The burial-mounds firmly behind them, and many of the castles of the local lords, ahead then left behind also, their histories recounted to Trygve by the old clergyman. The tales he told him, of the ancestors of those who resided in those places. Each of the noble-born Norlion and Norlam families, were descended from either the kings Eastmund Thrice-Wed or Thorwulf Red-Spear.

  Both incredibly prolific men, of considerable might and influence, one had usurped the traditional line of Norlion after the age of Artuir and Llachlan, during the Second Wars of Darkness. As to the latter, it was he who had ended the principal line of Eastmund along with the descendents of Helgi the Terrible, the infamous conqueror of northern Brittia and all of ériu, who held Norlion.

  A rival Norseman to the line of Helgi, Thorwulf was apparently the fiercest man alive of his age, and annexed so much of the kingdoms that it was not until ?thelwulf’s grandfather ?thelred pushed him out of Gewisse that his conquests in Brittia ceased.

  “He was a giant of a man it is said, one who had arms the size of men some say and he could throw a spear as far as a league away! Thorwulf was mighty, blonde-haired and guilty of every indignity and crime imaginable save cannibalism. This he could never stomach, nor did he like the slaying of children, though I am not certain.” Wulfnoth recounted as they trod past what was called the ‘Spear-Wolf’ banner that flapped in the wind, above the stone-keep of the fortress of Thurdunkeep. The standard was one of a horned-wolf, one which had a long spear protruding out of its scalp.

  The image so frightened Wulfnoth that he urged them onwards and would not speak for hours until at last he explained the tale to the insistent Trygve. “Thorwulf’s line just as that of Eastmund though survived in some cases in each castle-keep, for he took to wife a great many women, and married his daughters into each house of Norlion and Norlam.

  Or so goes the tale, it is the sort that Brittians like to recount. I have heard it said that Thorwulf was so irreverent of other men’s rights; he even stole away the bride of a Folkmaringian king. Folkmaringia being one of the kingdoms founded at that time and that has recently been conquered by Clovis of Gallia.”

  “How did Thorwulf meet his end?” Trygve inquired keen to hear the tale, certain that the man had won himself his comeuppance for his many atrocities.

  “In his bed, surrounded by weeping daughters, two sons and his queenly-wife showering kisses upon his forehead as she swore his son would be lord after him.” Wulfnoth admitted with a short bitter bark of laughter, “Not all tales end well, though I suppose this one had a fitting end.”

  “I do not think so.”

  “I would have thought you would appreciate it, Trygve, you always seem to enjoy love-stories and Thorwulf had one.” Wulfnoth jeered with a touch of good-natured humour in his voice, as he studied his companion.

  “Aye, but this was no love-tale, he took a Queen by force.” Trygve insisted disgusted by the notion of him enjoying such a tale.

  “Hardly, every variant of the story I have found, has said she left her brute of a husband willingly.” The druid replied dryly, ere he went on, “I do wonder about why the Jarl won himself such a sour reputation at times. Mayhaps some of those tales have been spread by his line to inspire terror in those around them.”

  “But are they guilty of those crimes?” Trygve asked waspishly, not feeling particularly pleased with the man’s tone or story.

  In answer Wulfnoth only threw him a nervous glance, and shivered. His frisson of mortal terror, of what might the lords of the Spear-Wolf might do to them, was more than answer enough.

  *****

  Contrary to what Trygve had expected the Great Wall of Kadrianus, was to be found not cutting Norlam from Norlion but the former territory in half. Nonetheless though, it was still the most impressive, terrifying thing that the youth had ever seen in all his life. So high did it rise up that he might well have been justified in assuming it had been built by giants or the gods themselves. None of the great tales that he had been told in his childhood or even in the past several years could possibly have prepared him for such a sight.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  A majestic site to behold certainly, though it was by their own age that of Mael-Bethad something of a ruin according to the records that Wulfnoth had once read about it, which proclaimed that it had once stood as high as a thousand meters high. An impossible size to the mind of Trygve, who was likewise informed that it was thirty-meters thick and had once, had garrisons and troop-houses, and villages on either side of the walls.

