TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  The Wolf smiling replied:

  "I would have liked to stop you from your visionary idea of moving such an obstacle with your bare hands. But when the grill moved more than a hair, I was so amazed that I could not think of anything but impossible explanations."

  "Then I should now be the one to ridicule you, for my strength has been seen to be greater than your reason," the Dragon tried to joke, hampered by fatigue.

  "My brother, I never thought I could compete with you regarding physical strength, but now I'm sure I'm inferior to you in stubbornness as well!"

  Fyodor slipped between the wall and the twisted scrap to push the door, which squeaked and to show the passage, revealing a very large bare stone spiral staircase. The archer of the East turned to his companions and invited them to go first:

  "I gladly give way to those who know what to do better than I when they come across an Orc face to face."

  The two War Masters looked at each other and the Wolf head commented:

  "Now you understand how clever the fearless knights of the Black Portal are."

  "Next time he looks at me, I'll pretend I can't even lift a spoonful of soup, so as to leave the onerous task of trailblazer to him," answered the still tired Dragon's Head.

  The two Masters of Trondheim slipped into the dark stairwell with slightly uncertain steps. The knight of Black Portal delayed an instant looking at Jan sitting down, leaning his back on the door near the twisted iron bars. The man held his head in his hands and swung like a fir tree above the cliffs of a whispering fjord.

  "You, guard of Damwall, stay there, but don't let yourself be killed, we don't want to be weeping any deaths at least for the moment," Fyodor suggested before vanishing through the wooden door.

  The three carefully inspected each room within a hundred meters of the entrance, as they couldn’t expect to be able to check everywhere in such a large fortification quickly. The Dragon looked under every bunk, behind every door, and even in the flues of the numerous chimneys placed at the centre of the large dormitories. The fireplaces were special, made of terracotta. A tapered flue fell from the orange ceiling and widened like a glass vase. The brazier was open on all four sides and showed clear signs of domestic use by soldiers once stationed there. Pots and pans were hanging on the walls as if they were shields or swords. The third symbol of Trondheim, tired of bending down to check under the wooden beds, commented irritatedly:

  "But how many soldiers lived in this shitty fortification?"

  The Wolf's Head, as he explored every wardrobe to make sure that no enemy could attack from behind, answered:

  "I have no idea, but to be honest I'm tired of searching, my brother. Let's stop with this dormitory and change our plan!"

  The Damwall, although as tall as only few other buildings, had just five floors. Each of them fitted within the very thick walls forcing the guards to enter special niches, carved into the wall to reach the loopholes. Although the three explorers were engaged in a tedious search, in no room they visited did they find souls either alive or dead. The fortress seemed to have been simply abandoned, with only the wind inhabiting it. Fyodor opened the way to the terraces and the rooftops; a creaking wooden staircase protested under the weight of the knight of the East, and squealed under the feet of the burnished Wolf and finally wept as the mighty Dragon passed, under whose weight some steps gave way.

  "What a disgusting staircase for a fortress! If the armigers ran up in armour and at full speed, no one would reach the walls," the Dragon's Head complained.

  The two comrades looked at each other knowing well the enormous weight of their comrade-in-arms. The Wolf was the bravest and had a good relationship with the Dragon, so he dared to ask:

  "My brother, what you have done is incredible, both for what you achieved and for what our eyes have seen. There was a mystic red smoke flowing from you like the tide. Are you sure you feel well?"

  The warrior of the third rune stopped for a moment to sit on a wooden box and asked:

  "Tell me, number one, what you think you've seen?"

  "I didn’t imagine it, I saw it! I saw a man move as much steel with his bare hands as could not even be moved by fifty horses. A dark mist came out from each crack in your armour, at every breath. It was thicker and more noticeable from your helmet. And I've not only seen, I've also touched consistency your body. It is so solid that it appears to be made of rock sticking out of the ground!"

  This description surprised and quite pleased the Dragon. Fyodor noticed the astonishment in his eyes and asked:

  "It is clear at glance that you are unaware of this happening. Is that true or false?"

