TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering Page 4

"I have not made requests for an audience only to King Braxton, but also to King Grigor, and only when my petitions were not heeded did I set out for the Citadel," the merchant pointed out, giving a hard look from reddened eyes to the Lord of the West.

  "Sire Grigor, would you like to explain the reason for such silence?" the Emperor asked the shimmering old man, who stood up from the step, on which he was sitting, giving the noble supplicant the evil eye, he said:

  "My Emperor, in your generosity you have granted me the right to be the Protector of the West. I have thirteen large cities, an immeasurable number of villages and towns and lands, which stretch from horizon to horizon. I cannot attend to every little issue that comes for my judgment. These are often decided by others." The white shimmering King turned to the nobleman and asked, "Have you asked for help from the militia of Varius?"

  The supplicant noble was offended by the insinuation of incompetence and responded firmly:

  "My Emperor, since you no longer govern Varius, things have changed considerably. The militia has been locked up in the Fortress of Varius. They go out only to collect the tributes. Making complaints or requests means an immediate answer with, at best insults, and worst a display of arms!"

  Grigor, afraid of appearing incompetent, raised his voice and went purple, shouting:

  "The accusations you make against Braxton are ridiculous! Provide us with at least some evidence of what you are suggesting!" Grigor now turned to the Emperor, "This man is obviously delirious!"

  The Emperor, clearly irritated, gave Grigor an order:

  "King of the West, as soon as the restricted council is over, you will go to Varius in person and call my son Braxton urgently to the High Tower. I want to know what is going on in my house!"

  But the Emperor had not yet concluded his orders for Grigor. He turned to him again, saying: "Sire Grigor, you will order the current Commander of militia of Varius to search for the daughter of this man immediately. This is on my authority!" At that point the Emperor, looking at the poor weeping father, exclaimed: "I know well what it means to be a father. In five days I will send an emissary to your home to give you news!"

  "Thank you, my Emperor, may providence always protect you!" the noble supplicant answered.

  In the meantime, the large hall had emptied. Only the guards, Generals and counsellors and the three Kings remained in the hall. The first imperial adviser Dicius approached the Emperor and hissed something in his ear, then slipped silently behind the burning crystal, disappearing from the large hall.

  "Well, my Lords, we have survived all the pleadings to the Emperor once more this year. I am well pleased!" exclaimed the Emperor lightening the tone of the ceremony.

  Chapter 3

  Restricted Council

  Marius Taccer was the most unlikely Emperor that the throne of the High Tower had ever had seated upon it. He was neither a hero of the City of the Greeks nor a descendant of any former ruler who had the misfortune to die without heirs.

  The situation generated after the late Emperor's departure led the four Kingdoms to clash politically. The all of the north hoped for a Nordic man, the east demanded a ruler from the east, the south threatened war if a ruler from the south had not been selected, while the west, united and well financed, loudly called for Sire Grigor to hold the post. The present Lord of the West longed for the throne of the High Tower. He had a strong blood line claim, being able to boast of three Emperors as ancestors, two of whom, however, lasted the blink of an eye, while the third a little more, but still there had been three Emperors with his same surname.

  In the midst of this uproar of names and threats, realizing that he had no hope, it was Grigor himself who proposed a man from the West who would not annoy anyone too much. The candidate was not famous but rich; he was not a coward, but not the most daring of warriors; religious though not too fervent, of broad views and in need of much advice and wise council. No one could honestly complain or rejoice at such a candidate. Therefore due to this strange series of events, the crown went to Marius. The Emperor was not married to one of Grigor's daughters until after the investiture, a complication that nobody had foreseen or liked, not even the bride. The marriage was not welcome to anyone.

  The Emperor was a reasonable warrior who distinguished himself in the battle to defend the Citadel. Despite his considerable weight and low stature, he was very agile and had a fencing technique that was very effective. He dressed in a refined, but not sumptuous way. His armour was in semi-plate of burnished steel, like that of his warriors, who really went into battle. Even his mail tunic, made of heavy steel, could be said to be military and not decorative.

