TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  Crossing the bridge there was not enough space for the army inside the parade ground. Thousands of citizens had hidden among its stones, cramming in like frightened chicks, filling every cranny. It was difficult for High, Holaf and Grigor even to pass through without their horses, trying not to trample on the objects belonging to the dumb refugees. Only one of the citizens had the courage to reach out to King Holaf and whisper with a voice ruined by old age:

  "My Lord, I served with your father first, and then under your own command, as long as my legs could carry the weight of arms."

  Holaf smiled at the old man who was holding a child and answered:

  "In saving that little boy, you served me last night too, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, dear soldier!"

  Trym, Norber's son, was waiting on the threshold of the inner building. He was, by now no younger, perhaps even older than High. The prince, in his grey lacquered armour, offered a deep bow and welcomed the three Sovereigns:

  "My Lords, welcome to the Runic Fortress! My father, for several moons, has been waiting for you so that he can resolve your doubts or present you with new ones! Please follow me!"

  After paying homage to the son of the Druid, the Sovereigns were escorted to the great hall of the throne, one of the least sumptuous rooms ever encountered. The bare stone had golden reflections as the only decoration of the great hall, which was soaring, cheerless and dark. Six large columns dominated the space, dividing it into three equal naves. On the ground, no marbles or gems paved the floor, but humble slabs of ruined grey rock. Even the throne reflected the humble style of the room, made of narrow planks of wood with only runes adorning the surface. The backrest was padded and covered in black fur, while a large lambskin covered the seat; it was not an adornment or a frill, but a blanket to protect the elderly King, unfamiliar with delicate details, from the rigours of a winter.

  They continued to walk through room after room, each one more spartan than the last until they reached a strangely descending staircase. The four, with no fear or uncertainty, stepped down into the shimmering half-light, which harboured in those narrow walls, the most menacing thoughts. The long staircase led them to a second solid wooden portal, held in place by anonymous solid and sturdy hinges strongly fixed to the walls.

  After crossing the threshold, the three guests were stunned and overwhelmed with amazement. A huge natural cave opened up in front of them, filled with proud stalactites and stalagmites, hanging from the vaults and rising from the ground, like gigantic white teeth in the darkness of the shadows. A very long staircase sculpted by human hands fell harshly and steeply to an underground lake. The mirror of water with its clear and calm crystal-coloured waves showed no signs of corruption. High was amazed to find healthy water and asked:

  "How has this lake not fallen prey to the bloodthirsty beings?"

  Trym continued to descend the steps and answered:

  "My Lord, these waters are springs which never flow to the surface. They fall directly into the void surrounding the earth."

  Candid white calcareous formations emerged from the stone walls simulating waterfalls but of solid waters, which flowed smoothly to the edge of the lake. An elegant wooden walkway at the level of the water allowed the illusion of being able to walk on the surface to reach a ring of majestic limestone columns, which emerged from the water and rose high up to the vault.

  In that sacred circle Norber sat on a pile of furs. Despite his age his body was massive covered by an imposing steel mesh suit of mail. The rings grasping each other, giving protection, alternated in a pattern of three burnished rows followed by three polished ones creating a unique decoration. A rigid breastplate with refined ribbing, designed to make the surface more solid, reinforced the protection of his chest. All the edges were covered with a wide bronze band, with verses in runic alphabet, which by now could be clearly understood only by a few chosen sages.

  The old King did not cover his head with steel or leather, but left his long hair flowing. It was now the pure colour of wisdom. The wavy hair mixed with his thick and imposing beard, left to look after itself, mixing and curling round his long moustache. On his face were many scars from battles of long ago the most notable scar being the loss of his left eye.

  "Welcome, my Lords, luckily you are safe and sound despite many adversities!" Norber received them without getting up or bowing, considering the ceremonies common in palaces only a waste of time.