  The third Master of the War put his black helmet back on and stood up. He approached the two unintentionally looking menacing:

  "I did not notice any of this. Enormous tiredness and breathlessness are the only sensations that I clearly recall!"

  The Wolf, noticing the hostile attitude of his brother in arms, minimized, cutting short the discussion:

  "Luckily you've recovered. Nothing else matters!"

  Fyodor did not raise any further questions and began to observe the battlement walkways, changing the subject:

  "My knights, I can see nothing: neither enemies nor dangers. So I propose to send a clear message to the army to move forward."

  "How do you intend to send this letter? Certainly not through that delirious madman lying at the entrance, I hope!" exclaimed the Wolf's Head grinning.

  The provident Fyodor had kept one of the horns of Vyborg, belonging to a deceased soldier. It was in the large bag of leather tied to his waist. The archer of the East pulled it out quickly and then passed it from hand to hand, proud and satisfied with himself.

  "Excellent! Now I see the knights of the East are not only cunning, but also remarkably far-sighted," commented the third Master of the War, pleased.

  "What are you waiting for, an imperial seal? Blow into that damned horn," ordered the Wolf’s Head.

  The sound of the horn resonated sharply and penetratingly in the rocky valley. The echo bounced off the cold rocks and the volume doubled several times. The knight stopped blowing only when there was no air left in his lungs, and his face turned purple.

  Holaf and High heard the sound, but they didn't recognize it and were alarmed at the thought of oncoming enemies. Grigor became agitated and asked loudly:

  "What could be the origin of such a roaring?"

  "A man, my Lord, blowing a horn of Vyborg. You do not recognise its timbre, because in the north it is customary to use horns with a lower and darker tone. To make our horns stand out, at Vyborg chose horns with this strange sound," eloquently replied the last officer of the Green knights.

  The two Kings had heard Vyborg's call in the recent past, but were fooled by the resonance of the mountains. Doubtful Grigor expressed his concerns in a low voice:

  "Having established the origin of the sound, all that remains to be done is to understand if it means all is clear or if it is a call for help."

  It was King Holaf who dispelled the doubts of his own Vassal by stating:

  "If there had been trouble, they wouldn't have made a sound that revealed their position. Their orders were not to go into battle! Having said that, I interpret it as a positive signal, a call to join them!"

  The King of the North gently spurred his beautiful mare and then shouted powerfully:

  "Men, let's move, the road is ours!"

  The long, colourful snake of steel moved, taking the shortest way to the violated gates of the impressive building. The clear stones became tinged with yellow as the sad sun quietly fell behind the heavy clouds that tormented the west.

  Tyra did not hide her astonishment. Ecstatic, she arrived at the foot of the walls, and she said:

  "How did little men like ourselves dare so greatly by building and pushing themselves to such heights?"

  The Bear's Head, looking at the sky as it became more and more nocturnal, answered:

  "My beloved sweet La
dy, it's not that high, the Titan and the Arkantorre are taller by far! You've been used to turtle-like fortresses."

  The princess, in her tight-fitting beautiful armour, smiled and admitted:

  "I haven’t seen much of this Kingdom. Before meeting you I visited only South Winter and Kitan, so for me everything is new, my beloved. That is a fact!"

  The Bear's Head would have liked to promise her magnificent trips and unforgettable adventures, but in the light of the latest events he did not feel like lying. For a long time the evil of Orcs would rage over the lands of men, driven by other much darker and more sinister forces, concealing their cravings in the shadows.

  Chapter 35

  Enemies at the gate

  While the Wolf and Fyodor admired the remarkable army crossing through the western gate, the third northern rune went down to welcome the Kings, where Jan was still praying out loud. When he saw the Dragon going out of the door, the man from the Damwall leapt up and, with wide eyes, screamed:

  "Stay away from me, demon of the north!"

