TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering

by Andreas Hennen

  A large contingent of black beings were throwing themselves along the salient in an unbridled race to battle. Their shapes were confusing. They seemed too large to be human. However the voices no doubt belonged to the smallest and most useless race, according to the stupid Orcs. The Commandants roared and shouted, but the warriors with sharp muzzles were totally impervious to panic and did not move into orderly or hurried manner.

  Snakes, lions, vampires and many other monstrous beings that lived in that land descended from the valley, all black and in Nordic steel. The round shields and long banners left no room for doubt; the white of the ice and the black of the abyss were furrowed by the red two-headed snake of Trondheim. The entire order of the War Masters poured out on enemy lines, overwhelming the Orcs as the wind moves the leaves. An armoured infantry division followed the charge. Men with thick, opaque steel armour mingled with the Masters' hairy cloaks in a macabre choreography of split heads, blood splashes, and many dull, meagre expletives.

  At the head of that prodigious surprise was a dark-haired Valkyrie with a slender figure, brandishing a shiny axe thanks to its gold decoration. The woman, with a monumental fighting bear to serve her as a steed, instilled terror into the largest and most foolish enemy. The large mammal covered in burnished armour, almost as thick as that of the bulky Orcs Commander, opened a gap between the chaotic beasts tearing and biting at the colourful creatures.

  Without caring about the awful taste, the battle bear gave powerful bites to each enemy trying to escape from his great claws. The opaque helmet had a steel cutter at the mouth which allowed the hairy brown animal to strike at the wounded not only with its long natural tusks, but thanks to its artificial teeth, which cut out huge pieces of iron, wood, bone and flesh. These very unwelcome mouthfuls were spat in the face of the next enemy to distract the bear. The strong legs, moved by muscles that were so powerful that they could be seen through the thick fur, were covered by armoured plates, bound to each other right down to the vigorous claws, armed with incredible metallic coverings. This was designed to increase the damage that could be done, but not reduce the mobility of the bear.

  The bestial fury of the Valkyrie and of her mammal broke through the enemy mass like a war hammer smashes skulls, reaching the three Sovereigns, who were exhausted but happy to be able to admire such vision.

  "Anastasia, you're like spray from the sea in the morning," Holaf exclaimed, so tired that he couldn't stand up.

  "My love, I couldn't have stayed at home. As Belial sent a hawk telling me where you were, I armed the War Masters and we came to look for you!" The warrior dismounted her bear, gave it a pat on the back of the leg and exclaimed, "Go and play, but be careful!"

  "The Dragon is located near the Green Commander, and he needs help!" warned the King of the Nordic Kings before falling exhausted to sit on the ground.

  The bear growled loudly and nodded its head before throwing itself into the fray. Anastasia helped her exhausted husband, not even answering the greeting of the Lord of the East and King Grigor. She did not do so because of rudeness or lack of trust, but it was love alone that guided her in the choice of priorities. His caring wife knelt down and took his demon's head from the King, not even a grimace could be seen on her face, when her husband's waxed colour became apparent to her. A caress cleansed his face of cold sweat and, with a sweet sounding voice, whispered to him:

  "How much I have missed you, my love! How much have you had to endure, so that even you, strong as no one else ever was, find yourself lying on the ground completely spent!"

  Holaf said nothing, but joyfully accepted the water bottle brought by Anastasia.

  Within the ferment of battle there were more numerous swords than worn-out maces and cleavers. The men were able to force the ungodly creatures upstream, imposing a very harsh tribute in blood. Behind the shoulders of the human line as it advanced lay many Orcs corpses and wounded on the ground, a number that was immediately and mercilessly finished off by the men of South Winter. The heroic survivors were now too tired to withstand the pressure of Trondheim's thrust, relegating themselves to tasks of the rearguard.