  The Kings were invited to sit on skins inside the tall and slender columns, soaring so high that they were lost in the darkness of the vault. The Druid threw a handful of human finger bones, on which runic symbols had been engraved, and bent over them to observe the result. The old Sovereign could no longer see much, but despite this he was able to understand the will of the Gods. It was such an evocative place that it captured the admiring glances of those who like High had never had the honour of attending a runic consultation.

  The old man returned to his seat, closed his eye on people and incredibly spoke without opening his mouth. A deep voice came directly into the minds of the Kings:

  "You demand enlightenment on the grazing herds of death among those who close their eyes to dispel their fears. You crave the name of the people predestined for the tragic shock of war. You long for the knowledge of the path taken by the hand of fate!"

  The voice stopped causing almost incredulous astonishment at such an event in High's mind, and the solid and unshakable faith in the minds of the two Nordic interlocutors. There followed a second throw of the runes and then a second observation. The voice resumed, ringing the heads of the Sovereigns:

  "You want an answer regarding incontrovertible truths which are already known to you!"

  The Lord of the North dared to speak, asking:

  "Druid, tell us where to move. The salvation of all will depend on the disposition of the armies. The Kingdom is vast and the rivers are now our enemies so it takes weeks to move the armies."

  The voice delayed in replying, as Norber picked up a bone from the skins and threw it back among the smoke of the numerous lighted candles around them. The ethereal voice began speaking again:

  "Through the blurred veils of time I see mountains of naked black stone, bleeding green rivers, I see a great sea of pain coming relentlessly to spread its poison among men. I glimpse the harpies, dedicated to deciding on heroes," the voice stopped again, but only while waiting for another throw of all the bones. "You march along painful paths, your attempt to avoid war has turned into a hastening of the already miserable times. Your step, Lord of Trondheim, stirs up clamour beyond the Empire of United Men and does not only cause dissension."

  King Holaf, surprised by an omen revealing unexpected agreement, dared to ask for further enlightenment:

  "Please tell me, what forces beyond our borders support the path we have taken? What barbarous tribe follows the same ideals as ours?"

  "Your intentions would be the same as everyone fighting this war, men, Orcs, trolls, giants and titans. If they weren't foolish, each one more than the next, they would unite, because an enemy is spreading among peoples corroding and fomenting without being seen. When this power is revealed, there will be very few arrows in the bows of brave human heroes," replied the voice shaking with wrath.

  High dared to make his voice heard by asking the question:

  "Could you tell us about these hidden forces?"

  The voice gave a strong dissonant painfully high cry and then replied:

  "Unbelieving son of one God, you ask the right question, but shadows crowd in wherever our gaze is turned in search of the true enemy. Occult forces of mysterious power and demonic presence are so strong that they make this body that is supporting us faint, the consultation must be interrupted."

  The three Sovereigns looked at each other, uncertain and unhappy about the sibylline answers given by the runes. The words of the runes were given in ringing vibrant tones, but this time just for Holaf's mind:

  "Lord of the North, you ca
rry an eye that is not your own. Great powers are concealed in you, but the beast from which it was removed, by his own nature is full of wicked fury. Such an eye could give rise to infinite justice just as it could bring total destruction. Do not trust every revelation the flames whisper to you, for the will of the eye could take over and lead you to a mistaken destiny."

  King High dared to ask a further question of the visionary Druid:

  "Tell me, among the bones and runes, what future do you see for men?"

  "Infidel, you ask too big a question to be answered," the chilling voice denied the request, ringing again in everyone's heads.

  The Druid threw the mystical symbols for a last time for a new reading and disclosed the verdict:

  "We will explain to you as much as we can untangle of the black shadows of the near future. We are terrified by a destructive dragon next to a victorious two-headed snake on a mountainous pile of skeletons. We see a candid blade among festive people in procession on lifeless bodies, but we see life, where death thrives, we see many tears but we cannot tell if they are tears of joy or sorrow."