  The third Master of War did not even look at the man, but replied:

  "You may be out of your mind but you had better remember that King Holaf is the only demon of the North, I am the Dragon's Head!"

  Jan in a fit of madness quickly ran up the spiral stairs, screaming. His prayers resounded in the air, then gave way to a new sound that was much more sinister and problematic. From the top the two warriors immediately turned their eyes to the east, the direction from which the sound of rhythmic thumps were coming. The Dragon climbed up the bars of the broken grate, still fixed in the jambs of the east gate, but he saw nothing. The third northern rune ran over the threshold, and looking to the sky cried out as loud as he could:

  "What cursed army is causing this marching sound?"

  Fyodor leaning out of the battlements answered, concise and icy:

  "Thousands of disgusting Orcs!"

  The Dragon’s Head ran quickly to inform King Holaf, who had just at that very moment crossed the threshold of the west gate in obvious haste.

  "My Champion, what is making such an unholy war march?" bluntly asked Long Sword.

  "My King, the companions at the top of the wall shouted there are thousands of Orcs! And we have nothing to block the way," the Dragon cried in a loud voice, giving his own King a powerful hammer blow instead of an answer.

  The Lord of the East, a great strategist, called out taking the initiative:

  "Archers, on the towers! Prince Geir, go with them and guide them in their marksmanship!"

  King Holaf could do no other than agree with the God-Slayer. He focused his attention on the large atrium between the two doors, commenting:

  "Here is the suitable space. They shall throng to the door, blocking each other, and we’ll be able to destroy them within these walls."

  The Dragon moving his head affirmatively proposed:

  "My King, let's push the wrecked grille between the jambs and create a barrier to prevent the usual jump their warriors take. We will position ourselves in phalanxes just behind this obstacle, with pikes and spears. We will be able to pile the corpses of those horrendous beasts up to the roof."

  The Lord of the North and King Grigor looked upon each other with satisfaction at the idea of the warrior. Holaf, turning to High, asked:

  "My brother, I ask you to please take care of the ladies. Too little is known about the fortress to use the rooms. I would like to be sure that the no woman is put to this kind of risk."

  "My sword might be useful to you, don't relegate me to the role of escort, brother," replied the God-Slayer, almost offended.

  "It is not a punishment, I could never fight serenely knowing them in to be in danger! Protected by your blade they need fear no evil, and I will be able to concentrate on the enemy," explained the great King of Trondheim, still wounded by the loss of Boris, of whom he had become fond.

  "Lord of the East, do not be afraid. I will defend your brother of the sword! Even my hammer will be more effective, knowing Sersy is safely at your side," reassured the powerful Dragonhead.

  Having no choice after so many heartfelt appeals, the God-Slayer and the three ladies moved into rooms on the first floor, while the drums resonated ever closer and more threatening.

  The grate, previously moved by the Dragon alone, was now moved not without effort, by sixty well muscled and motivated men. The metal was used as a net, blocked by steel pins, embedded in the hard earth as if they were wedges in a quarry. The knights acted quickly, working like a pack of wolves intent on stripping a prey. The well-stocked armouries were plundered of all the arrows, which were stacked up at the top of the walkways, where the archers were. Observers were placed north of the passage and south to detect any threats or break-through along the fortress walls, which lay placid and silent in the valley.

  Geir, from the top of the Damwall, had seen enough of the opposing force, magnified by his inexperienced eye to make him believe he had before him the largest army of Orcs on earth. The disconsolate prince sighed commenting:

  "How can we ever survive this river of filthy creatures?"

  As the Wolf's Head approached him, he whispered a piece of advice:

  "Prince, your anxieties are yours and no one else's! Men look to you as torch in the darkness of a black night. It is your duty to show yourself as firm and indomitable, if not for yourself, for your men!"

  The first symbol of Trondheim jumped onto the parapet amidst the battlements and shouted:

  "My brothers at arms, look at how those Orcs look small and black, just like cockroaches! So I expect to see half of them killed by your third round of arrows!"