  Only the helmet carried by his side had splendid gold decorations, depicting scenes of wild boar and bear hunting, the hidden passion of the Sovereign. A passion he could no longer indulge in, given the intrinsic danger of the hunt. And a magnificent sword of fire steel hung on his belt. It had been brought by his father from Volcano Island, and inherited by the Emperor. It was exquisitely crafted, with the handle in titan bone. The motif of the decoration was the coils of a dragon with all its scales, to make the grip firm and easy to hold. The pommel, shaped like a wild boar head, covered with a thin layer of gold, was refined, carved with the tiny delicate details. But the most striking detail of his weapon was the hand guard in the shape of feathered wings, so beautifully carved as to appear soft.

  "We must, my dear friends, prepare ourselves to bear another burden!" The Emperor led the way, with firm footsteps, immediately followed by the three Sovereigns who were well pleased by the precedence given to them by the Titan. His admiration was clear from every glance.

  Beyond the door out of the great hall they walked along a large corridor on the same scale as the Titan, but here the decoration was of a different hand. In fact, there were no traces of the usual architectural additions in marble. Wood was the principal decorative material. Thousands of different types of wood, cunningly sculpted and assembled, created a continuous succession of solid beauty and clever gaps. Wooden supports inlaid with countryside scenes, both cheerful and frugal were pleasingly arrayed along the walls. Large pointed wooden arches beginning at floor-level, spread to the rafters, carved like vine branches covered with bunches and leaves all along the walls, framing the inlays.

  The wide corridor, built far too high for men, had been cleverly lowered by a very elaborate wooden coffered ceiling. The decoration covering the ceiling was inspired by the floral decorative style of the vines, creating the impression of walking in the shade of a pergola during summer. From the intertwined splendid branches, cupids with large feathered wings pulled the vines apart to enjoy the sweet fruits. Some angels emerged. Some showed only one arm, others with their upper body, while the most exuberant emerged completely. These angels were so beautiful that they seemed to be alive. Only the grain of the wood showed they were statues.

  High, of noble birth, having always lived in a spartan military fortress devoid of any luxury, was overwhelmed by the charm of such splendour every time he came to visit the Titan. The God-Slayer more than the others continued to observe with amazement the magnificence and to sigh with pleasure.

  "Control yourself! It’s not the first time you have been here at the Titan!" Grigor commented nastily, annoyed by his fellow King.

  "You are right, I should be more unmoved, but in the midst of such magnificence I can’t help myself!" the God-Slayer answered cordially.

  "This ceiling worries me, I am always afraid that the statues of angels will come off and fall on me or my children," the Emperor commented distractedly.

  "My Lord, if you fear them so much, you should have them removed! God forbid anything evil should happen to you or the Empress!" Grigor cried, emphasising the lack of attention and care given to his daughter.

  "If one of these angels were to fall on your daughter, it would be a disaster. For the angel!" the Emperor commented ironically.

  The comment made Godwin and High smile, but irritated Sire Grigor co
nsiderably, who asked for clarification:

  "What do you mean by this phrase, my Emperor?"

  "Simple! Heaven has a hard head, just like her father!" the Emperor replied, stopping in front of one of the innumerable doors, which lined the beautiful corridor they had just walked along.

  His Imperial Excellence grasped the handle shaped like a golden branch and opened the door. Then he slipped quickly through it, followed by the three guests. The room was small, compared with the rest of the fortress, but this peculiarity offered a certain advantage; because it was smaller, it was therefore easily controlled. On the back wall shone a splendid assortment of swords, axes and clubs, all finely worked, notable because they were the product of many different eras and workshops. These weapons, in fact, were the legacies of many human Emperors. Only a small part of the weapons that belonged to the immense number of Emperors resided on that wall. Only common weapons remained, because mythical weapons, with arcane, magical forces, attracted the attention of many thieves. In addition, many Emperors adopted the weapons of their predecessor, often their father, brother or close relative.