  That said, Norber opened his eye and breathed deeply several times, lacking oxygen as if he were emerging from the depths of knowledge. The three rather perplexed guests remained silent and meditated, trying to untie the knots offered by his answers. Grigor, lost among the fragments of these complex revelations, felt the unpleasant sensation of not having obtained any answers. The King of South Winter was not accustomed to such intellectual exercises and commented:

  "We it would have been better to make a human sacrifice to delight the warrior Gods. They prefer blood to chatter and would have given us clear answers."

  Holaf and High did not answer, intent and absorbed in their thoughts. Norber asked:

  "What did the voice reveal to you? I act only as a mediator and I never hear the answers if they do not concern me."

  High replied politely and briefly as usual:

  "The place where Orcs will attack, I suppose."

  King Holaf, quite agitated, asked how he came to such a conclusion:

  "Where did you get this idea, my brother?"

  The God-Slayer thought for a moment and then explained:

  "Mountains of naked black stone are definitely the rock peaks towards the east. They are as black as oblivion as shiny as crystals and have no vegetation. The voice also added a phrase like "bleeding green rivers": those greedy green creatures live only in the east, and there are so many of them that they look like the course of a river."

  An extremely tense silence fell, broken only by a protest from Grigor:

  "It’s possible, but the Orcs can also be brown or black, and there are some races even in the north."

  Long sword intervened saying:

  "The runes reveal signs, flashes of truth, but they will never tell us the colour of the skin of every enemy, but they will certainly offer a direction, often open to interpretation."

  The Lord of the North looked straight into the eyes of his sword brother, shook his head and gave a hint of a smile before exclaiming:

  "As always, you are the best at reading between the lines! We'll move the armies towards Black Portal, where the mountains become darker and harsher. It is the most plausible direction for a mass invasion. We have nothing left to decide except which road to travel in the shortest possible time so we are not forced to travel in haste as usual."

  In unison Grigor, High and Norber exclaimed: "Rockroad!"

  The three looked at each other for a moment then High spoke:

  "The only passable road is through the Damwall. Crossing the mountains at the Karn Pass in the middle of winter with, in addition, the angry monsters covering every mountain range is unthinkable. Imagine a large contingent of Orcs, well nestled between the steep rocks of a narrow mountain pass. Their arrows would target us, annihilating us all, it would be the end for everyone!"

  "I can see no objection to this reasoning," commented Grigor.

  "Alas! You are right, but the Damwall lies abandoned and could be a huge problem. If it has fallen into enemy hands, it might even be insurmountable," he told King Holaf.

  "If the Damwall proves to be an enemy, I would take the risk of trying to go over the Goat-Horn Mountains, which are lower and less difficult than the others in the area. But rather than taking the path to certain death I mentioned earlier, I would cast the dice of fate and cross the Great Fangs," High exclaimed, presenting his unshakeable conviction to the listeners.

  "My dear brother, so be it, you are convinced and I have no more valid objections. So we’ll head for that cursed field of stones in the hope of finding our way clear," the King of the Nordic Kings said as he stood up.

  "My King, I must apologize to you, but I no longer have men to join your cause. As you know, my army is fighting in the north, to repel the barbarian landings," the Druid excused himself in his old, laboured voice.

  Long Sword, unaware of battles in the north, became interested to hear news of his home:

  "King Norber, what do you know of my city?"

  The old man looked at him with his only remaining eye into the King's only open eye and answered:

  "Calm yourself, Lord of the North! Your son Erik will be a great King and your second son Roar will not be outdone, but you should be proud of Oyvind. The young prince looks very much like you in battle. The troops have nicknamed him the Furious after doing his best to save the Queen, your wife, from a mortal fate."

  King Holaf’s eyes widened and he said:

  "My third son is a hero! That is wonderful! But how is my wife? Do you have news?"