  Fyodor, realizing his intention, jumped to the Wolf’s side and shouted:

  "For the united peoples of the North and the East, we will win this battle."

  Their shouts were heard clearly even at the foot of the wall, and they made such a loud a roar that it wiped out the sound of the enemy drums.

  The Lord of the East with the three ladies went to the roof among the battlements, finding the frightened archers and the stacks of large stones ready to smash the skulls of the attackers. King High asked for a Vyborg and a South Winter tunic to be given to him. He then hoisted them on a pole. The wind took hold of them, trying to tear them, shaking them like banners, while the God-Slayer gave the men his thoughts:

  "Men, now we go into battle for our land and our loved ones! We will fight for the race of men! Do not be afraid. As long as our banners are like wings in the wind, the fortress will be ours and with it the victory!"

  Thanks to High's harangue, the archers also recovered from their fearful state of mind and positioned themselves on the walls and put arrows to their bows. The Wolf greeted the God-slayer and the three ladies:

  "I offer you my compliments, King of the East! Greetings to you too, gracious Ladies. I’m going to my brother’s side, where the stench of the Orcs will unavoidably reveal itself!" He passed Tyra and smiling, added, "Elegant armour, my princess!" Before he flew down the stairs.

  The presence of the torches was necessary, because night, the friend of the beasts, fell thick and dark in all its power. It was so dark that it did not allow the archers to aim accurately, so they could only listen to the drums and the growling in the barbarous language of Orcs.

  Geir, observing the sky, swore in a manner that was inappropriate for a prince, using such vulgar words that they would be out of place even on the lips of a peasant. And then once he had given vent to his feelings he turned to the God-Slayer:

  "My Lord, what does your experience suggest regarding such a dark sky?"

  King High had no answer or advice for the prince but merely commented:

  "Perhaps the only tactic would be to shoot all the arrows in our possession at short range, when the enemies are in sight, and then turn the archers into infantrymen."

  In the tormented darkness of the night the snow had stopped falling, perhaps frightened by the monstrous enemies. The icy wind helped
the Arctic temperature in its work of freezing everything, making every step and stone treacherous, a very impractical situation for duelling. The Lord of the North, among the serried ranks of his men, waited silently for the fury to break out. The Long Sword seemed at ease even in a situation such as this. He was relaxed and loosened the muscles in his shoulders and arms, with all his senses on alert and watching. The knights felt the tension, but displayed unexpected good humour. Some prayed, others pleaded, while few like the Dragon could not wait to bring their weapons into action.

  A formidable roar broke through the darkness, and an entire army of Orcs responded loudly. The thunderous roar given by the enemies covered the sounds of the noisy archers on the walls and made Tyra shudder. It shook the God-Slayer and even King Holaf. The tumult even shook the earth itself. The Lord of the North whispered:

  "And so began the battle of the Damwall for the pass of Rockroad!"

  From the black darkness that dominated beyond the arch and the gateways of the fortress, where the lights of the torches could not reach, came the violent screaming enemy. Thousands of green, brown and black beasts crowded at the foot of the wall from which heavy stones fell: every enormous rock, dropped by the soldiers on the summit, gained enough inertia to penetrate deeply into the massive bodies of the Orcs. Falling directly down by the shortest route, the boulders claimed victims, smashing the small skulls of the enemy, making them explode, sprinkling the wall and their companions with black blood. The old grate, now used as a simple subterfuge, proved extremely useful, forcing the most daring Orcs to jump from further away, forcing them to leap onto the solid pikes of South Winter, ready and alert.

  The Dragon moved to the front line to quench his thirst for battle and found some who did not fear him. A mighty black Orc with armour that was too heavy to be penetrated by the pikes crashed down among the Whites, crushing the defence, opening the way for numerous Green skins. The war hammer angrily struck the black Orc without stopping, stunning it and giving time to the ranks to reposition and spear the green screaming monsters. Once again, the armour of the black-skinned monster treated the sharp points of pikes and spears of South Winter as a joke.