  Beneath this collection of war art stood a simple, cleanly made old table, on which had been placed all kinds of food and drink. Given the hour, all four regal personages could have made good use of it. In the centre, stretching out to cover almost the entire table top of dark wood, there was a map of the Empire of United Men. The map was in tones of ochre, clearly aged over time and covered with a web of small, fine cracks. On the map were illustrated woods, forests, mountains and mountain passes in maniacal detail. Everything that could be useful for a military map was included.

  The lighting of the small room was a candelabra hanging from the ceiling. It was made by crossing and welding the weapons of many enemies, who fell during the great battle for the dominion of the Throne of the Titans, which took place centuries ago. The central plateau on which the Citadel and the Titan stood was won in the same battle.

  The Emperor took a plate for himself and covered it with wild boar stew, deer salami and potatoes. Grasping a tankard cider, he turned to his guests and said:

  "I declare open the seven hundred and eighty-third annual restricted council of the Empire of United Men!" with that he took a long draught of cider, halving the contents of the tankard. He cleaned his well-kept moustache on his sleeve and added: "My dear guests, please don’t leave me eating alone, help yourselves, there is plenty!"

  The three hungry and thirsty nobles did not wait for a second invitation, grabbing the heavy hard stone plates and filling them up to the brim. With full dishes and horn mugs overflowing with cider for Godwin, beer for High and wine for Grigor, they sat down at the map table carefully so as not to stain its craftsmanship.

  "Who will begin to report their news?" asked the Emperor with his mouth half full.

  Grigor, always ready to distinguish himself, stood up, but soon realized that the mouthful between his teeth would not let him speak, unless he wanted to appear an ill-bred ruffian. So he sat down.

  "In the South the situation is quite stationary. I can't say it's idyllic, but there are no signs of evil omens!" stated Godwin. "We have the usual raids of the Assarians, who attack villages in the west, while in the east the barbarian Danuvias make short raids. Both are limited attacks with forces of a maximum of thirty or fifty barbarians."

  "How would it be possible to stop these raids?" the Emperor asked him, while very busy feeding himself.

  "According to my firstborn son, these barbarians are based on the Dogoon Islands. There the looters gather and organize themselves. If we conquer the islands, eliminating the indigenous population, we would have an advanced base to defend ourselves!" Godwin described his cold plan with shining eyes at the idea of conducting a battle in the name of the One God.

  "Military action would cost a great deal. My long experience suggests, my Lord, that I use the money to buy the loyalty of their leader instead. This will ensure that he returns to his own lands," Grigor proposed in a calm tone.

  "A charming idea, Sire!" exclaimed High ironically, while sipping his beer.

  The pensive God-Slayer added:

  "If we invaded the islands, it would be a huge expense, I do not deny it. But in the long term it would be more limited than the action proposed by the Lord of the West." He took another sip, "Let's assume that the Barbarian Sovereign accepts the offer of money and leaves once, the second and perhaps a third time. What would prevent him from threatening us and asking ever higher figures?"

  "What are you saying! It’s like listening to fifteen-year-olds! Kill on this side, destroy on that side, war is the last resort of politics!" Grigor spoke in the tone of a know-it-all.

  "Sire Grigor, it is known to all how skilfully you manage the west with your politics!" Godwin began, interrupting himself to get up and fill his mug again, then he continued, "However, in politics it is necessary to put your tongue in places where I wouldn't want to put a sword!"

  Grigor instantly changed his self-satisfied smile into anger, taking offence instantly. He cried out:

  "You are a stupid fool, I demand satisfaction!" Grigor, stood up, took one of his gloves of soft suede leather as if to hit Godwin.

  By doing this he threw a challenge to a duel. Godwin would surely have accepted but his noble blood was spared thanks to High, who grabbed Grigor's arm and told him:

  "If you slap him with a velvet glove, Sire Godwin return the compliment with his mail gloves. Believe me, if this happens, it will solve forever the boring problem of shaving your beard every morning!"