  The big bear standing upright, attacked the Green Commander who was now at a distinct disadvantage. Olrund's head rose well above that of the Orc. Terrified, the Commander tried to escape among his soldiers, but the icy claws of steel reached him penetrating the cracked iron and bones just at shoulder height. The bear slammed the enemy to the right and left. The Orc was trying to hit Olrund with the point riveted to its helmet, as its arms could no longer move. The kicks and efforts of the Green skin Commander ended up hitting Olrund's breastplate which rang proud and impenetrable, irritating the bear.

  The superb animal of Anastasia spread his arms still stuck in the enemy, ripping him into three parts. The body fell to the ground with the head still able to scream and jump in pain. The arms were hurled bleeding among the opposing soldiers to lower their morale. But the bear wasn't satisfied with the massacre yet and he leaned heavily on the chest of the conquered, making it explode in a cloud of blood.

  "Olrund! You are the same terrible beast as ever," joked the Master of the War, shaking his great sword as he found himself covered in the black mush.

  The bear looked at him and shaking his head roaring, rose majestically among the enemies again, then collapsed and began chewing new Orcs. The armoured beast stopped only when it reached its goal, and began to shred every Orc that dared to approach the third warrior. The dedication was so obstinate that the Lord of the North was able to guess what Olrund was defending.

  "The Ball of Fur has found the Dragon still alive, I have to go and catch him," Holaf exclaimed, trying to get up.

  But the dark haired Valkyrie opposed with decision:

  "No, certainly not, my love, you stay here! Roar will bring your Champion back to us."

  Carrying her fingers to her lips, Anastasia produced a high-toned penetrating whistle, a broken sound, apparently without logic. A whistle in reply bounced back with a less penetrating timbre and differently divided tones. A few moments later the last line of the Trondheim infantry opened, allowing the great warrior bear to pass. The third northern rune was hobbling and clinging to its neck. The Dragon was badly wounded and was losing a lot of blood, but still had the strength to drag himself along.

  Roar supported him, second son of the Lord of the North, a member of the War Masters even if only for the last few snowfalls. His armour showed the rune number four hundred, placing him as the last of the order. The young man's face looked like his father though it was partially concealed by a helmet decorated to look like a ghost. Under the protection of the steel escaped long dark hair like that of his mother, but his eyes were as icy as Holaf’s. His burnished gorget was adorned in golden filigree with motto "Death loves the daring," the personal motto of the impetuous boy. The mighty shoulder straps descended from the tall neck stop at the top encircling him almost to the couter at the elbow and screeched under the weight of the wounded War Master. Holaf stood up levering himself with his sword and came to the aid of his Champion who was only little less tall than him.

  "It's a pleasure to see you alive, father!" exclaimed the young warrior in a metallic voice.

  "You don't know what a joy it is for me to have seen you in action. My heart as a father beats with pride, dear Roar," replied the Lord of the North, intent on walking employing the last of his strength.

  From the mouth of the Dragon sprang a strong sigh accompanied by nebulized blood, followed by deep and disturbing coughs.

  The third rune of Trondheim whispered:

  "My King, my Prince, you have no idea how happy I am to see you both! I will also have to thank the armoured Fur Ball for its strenuous defence."

  Father and son burst to loud laughter, which served also to relax their nerves. The ghost helmet advised:

  "My brother, never tell my mother or Olrund that you consider the bear to be a fur ball!"

  The Dragon fell to ground his steel armour rin
ging deafeningly. He found himself next to the Devil of Vilniar, as pale as one who was about to arrive in the great hall of the Gods. The third War Master answered Roar:

  "I thank you for your advice, Prince, I will follow it!" The third northern rune gave several more bloody coughs, his face a mask of pain. "Seeing the victorious epilogue of the battle, if Your Majesty could forgive me, I would gladly faint," the Dragon spoke in only one breath. The third War Master lost his senses just as the healers accompanying the troops of Trondheim became interested in his badly wounded body.

  It was difficult for Tyra to hold Sersy who was screaming and in tears. She spoke sweet words, which the Champion of Trondheim would have greatly appreciated. But now the man was more in the presence of the Gods than among mortals, not moving at all, which threw his sweet Lady into the deepest despair.

