will have a power your disposal, able to extinguish Gods in these enigmatic times and if you allow yourself to be dominated you will die consumed by its will!"

  King Holaf tried to follow him, but Dawn Reflection refused to move. Long Sword dismounted from his horse in an attempt to ask more questions and get answers about his own uncertainties, but the Inquisitor did not stop, ignoring the pleas of the Nordic Sovereign. Holaf returned unhappily to his horse and caressing her, remounted.

  "My King, don’t let it upset you. That rude warrior seemed delirious to me. Certainly no truths were hidden in his words," Grigor commented in an attempt to cheer his Sovereign.

  High did not speak a word, keeping his thoughts to himself. Pensive and with a frown on his face, he reflected on the unpleasant words of the Inquisitor, without however, unravelling his secrets.

  Along the main street, amidst piles of dead ravaged and defeated Orcs, the men found a corpse with its armour identical to that of the warrior of Denethor. The curiosity moved the soldiers to approach to check who he was, but they all remained petrified, when they turned the corpse to reveal the same disfigured face covered in blood. Everywhere among the burned houses, on the sidewalks on the sides of the road, they could not look without finding the corpse of a soldier, identical to the terrifying Stern, stabbed, torn apart or dismembered.

  Holaf, shaken by the surprising revelation, repeated in a low of voice:

  "I myself died thousands of times."

  Grigor could not believe his eyes and muttered confused:

  "I thought he was crazy, but he was just the opposite! Maybe he was a monster, but certainly sincere."

  Moving with difficulty among the lifeless bodies, which were covering the ground ever more thickly as the shadow of the Runic Fortress came closer. The army entered the once shining Midgard, now little more than a necropolis. The hooves of the horses sank into the corpses, grinding the poor human carcasses and stumbling over the larger, tougher Orcs. To
avoid trampling on the dead and damage to horses, which were very valuable for the war, the Lord of the North, after conferring with King High, gave the order:

  "My soldiers, let us move the dead to the side of the road, show mercy for these poor men!"

  A White Commander asked:

  "My Lord, what do we do with Orcs?"

  "Drag that carrion away from the street as best you can, saving your strength. Those who kill women and children do not deserve mercy," the Lord of the East replied dry and icy.

  "My King, and the many corpses of that knight?" asked another soldier uncertainly.

  The Sovereign of Trondheim ordered him peremptorily:

  "My knight, the bodies of Stern must be treated with respect. Although the Denethor Inquisitor is rude and picturesque, without his intervention we would all be dead!"

  After the charitable work respecting the bodies, the army arrived quickly before the walls, leaving behind few piles of Green Orcs, compared to the poor citizens and an incredible number of corpses with pointed teeth and waxy skin.

  A friendly human voice resonated asking from the fortress:

  "Which Lord does your army follow?"

  King Holaf came forward on his horse and looking for the warrior hidden among the battlements, his voice echoed like the tide among the rocks:

  "This army responds to my will! I am Holaf Erlingson, Lord of the North!"

  The small well protected soldier dared to lean out of his shelter as if to see better and, pleased with what he saw, immediately ordered:

  "Lower the bridge and raise the grille, friends are knocking at our doors!"

  The man wearing a wide helmet turned again towards his King:

  "My Lord, what an unexpected but pleasant surprise! Welcome into the walls of the fortress."

  The Runic Fortress, an ancient fortified sanctuary, was considered a sacred place by the peoples of the proud north. Mystical powers were attributed to it, capable of influencing every facet of daily life. The walls and the inner sancta sanctorum were made of huge boulders of stone never found since in human quarries. They were engraved and embellished with runic symbols that adorned almost the entire surface. The dark stone had little grain but reflections of gold, which were even more visible where the chisels broke through the natural lines veining the stone, tracing indelible geometric lines.