  Grigor tore his arm from High's hold, looked at Godwin, who had put on both gloves of his armour. On which back were written in gilded Gothic script: ‘Judgement’ on the left glove and ‘Penitence’ on the right one.

  "Braggart!" exclaimed Grigor with contempt while re-seating himself. In all these quarrels the Emperor was a spectator, enjoying the show and feeding on the fury of others.

  "If we conquered the islands, we could build a large commercial and military port in the Fondo Sea," Godwin proposed in an altered tone of voice.

  Grigor was also interested in the idea of a commercial expansion. He had a feeling for trade and an understanding of money, so immediately commented:

  "The territorial expansion certainly cannot interest me. However the lands beyond the Fondo Sea produce fabrics of the highest quality and possess a lot of gold. The barbarians do not appreciate the value of these. In any event, there would certainly be products to be marketed in the Kingdom."

  The God-Slayer shook his head, astounded by the speed with which Grigor had changed his ideas, while Godwin was satisfied with plans of the shimmering politician.

  "So, we are decided, you are all in favour of the invasion of the Dogoon Islands. My vote is certainly in favour and being the Emperor is worth double, so even when King Holaf arrives he will have no say in the matter," the Emperor stopped, drank again and decreed, "we will invade those useless stones with the advent of the summer. Proposal approved by five out of six votes. Godwin, you are in charge, delegate the preparations to one of your children!"

  Just at that moment, there was a knock at the door.

  "Come in!" exclaimed the Emperor.

  The Great Chamberlain entered the small room, beating his golden stick on the ground three times, and announced with the strongest voice he could manage:

  "We now welcome Holaf Erlingson, called the Long Sword, First Man of the North, Hero of the Citadel, Hero of the High Tower, General of the North Wall, Lord of the Arkantorre and the city of Trondheim, Protector of the Arctic Lands and Custodian of the Jotun Fjord!" Albion turned strangely without bending, carrying in his hand a new bottle of vodka, a gift from the latest arrival.

  King Holaf crossed the wooden floor with a firm tread. He was very tall for that era. He stood at about a meter and ninety, with a powerful body. The King's face was framed by long, smooth, light brown hair. He appeared pale and was beardless. His grey eyes, the colour of Nordic i
ce, were half-hidden under prominent arched eyebrows. His lips bent downwards at the sides, hinting at his habitual gloomy meditative mood.

  His considerable girth was covered by massive burnished plate armour, three times the thickness of a normal armour. It emitted sharp metallic squeaks with each movement. On the body as well as the shoulder straps and the gorget between many scratches and a dents you could admire magnificent gold decoration. Beautiful and precious drawings showed battle scenes and braids typical of the culture of the men of the North. On his back, a very thick winter coat of silver wolf hung from his shoulder straps, flowing sinuously to his ankles. Holaf was not a man for useless decoration and his cloak was not for show, but an essential item to ensure survival the far from temperate city of Trondheim, the northern capital, under his command.

  On his wide shoulders, in addition to his fur, he wore a splendid shield. It was a typical circular shape, made of steel, coloured half black and half white. Upright, down the middle was drawn a two-headed blood snake, the emblem of his family. In his hands, instead of gifts for the Emperor, he held his helmet, which had a meticulous representation of the face of a demon with horns and tusks. His right hand was placed on the pommel of the huge sword hanging from his bright red leather belt, which had the Cross of the First Man of the North pinned to it, an honour that made him prouder, more than any other honour he had earned.

  "A warm welcome, my son!" The Emperor was obviously pleased to see him.

  "Thank you, my Emperor!" Holaf courteously replied. Then turning to High he greeted him, "It is a pleasure to see you, my brother!" Holaf did not refer to a true kinship. Theirs was a brotherhood of sword and blood, forged a few years ago during the defence of Trondheim when it was assaulted by the Orcs of the other side of the earth.

  "The pleasure is all mine, brother!" the God-Slayer answered with a smile that glowed with happiness.

  "You made us worry, but fortunately you have arrived, Lord of the North!" Godwin said, standing up and offering his forearm to Holaf, who did not refuse the greeting and said: