TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  "What intention are you concealing under that mantle, young Prince?"

  The boy arrogantly answered:

  "I‘m not hiding anything, life is too short to play politics, bargaining or subterfuges. I will come with you, and if you do not want me, my Lord, I will follow you all the same!"

  "How much determination in such a small body," teased Grigor, the Blond.

  The prince showed he had tongue as sharp as a the sword and replied without delay:

  "I'm small, it's true, but you'll never see me fighting using strength. I don't have a sword as large as the men of the north, but one that allows me to strike quickly and run away!"

  High looked at Long Sword with a satisfied smiling expression. Holaf complacently commented:

  "I presume it is no accident that your nickname is Hard Head. Surely you don't use your head as a sledgehammer to knock down enemies, but you'll have been given this name because of the stubbornness of your character. Beware that you do not break the rules of my army. In this army everyone does their duty without complaining, and no one disobeys the orders of superiors!"

  The young man with his blond hair, so pale that it looked white, opened his blue eyes wide and nodded, repeating:

  "I have no objection to your command!"

  "If your sword proves to be half as fast and sharp as your tongue, you will be an excellent knight," he was welcomed by the Lord of the East who allowed him a place in the ranks. But Prince Gunnar Hard Head also had to answer to this:

  "You will surely see how my sword cuts and you will be happy to have accepted me among you!"

  The two Kings looked each other questioningly, having seen many knights boast exceptional gifts and courage in the past. But they often vanished like snow in the spring after the first arrow.

  "Begin the march, warriors, toward glory, before others sit in our place among the Gods," the warm and full voice of Lord of Trondheim echoed vigorously. Prince Geir repeated the order, far behind the head of the column. A loud roar replied from the ranks, praising the glory of the Empire of the United Men, while the long glinting metallic snake resumed its march.

  Leaving the devastated city, there was no festive confetti thrown into the air this time, but on the ground the whitened corpses of the poor inhabitants and of those who heroically fell fighting the horrible beasts. An endless pathway of horror surrounded the riders through the desolate streets to the drawbridge, which was lowered just before they crossed and raised again a moment later for fear of a rapid invasion.

  Old King Norber with his two daughters and Trym stayed to watch the army move away among the pines and firs, travelling over the undulating moors of Midgard, like a sinuous dragon marching towards its destiny.

  "Do you think they will succeed in their task, whatever it may be, Father?" Prince Trym asked without taking his eyes away from the brave warriors.

  "They must succeed for the good of all," asserted the Druid with his frowning white eyebrows, "the survival of all that breathes depends on them."

  Chapter 34

  Riding ahead once again

  A lookout from the back of the group galloped up, rushing in haste to the Kings, shouting as loudly as he could:

  "Orcs, my King, Green skins in a line!

  The Lord of the North slowed down followed by the God-Slayer and gave an order:

  "King Grigor, go ahead, we'll see what is to be done."

  The Dragon, on his own initiative, detached himself from the column and joined the two Kings and the lookout riding to the back of the group. The four arrived at the rear of the army and saw a large group of rapidly moving watchful Orcs behind them. The way these beings moved, their continuous observation, trying to seek out every narrow opening, suggested to men that it was not an assault horde, but a pack of explorers. Awkward and clumsy, their horrendous muzzles emerged from the undergrowth and then immediately retreated. They moved from rock to tree, in irregular spurts, almost always choosing hiding places that were not able to hide their bulky bodies.

  "How the hell did such creatures cross our borders and evade our lookouts? Where were the Allied armies looking?" the Lord of the East asked bitterly, feeling almost as if he were responsible for such unfortunate events.

  "My King, I have no answers to solve your dilemmas, but I believe totally that there is a manipulator behind these beings. Those very stupid enemy beasts could never have travelled this far alone. As we all know by now, the real enemy is more subtle and perfidious, and these disgusting Orcs seem more and more like a diversion, like puppets, moved by invisible threads from far away," commented the Dragon relieving the Lord of the East of his self-inflicted faults.

  "I think we can do nothing but to continue to observe their movements so that we are not caught unprepared. Dealing with them would only be a loss in terms of time and human lives, and both of which could prove too costly," proposed the powerful King Holaf, who already turned towards the head of the army again. No one contradicted the Lord of Trondheim. They followed him quickly, entrusting the lookout with the task of watching from the rear of the moving column.

  Snow floated on gusts of wind, until the hour of the smallest shadows of the sun arrived. The landscape changed considerably. The trees shrank first and then became rare visions. The pleasant grass, greatly appreciated for its property of offering the possibility of a damp but welcome gallop died out, leaving first frozen ground and finally unstable stone under the horse’s hooves. The smooth boulders alternating with Midgard's gentle hills grew larger, widening and growing taller. The rock formations often rose up to twenty meters above the ground, giving life to an inhospitable sort of petrified forest, making it difficult to trot. Beside the army, the Goat-Horn Mountains rose to the north, covered in snow, while to the south, the Great Fangs mountain range ran alongside, the Goat Horn forming an uncomfortable funnel shape of barren stones and sharp boulders.

