by Ierremod, Translated by C.M. Galdre
Hold sword-bearers,
keen thy ears and halt thy breath
Hear the wolf-written song of seven
On blackest marsh with barrow breath,
seven men stood with crownless king
The gilded shields of dead scholar lord
and his son, the wolfen warmed
Behind burned the crimson hall,
beneath black stones the crimson eagle lay twice slain
Before them bayed the cauldron born,
the dead mouths and the salt-slain
Hungered wights called for the flesh
of daemon bane and his spear lords
But stood with the mighty king, his brother wolf,
Ierremod black as death, who writ these runes
With wolf song, as so their blood of old,
the seven swords and king charged the plain
Upon the shadowed marshes old,
the kings of the north rode once more
On wolf back, o’re the field of blood
Oinar the cleaver, strong of blade, the forester of men
split grim horde as Hestremere among the waves
In his tread rode brother blades
in bloodwake, swift warmakers, thundering charged
Fiiltgar, bathed in life blood hues
Kiiltgar shielding flank
Fiiltgar, eyes wild, the bloodmad Devilboar
Bellowed forth ancestral thaume
Last of his line, the bloody Fiiltgar, danced his blade song
to his end, and the end of many foes
Kiiltgar, cousin of the slain, new heir of ancient line
drew up the song of fallen kin
Kiiltgar, path-maker, bloodletter, corpse-render
Well cut, the stone of Kiiltgar in honor raised
Oinar, flanks exposed, swift death approaching
arms wide, the wild destroyer, lead hungering horde astray
In fields of risen dead, three shields sundered
Now raised the crownless king, his shadowed blade
Of Darkness born, the edge of revenants
A new path forged of shadow-slain
Thonir, horsemaster, strong in seat and lance
Took point and guided lord and kin
Dorin and Norin, brothers shield and blade
Phalanx formed, guarded rear and flank
Banil, bloodmad, his eyes red
consumed by beast blood, and lived true to his name
Such as sight to see! The rage of the last berserk
dead wights cowering beneath his thundering blade
Beard, honored son, a hearty laugh within his throat
Struck up the song of old fathers
Halls of honored dead rang out in song, echos of the old North
Honor given to the berserk
Banil, son of Buril, son of Brygil, stood at gates edge
The song of his fathers upon his lips
Many iles ahead, and many behind
no rest from the dead, the grim-faced warriors
though peace of death ever nipped at ragged heel
Thonir his mouth full of dust, by desperate wight unseated
Stood his death stance, a warcry his dying breath
Dorin and Norin, fire filled, and anger blessed
Fell up on foe-wights, blades singing the true song
Thonir, son of the north, snow-loved
To Bone-gate, to helmouth
Beard, blade-bringer, king of an empty throne
Lept from wolf mount, his blade black and bloody
A circle formed, round Thonir’s corpse
A stand before the fall
Beard with shadow blade ablaze
Dorin standing tall
Norin eyes a burning furry
Ierremod answering ancient call
The Deadmarshed teamed, ghostflesh fingers rising
like skin of Pulstic, the fly bitten field
Long stood the sons of the hammerer,
warriors by blood and deed
By weakest wave, the strongest stone etched
so fell the brothers of the shield
Their blades wet, their muscles corded
Before the bone gate, their backs heavy beneath the dead
The courtless king, with brother bound
bloodied stood, a crimson reaver born of old
His eyes pale fire, the shadow came
not a king but a deeper darkness than the dread lord
The revenant reborn, vengeance fell as the makers hammer
blood his anvil, the dead brittle slag, the slain flew as sparks before the forge
Ancient curse, shattered by ancient fury
to putrid earth-womb the dead returned
On Tottenmarsh, where the dead still call
seven stones stand to bar the way
Oinar the Axe, may his blade never dull
Thonir the Sturdy, may his shield never break
Fiiltgar the Bloody, may his thirst never quench
Kiiltgar the Wrathful, may his anger never cede
Dorin the Strong, may his strength never fail
Norin the Bold, may his heart never falter
Banil the Berzerk, may his eyes never clear
Remember their names well Sword-bearers,
May you die as they: eyes open, blades wet