  “It was designed you see, to keep the Pechs or at least their ancestors away from those lands, controlled by Roma.” Wulfnoth explained passionately, pointing to the thirty-meter high crumbling ruins that cut across the landscape and was used still as a defensive wall between various lords. Cutting through more than one earldom, it was breathtaking, and shone with the defiant light of more than a million still-white marble-stones. “For they had in the age of Kadrianus the Ogre-Princeps grown weary of war, with the northern tribes and had failed to properly subdue them. This had inspired Kadrianus who was wiser than his predecessor Lucianus, to build this wall which was modelled to a limited extent after one of those he had observed as he was a prolific traveler, in the south of Deshret.”

  “Why did he build it so high?” Trygve wondered unable to comprehend the manpower that must have been involved in the construction of such a thing. “And how is it that in some places it has crumbled, losing its marble-white colouration and in other places it still shines with the glow of a newly built wall?”

  “I do not know the answer to that second question, as to the first it is said that he wished after the first more northerly wall was struck down by the barbarians to build something that could not be taken.” Wulfnoth said with a speculative eye upon the high-walls, “I had heard he recruited the aid of golems and giants, but I have never believed it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, Ogres are incredible masons and master-builders, they can built, houses and monuments higher than a hundred-feet high. Were you to ever visit Gallia you would see even higher castles, and palaces built by Ogres and Gallians.” The druid revealed eyeing the great wall with an expression of extreme trepidation. “Now do hurry up, I wish to hurry whither from this place for it has always frightened me.”

  “Why fear a crumbling ruin?” Trygve asked slyly, feeling rather clever and more courageous than the clergyman.

  The wall after-all did not appear to him all that terrible; certainly it had fallen into disrepair and had left gaping holes in some cases as large as entire castles or towns. But it was still an imposing monument to the glory that was once Roma.

  If only, he mused to himself those days had not ended, mayhaps man might have come to equal the glories of the fey or the Elves or Dwarves? When he next thought of the nature of Roma, of all that he had been told of them feeding the oldest of the Quirinian ancestors to the lions, or how they had slain so many martyrs ere their usurpation by the Atenians, he thought better of it.

  The next thought that wandered into his mind as he observed the undoubtedly magical site, for he could see that the stones sometimes blinked with the light of the fey in some places, and at other times reflected simply the light of the suns. Staring he was given to wonder; what sort of sorcery was used to build the monument? For sorcery had to have been used, regardless of what Wulfnoth proclaimed about the brilliance of Ogrish stone-masons.

  “It is not a ruin that frightens me, but those who live near it for there is a great many villages that have taken root near it. Villages that at times comport themselves no differently from brigands.” Wulfnoth revealed with visible agitation, and more than a dozen glances in each direction, and towards the heavens where the suns had begun to dip.

  This did not bother Trygve overmuch, with it being the following words that certainly did though. “And then there are all the tales of ghosts and phantoms haunting this place that concern me.”

  Gulping a little at the mention of ghosts and phantoms, Trygve hurried his horse after that of Wiglaf. It was some time before they left the ruins behind them, barely evading a village of some hundred people who sought to make them pay some sort of toll.

  The two escaped only by virtue of tugging on their horse’s reins which made them break into a dead-gallop that carried them far, far away from the wall built by Kadrianus the Ogre.

  It was when he glanced back, over his shoulder at the distant ruins that the lad had the impression that there were distant figures and forts in place rather than but small huts and stone houses near the ruin. There was something translucent and sepulchral about the vision Trygve bore witness to at that moment.

  He did not know what it was that he stared upon at that moment, he knew only that he did not much like the feeling it gave him.

  It made him think of the Knightwraiths, the Kingwraith and of the visions he had seen during the days he had slept through after he had nearly died to them.

  Shuddering, he forced his eyes on the road ahead of him, praying to Scota for protection, then to Orcus also just to be certain.

  https://www.youtube.com/@BrosKrynn