  The enemy was almost annihilated by the surprising strength of the north, and fled hastily. Commander Bruno, wounded and tired, also escaped. It moved through the screams of men, happy to have won at least one remarkable victory,.

  The piles of corpses dominated the landscape, among the dying were almost two-fifths of the men of South Winter. Many of the wounds that were inflicted were torn and ragged, which made suturing almost impossible and encouraged bleeding. Deep bites had damaged many knights, infecting the blood with the rottenness of the tusks. Amputations in the field because of crushed limbs were necessary in order to give a few more days of hope to the wounded.

  The price was also paid among Vyborg's men, the brave and courageous volunteers who had not retreated from battles even though they could have done so. From their already small ranks six were missing, thinning the number so that they could be counted on the fingers of their hands.

  Tulsky suffered serious losses too. The first being brave Arian and then others, leaving alive, but breathless only five. Moreover, the cavaliers of Tulsky were deprived of their steeds, devoured by the ravenous Orcs, and of their spears shattered with honour in defence of the shields.

  Trondheim finally managed to drain the dreary waters of enemies. They were the warriors on whom the slender human hopes were almost sinking, but now the balance was worthy of a royal banquet. Protected by massive armour and applying life-long training or refined combat strategies, they were able to limit losses by meeting the intransigent demands of their Sovereigns. The Trondheim tactics had been forged among the screeching of steel in battles over the centuries. This allowed each infantryman not to fight more than five minutes consecutively, guaranteeing fresh troops and merely two dead. A true miracle, made possible in part by the Masters of War, skilled and stubborn as very few others could have been.

  King Grigor approached the Nordic Queen and prostrated himself before her. Lord of the East copied his gesture and spoke thankfully:

  "My Queen, may the honour of that victory go to you and to your troops! May you be given the merit of our lives and the gratitude of the men and their families!"

  Anastasia knelt while looking at the tired face of the King of the East and answered:

  "My King, if you bow before me, I bow down in your presence, for it is not you who must thank me and my army, but it is we who must be grateful to you, from the youngest armiger to the most noble Sovereign. You have all shed light on our darkness! You have crossed swords and shed blood in the hope of awakening and protecting every man, woman and child living in this Kingdom!"

  At these words King High got up extending his hand to the Valkyrie of Trondheim, who was very happy to accept the gallant help. The God-Slayer, observing the beautiful face of the woman, was enchanted, losing himself in her blue eyes, the colour of the Nordic sea on a sunny day. The Lord of the East appreciated her beautiful and fine features, as well as her impeccable ways. High turned to Holaf and complimented him:

  "My brother, poems and muses have always come to the east, narrating the shining beauty of Queen of Ice, so gleaming as to dim the light of diamonds. For the first time in my life I understand the meaning of this verse and I appreciate its realism!"

  Anastasia gave a caress to the shoulder of the polite High and commented:

  "Those who wrote these songs were blind or drunk, though I feel very flattered by such compliments!"

  "Now you see, my friend, why don't I gladly leave the North? Not to avoid enemies, but because I don’t want to leave my Queen," Holaf joked, making all those present smile.

  A cry of victory came unexpectedly from the lips of the surviving soldiers, as the last enemy exhaled his last fateful breath, his throat throttled by the cold steel of the Trondheim soldiers.

  "Victory!" resonated several times among the growing light of a fantastic morning.

  "For the North!" King Grigor cried out for the South Winter, while grateful to the gods and runes of the warriors he embraced his three children who had only a few scratches.

  "For King Holaf and Queen Anastasia!" shouted a War Master, intent on hoisting his sadistic and desecrating monument to death.

  King High had not yet become accustomed to this practice and turned his gaze elsewhere, noticing Sersy's tears, corrupted by the fear of losing her love. Tyra's weeping, which were in sympathy with her dark-haired friend, were mostly due to her nervousness; slender rivulets were drawn on her frosty cheeks. The Bear's Head approached them almost dragging his feet between the rocks. He was exhausted and speechlessly removed his helmet to reveal a crazy face to his beloved. As the warrior of the fourth rune sat down, he embraced both and exclaimed:

  "Sersy, my brother is a superb warrior and it would take much more take him away from this life and your loving care," he then took a breath and kissed Tyra on the lips for a long time with love and passion.