  Holaf looked at High and Grigor, who exclaimed, not very happy to pass through that place:

  "Rockroad, home of trolls and the tomb of many!"

  The steep spurs of rock emerging from the stones extending their skeletal forms to impressive heights, as they became larger and closer making the men and horses feel more and more claustrophobic and anxious. The monotonous grey of the landscape had spread to the sky, which lead to lively and incessant snowfalls. The view was limited to no more than ten steps by the swirl of the snowflakes. In that harsh environment it was equivalent to complete blindness. The men were alarmed by the loud noise of moving stones, coming from the eastern slope nearest to them. Long Sword did not want to call a halt to the march, knowing full well that he could not face a battle in such a terrible position. It would lead to a far too onerous tribute in lives and perhaps even to outright defeat. For this reason, the King of the North preferred to encourage the men to take more risks, accelerating the pace, between the insidious rocks.

  Jan skilfully led his companions through the intricate maze of stony fangs, always following the path less constricted and cramped so as not to risk losing any man. As if by magic, the menhirs noticeably thinned out, giving way to vast expanses of stones, fine enough to allow an awkward walking pace or a difficult duel. Jan, turning around, pointed with his arm to a dark shadow on the horizon, difficult to distinguish from Rockroad:

  "My Lords, here is the Damwall!"

  The Damwall was not a real fortress, but rather a valley, an imposing barrier, built to block Rockroad from north to south, making the transit theoretically impassable, apart from passing through its doors. The eyes of the Kings could see a defensive slope of about fifteen degrees surmounted by a vertical wall, high enough to make the low clouds seem at arm’s reach. Both sides of the Damwall were made of sturdy local boulders, which were easily found in that area. The solidity of the construction was guaranteed by the presence of metal reinforcements sunk into foundation holes dug into the stone blocks. This construction method prevented the bricks from slipping away with the tremendous shocks inflicted by the sto
ne trolls and, even worse, by the gigantic Mountainshatterer.

  The closer the army approached to the fortress, the more tension attacked Holaf's nerves. He was afraid of soon facing the thousands of traps abounding in the inhospitable lands of Rockroad. Long Sword continued to scrutinize the summit of the endless stonework, hoping not to see inhuman muzzles among the battlements, perched like ravens on the summit. The Lord of Trondheim wisely ordered a halt to the march so as not to venture blindly under the walls, running into the arrows of any enemies. The Dragon offered himself as usual promptly:

  "My Lord, with your approval I will go on a patrol of discovery as I did at Midgard."

  But Holaf preferred not to allow such an action:

  "My dear Champion, this time, no! An army is made up of many men from whom you cannot ask for a tribute of blood, but until now no one except you has ever volunteered. So this time I would like a volunteer who is not one of the Masters of War!"

  The word of the search for two willing explorers to inspect the Damwall moved rapidly from mouth to mouth, but no one was so bold as to raise his arm and come forward. The Nordic Sovereign, without hiding a strong sense of disappointment looked at High and Grigor and, shaking his head bitterly, commented:

  "It seems that the Gods want to give you yet more glory, my Dragon! Where will you find the space on your shoulder straps to engrave the names of places where you have been victorious?"

  The Dragon, wearing a haughty smile, replied:

  "For a long time now I have no longer bothered to score battles and enemies. The space was full after my second war!"

  The Lord of the North smiled proudly and ordered:

  "Jan, First Master, accompany the Dragon Head with an archer from the East but do not engage in anything risky!"

  One of the men escorting the God-Slayer, armed with a crossbow joined the three chosen men without saying anything to the satisfaction of the Kings.

  King Holaf, pleased with the ardour he had shown, asked:

  "Valorous knight, what are you called?"

  The man, lowering his gaze reverentially, answered:

  "Fyodor, son of Iliodor, first knight of the Black Portal, my King!"

  At that revelation Long Sword felt compelled to ask permission from the Lord of the East, who was also amazed by the news:

  "You are the son of my first knight? I would never have recognised you! Are you sure you want to embark on such a venture?"

  The boy did not waste time but gave a determined answer:

  "My father would be proud! Also, I am a good archer and I have good vision. I think I can be useful to my companions!"

  The God-Slayer, addressing the Kings of the Nordic Kings, exclaimed:

  "My brother, the boy has no doubts, so I don't see what I can do about it!"

  With the approval of the Kings the four moved on foot, quickly following Jan, who knew very well the most hidden ways of reaching the bottom of the wall. Moving from one spur to another, they were forced to crawl for long stretches among big frozen gravel stones. In front of them they found the enormous and austere wall, continuing until it was out of sight on the slopes of the north as well as on those to the south. The section of the fortress that they could see did not show obvious damage.

  There were no major gaps that could be a prelude to possible bad encounters.

  "The wall is intact, how did the disgusting Mountainshatterer that you defeated near the South Winter run away?" asked Fyodor of the Dragon at his side.

  "I don't really know. Everything seems in order. I would have expected a big breach, but I can’t see it," replied the Dragon's Head cautiously peering from their temporary hiding place.

