DE LOS ÚLTIMOS HECHOS EN LA VIDA DE GUNTRAN MAC HARALT Y SUS EJÉRCITOS DE MUERTE (i)

-         Mi señor, el enemigo se acerca

Una y otra vez había escuchado esa frase, en boca de su heraldo, Ingwil el Joven. El Príncipe de los Siete Castillos alzaba su hacha de guerra y sus hombres preparaban sus armas para la lucha. Cientos de espadas comenzaban a cortar el aire y la Guardia del Príncipe levantaba sus poderosos martillos de guerra.

Cuando el enemigo estaba bastante cerca, Mac Haralt comenzaba a ganar la batalla. Con su mirada fulminaba el valor de los jefes contrarios. Sus ojos parecían dejar pasar la fuerza más oscura a través de sus pupilas. El efecto era inmediato sobre la templanza que cualquier mortal pudiese tratar de mantener frente a él.

En ese momento, la gran hacha comenzaba a girar en la mano de Guntran y el heraldo lanzaba el grito de guerra, que repetían los hombres de Mac Haralt antes de lanzarse sobre sus temerosos adversarios entonando el himno de Gryna, la diosa de la muerte. Gryna era la única divinidad a la cual Guntran parecía rendir pleitesía.

Esta vez, derrotaba a su último enemigo en la isla de Ibwc. Ahora era toda suya. La batalla fue corta y por eso no menos sangrienta que las anteriores. La victoria fue de Mac Haralt.

La figura del Príncipe de los Siete Castillos era terrorífica. Sus propios soldados le temían. Su yelmo era un cráneo de ciervo, reforzado con bandas de plata. Estaba adornado con cientos de plumas de cuervo de un color negro irreal. Su cabello largo, rubio como su barba, se deslizaba sobre una gran piel de lobo gris que cubría su armadura.

El caballo de Guntran era negro y de ojos rojos. Su amo lo llamaba Yar. Más alto que los demás equinos, mordía a los caballos del enemigo durante la batalla y, muchas veces, lograba darles muerte de una dentellada. Se decía que Yar era en realidad un demonio atrapado en el cuerpo de un caballo, pero nadie se atrevía a preguntarle algo a  Guntran sobre su montura.

El cuerpo de Mac Haralt estaba marcado por innumerables cicatrices. Dos veces había sobrevivido a tajos mortales. Cualquier otro ser humano habría cedido al seductor llamado de Gryna y habría recibido con resignación el canto de los ancestros. Pero Guntran no había nacido humano. Al menos no del todo.

Athaloch's hill

Athaloch rode down the hilltop. It was a leaden morning. Sun appeared very shy for a moment then it hid behind great gloom dark clouds. The grass was very moist and it made him remember those last summer weeks among his people. Few days ago that same smell invited small animals to go out their dens and look for food before great predators awake.

He rode down to the base of the hill. They were waiting for him. The seven thunders of Gryna. In perfect formation, the sons of death ask him to be imprudent. Charge on them would only lead him to a trap. It was wiser to wait.

(Illegible part, because of burnings and cracks on the manuscript)

Anyway, death was for sure the most probable result of facing those semi-human creatures with purple eyes and nauseating breath. The seven thunders had been waiting all night. Their mission was to destroy that young lad with enraged look and sullen temper that was enough brave or maybe mad to challenge the goddess will.

Athaloch left his home once, when he saw the burning of the city of Tloë, even if he never rode close to the city.

(Another unreadable part that ends with “… the wrath of the goddess of the dark world”)

It was another destiny ahead on his life. He found it in a small village near to the Leigh Daar. The seven thunders of Gryna had been turning a green and blooming valley into an unbreathable waste. People were starving to death and very few children did survive their fourth birthday. Many babies did born already dead. However, the people from Khela were determined to not abandon their homes and die in their ancestor’s lands before thinking on escape from the seven demons lurking around their town day after day.

There in Khela, Athaloch realized that fate had brought him to help those brave peasants. After many years living among the wolves in Gywrd Mountains, he understood fellowship meant for humans. I addition, his will has no longer his will. He lost it in the eyes of a young girl from Khela. Thenay-Lu was beautiful, the most beautiful creature he has ever seen among the living creatures of the world. His heart was buried in Khela from the first moment he saw her that summer afternoon when he crossed the doors of the village.

Athaloch gave a soft slap to his horse’s neck. The formidable equine was sweaty and tense. Athaloch’s thoughts flew to her. He drew his sword, took the battle-ax in his left hand and raised both arms. That was the sign. The seven thunders howl and throw themselves over the warrior.

Three days after, some of the men from Khela, twelve of them arrived to the battlefield. With them also came Thenay-Lu. There was no blood. There were neither bones nor signs of violence. They just found a huge old white wolf groaning over a broken sword. None ever saw the seven thunders again. In time, the valley lands recovered its green. People from Khela were farming again. Thenay-Lu went to live in a nearby hill. She built a hut with some help of the youngsters from Khela. There she waited for her last day always accompanied by Garrna the great white wolf she found where she expected to find the corpse of Athaloch. The people from Khela began to call her the Athaloch-mawr maiden.

Nothing more was ever known about the young warrior, but the people from Khela always talk and swear about how every year when fall begins they can hear the war cry from Athaloch fighting against the seven thunders of Gryna.