  The princess did not oppose this and, despite the severe gaze of her father, she reciprocated the long-awaited gesture. As the kiss came to an end, the Bear exclaimed:

  "Sorry, my beloved, I couldn't resist!"

  Tyra kissed him again and answered:

  "Luckily, you haven't resisted! No excuses, my knight, the mere thought of losing you makes me breathless!"

  "Truly, I did not ask forgiveness for the kiss, but for having embraced you without first cleaning my armour," said the embarrassed Bear's Head.

  The princess looked at herself and a disgusted expression carved itself involuntarily on her face, but the young blond woman immediately recovered and encouraged:

  "How disgusting! But at least if I tell you I've fought, I'll have the evidence to prove it!"

  The candid speech of princess made the Kings smile, infecting everyone, even Sersy. Comforted by the friendly words of the Bear's Head, she wiped her tears on his filthy sleeve.

  While the soldiers finished raiding the bodies and recovering the arrows for the archers, now very reduced in number, King Holaf coughed loudly taking the floor:

  "I would like to celebrate the great victory with splendour and delicacies. We have paid such a high price for the victory reached in these lands today. Never before were the Warrior Gods so doubtful over whom to call to them in Valhalla! One thing is certain, their banquet hall has not been so full of heroic humans since ancient times!"

  To this statement the soldiers replied with a shout of agreement, resounding in the valley like an avalanche. Long sword, as the acclamation waned, continued:

  "I have in mind, an idea for a nice way to celebrate. I would propose a beautiful wedding!" he halted and looked at the Bear's Head, who shot to his feet without realising the strength of his leap. "My faithful King Grigor, would you grant the hand of your beautiful daughter Tyra to my trusted fourth Master of the War?" asked the King of the Nordic Kings in his kindly way, of the Lord of South Winter. The Lord of the South waited, consulting with an exchange of glances with his two warrior sons, and then spoke:

  "My King of the North, it would be an honour for my family to have close ties with the powerful lineage of Trondheim!"

  The roar of joy interrupted him. Tyra embraced Sersy and then passionately kissed her future groom. Anastasia
did not hold back and, after making an eloquent gesture with her fist, she embraced her strong husband and kissed him. Tyra’s two brothers congratulated their father the King, but the most unexpected wish echoed from the world of the dead.

  "It is about time! Look, what a knight must do to earn the hand of his beloved," were the words whispered with difficulty by the lips of the Dragon as he suffered under the scalpels of the healers.

  The return of the warrior had the effect of new wood on a fire of joy, increasing the high flames. Sersy ran to her soldier's bedside, but the copious blood flowing from the wounds, while the healers were operating, made her faint. Holaf had a stronger stomach and came up to him and ordered:

  "Fight, brother! Don't dare leave me alone in this war. The Gods still demand your gifts and we will not go far without your fury!"

  The warrior lifted his forearm, while the Sovereign of Trondheim knelt at his side and shook his hand with vigour, looking at him proudly. The third Master of War consoled his Lord by commenting triumphantly:

  "They're just scratches. The ones who gave me these wounds are very much worse off!"

  The Lord of the North smiled with his eyes full of tears releasing his grip to confer with the Lord of the East, King Grigor and his wonderful Queen.

  "My Sovereign, what are we going to do now?" asked Grigor, a curious man.

  "My dear Vassal, our nearest destination is Red Ice," King Holaf replied, astonishing everyone.

  "My brother, I wouldn't like to sound rude, but Red Ice is in the north, while the enemy will overwhelm us from the southeast," noted a puzzled High.

  "Certainly, brother, I have not forgotten our goal, but the men of South Winter are exhausted, while my warriors amount to little more than six hundred. In addition, the city of Trondheim cannot be deprived of all the Masters of War. And as well, for the war we are all facing we absolutely need the Red Devils of King Skoll!"