  Jan moved quickly, surprising his companions, racing across an open field among the stones, which slipped noisily under his weight. First right, then left with agility of hare, the knight reached the bottom of the wall disappearing into a low water drainage moat. Jan waved only one arm, sending an eloquent signal to the three waiting knights. Not seeing any strange movements on the top of the Damwall, although it was too high to see clearly, the three warriors imitated him in his movements and direction leaving a distance between each of them. Once they had gathered in the channel, Jan set out his plan of action:

  "This drain runs along the wall to the door. It is solid rock, and as you will notice it has no unstable stones. We can be more silent and quicker here more than we could ever have been above. You, with good eyes, look up to see if there are any enemies. To see us, they will have to lean out over the parapet revealing themselves to us and to our companions!"

  Satisfied by Jan's plan, the three followed him watchfully, until he arrived in sight of the door. The grey of the atmosphere mixed with the pallor of the snow, still stubbornly veiled their eyes, but it could not conceal the things they would have preferred not to see.

  The door was not closed as tightly as it seemed from afar. In fact, it was no longer in place. Strongly reinforced wooden beams covered in solid bronze lay sadly, scattered far away from the door. All that was left of the west grate were massive bands of steel protruding from the jambs, twisted and bent as if they had been blown up by an immense force.

  The Dragon looked without saying anything, while Fyodor, raising his eyes to the sky, pointed out the bars, knowing that he had the answer to his question. Jan went closer to the threshold, sadly adorned with debris, taking great care not to make too much noise. He climbed up the side of the stone drain and peered round the doorway of the passage. Lying by the door, he took a quick look with his head facing down, where enemies would never have expected to see anyone, usually looking higher up. Jan saw no one in wait for him, but he didn't see only the lack of enemies. Unfortunately the east gate had also been turned into firewood. The grate lay in front of it, torn and crumpled in the large atrium between the two portals. The grate was now used as an obstacle to the stairs. Jan went into the open and apparently unattended passage, trying to open the narrow door hiding the way to the dormitories, but found it securely barred. All he got from the adjacent door was a squeaking denial, preventing their passage. The screeching of the door was the only reply to the vigorous blows from the warrior.

  The Dragon reached him silently and in a whisper asked:

  "What do you think, do we have company?"

  "There are many facts that do not give us a proper answer. I had closed both the grilles and the west gate. Each was barred, while the east gate was just closed with a latch. As you can now see, it is no longer in its proper place, so something has happened. Another question concerns the doors to the dormitories and the armouries. They are only able to be closed from the inside, so I was forced to leave them open, but now they appear to be barred."

  Jan explained his perplexity to the third northern rune, who did not waste much time thinking, but asked:

  "Are there other entrances to the south or north of the wall? But the negative answer annoyed him, causing ugly words of unspeakable meanness to emerge from his lips. Then the Wolf’s Head and Fyodor arrived and the situation was explained to them. It was full of dangerous possible developments for the safety of all of them. The Dragon, looking at the door beyond the ruin of the grate asked:

  "Doors open inwards?" Jan nodded. "Well, then let's move the grille as far as it takes to get through, maybe that door is still open."

  The first Master of War stated his perplexity, noting:

  "Brother, the grate is immense. There are only four of us and we will never be able to move it. We need some horses!"

  But logical considerations were lost when faced with the pride of the Dragon. The third Master of Trondheim put his back against the wall, pushed the twisted pile of steel with all his strength. His cry as he fused his force resounded like a roar in the vast atrium of the Damwall. As his companions watched disbelievingly a squeaking and scratching and there was a minimal movement of the immense mass. The Dragon bent over in the effort; his growling seemed to grow in power and depth. It saturated the room and deceiving t
heir ears, sounding like a true dragon. Powerful arms pumped blood into his veins and another squeal heralded another miserable movement. At that moment he seemed like something other than a man. Arching his back he stamped on the ground forcefully, giving such a powerful push to the heap of scrap metal that he moved it by about two steps. Exhausted, the third War Master fell to the ground among the debris, leaning against the wall with breathing heavily and shaken by unusual tremors. A slight reddish mist flowed like the tide on the shore with each breath of the warrior. Jan had no words to say, but the Wolf and Fyodor, although amazed by what was seen, tried to help their companion.

  "Are you hurt my brother?" asked the first War Master in a worried tone.

  But the third northern rune did not have the strength to respond at all, sitting on the ground and breathing laboriously. Fyodor did his best to help him up by taking one arm, but he could not move even one limb of the Dragon. The stunned archer of Black Portal searched the eyes of the Wolf's Head, who was busy trying to raise his brother without any effect.

  "Did you see? He is possessed! The breath of the ancient demons gushed from his helmet!" exclaimed the superstitious Jan.

  "Stop using your mouth just because you have one! You cannot be idiot enough to believe such rumours," was the harsh admonition of the first Master of War, who did not even turn around to look at Jan's indecorous behaviour, intent on tracing the sign of the One God on the Dragon’s body, as quickly as he could as if he had lost his mind.

  The Dragon began to breath normally and tried to get up. He was helped immediately by the two who had not gone mad. The extraordinary third rune of Trondheim turned to them:

  "Thank you for coming to my rescue. Certainly you haven’t offered to break your asses to help me move that scrap iron!"