  The old monarch smiling replied:

  "My Sovereign, Queen Anastasia, is more than able to look after herself, as you well know. When the enemy forces are overwhelming, the War Masters come to her side to do battle. As well, your son follows her like a shadow. What can you be afraid of?"

  High, pleased to hear good news about the family of his dear brother, gave him a slight nudge and joking asserted:

  "You don't have to fear for them, but for our lives. We're about to get into trouble!"

  Grigor, appealing to every drop of arrogance in his body, commented:

  "It's our enemies who are in trouble, they're going to taste the steel of my sword! I challenge you, God-Slayer, we shall see who among us will take down more enemies from now until the end of the war!"

  High found the proposal strange, but jokingly accepted the unprecedented challenge.

  "You are crazy," commented smiling Holaf. "You know well that I will put more of them on the ground than you!"

  "To tell the truth, brother, I would suggest we not extend the invitation to the Masters of War, or the victory will be theirs if they contend for it," the Lord of the East interjected in a delighted tone of voice.

  Holaf approved of the idea and asked:

  "But in your opinion, if the Dragon learns of such a challenge, would he not solve everything alone?" A thunderous roar rang through the cave giving a small moment of joy in such gloomy times.

  Late in the afternoon, the two Sovereigns did not feel like forcing the men into a risky night out at the mercy of monsters and fears. The Lord of the North preferred not to move the army then, but to aim to reach the Damwall the next evening in the hope of not having to ride around it. The God-Slayer organized the camp so the warriors spent a quiet night. A fundamental necessity was to set up lookouts and to close the drawbridge tight. The few men of the city militia who survived offered to halve the number of lookouts needed by replacing some of the unfortunate ones chosen, who the next day would have to face the arduous march to Rockroad. Such a welcome proposal was so well received by the army that a cry of thanks arose spontaneously, vigorously shaking the icy evening air:

  "Long live Midgard! Long live King Norber! Three cheers for the North!"

  With the arrival of the hours of darkness came the inevitable wails and howls. Not even restless growls and roars were missing from the black shadows.

 
The stars did not give their light or companionship fully to those who were slow to fall asleep, lingering with doubts and discomfort. Thin fast moving clouds ploughed through the sky, propelled southwards by strong gusts of glacial Nordic breath. King High collapsed immediately into the slumber of the warrior, while Holaf, beside him, struggled to fall asleep, annoyed by doubts and by slight but sudden pains in his eye. The King of Trondheim brooded over the words heard from the runes through the Druid, without being aware of their real meaning. It took some time, but finally even the powerful man from the north collapsed into dreams.

  The Dragon was secluded with his Sersy where they gave themselves over to a warm whirlwind of affection. For the first time he was a man in love and she a free woman, carving out a moment of well-deserved intimacy which neither had enjoyed from time immemorial.

  Tyra fell asleep in the arms of the Bear's Head, who watched and looked over her, gently caressing her head. Her royal father passed through that corridor in search of his rebellious blonde daughter and was greeted by a slight nod from the fourth Master of the War. King Grigor strangely did not feel anger seeing Tyra sleeping and serene in the arms of the man he was so greatly opposed to. In order not to spoil her delicate sleep, the King responded as quietly as possible to the warrior's gesture and then went to bed.

  The Nordic morning arrived early. The unpleasant cold had brought a white blanket of snowflakes into the night. Everything was covered with a thin layer of icy cotton flakes, covering the traces of the monstrous beasts that ventured back onto the walls, this time warded off by expert knights.

  When the Lord of the North left the rooms of the Runic Fortress to take the lead of the army, he noticed that army was in good heart and was pleased. At the front on the way out the younger son of King Norber awaited the three Sovereigns armed to the teeth. He was such a young boy but already so able in battle. The prince was next to a beautiful steed, and all wrapped up in his white fox mantle to repel the assaults of the cold. The fur gave him an unusual ostentatious appearance. King Holaf, approaching on the back of his splendid mare asked: