Hark! Hear now the story of Aeonath’s sons, so victorious in war, the slayers of the sky-dwellers, who went to avenge their lord. At Oakfield by the great river they met a force of wicked traitors and faced them in battle, those brave battle-smiths. Hear now the account:
Spoke Athelbrand to his companions, sword raised: ‘Here we stand, to avenge Theodrazh, that generous province-lord, to whom we owe our allegiance.’
‘Shamed be he who would think to abandon the bitter fray against these evil ones, for they have done unto us much injury.’
‘Let them learn the depths of our anger!’
Then that mighty war-lord, so often bold in the sword-play, sprang forward
The faithless men he slew in a great storm of swords
None could break his war-disc
Nor withstand his keen death-edge
Behind him came his companions brave
Fearlessly striving for the mastery of the field
Shield walls crashed like waves upon waves
Blood fed the earthen worms
The warriors’ fury toward the sky-dwellers was terrible
Even more so toward their human servants
Who so faithlessly turned away from the gods
Death was abound on that land
Offor, chief among the companions was struck
A javelin in his chest protruded bloodily
Yet that mighty war-king removed it
And it flew back to its master carrying death
Sarvic, master of the arts of the wise
His hands were torches of death-light
the faithless foe-men ran away from him
He was alike to a living star
Shadows crossed the field and the sun was covered
Three sky-dwellers arrived with flame and claw
The hearts of the faithful faltered
Death-cries rang out as hope dwindled
Offor, wounded but fighting on
His ring-coat Was torn by dragon hand
His noble life was cut short by fate
The warriors of his house sprang forth in grief and wrath
In talon-hands men were taken up among the clouds
Then released to fall upon their friends
Flame-breath destroyed the flesh of many
Victory was becoming beyond reach
Spoke again Athelbrand, helm gleaming golden, sword bloody:
‘These beasts are fell indeed, but can all the terrors of the world prevail against mere mortal men?’
‘Trust in your hearts, for they were made of Hruntir, whose courage is boundless.’
The courage-words made the warrior throng brave again
They thanked the gods for the days work they were given
Wênalt, eldest warrior on the field
Pierced the eye of a drake with his noble spear
And proved that his youth had not left him
Likewise Thorazh the son of Theodrazh
Youngest and not proven in war
He slew three wicked men who strove to strike him
He did well by his father and his house
Once again Athelbrand faced the scaled ones
His sword flashed like lightning
The holy white fire of the willow-faced god
And even the drakes were afraid of his battle-joy
The leader of the drakes he slew
Put to sleep by mighty Ærzhorte
Scored with bright marks, smith-skill
That storied war-tool, bane of the fliers
Seeing their idols fall made the faithless falter
They were greatly sated with war
The servants of drakes fled with shamed hearts
On pinion fled the lone sky-dweller
It’s flames extinguished, spear-pierced
No cause for rejoicing did it have
For mere men had slain its companions
By victorious sword-craft the companions had won
Both field and victory belonged to them
They cried the names of Aeonath and Athelbrand
pridefully as the beaten enemy flew
Mountains of the noble slain were made
And great fires set to send men to the yew-god
Verses were sung aloud in praise
As the esteemed dead entered the hall of joys beyond the world
The wicked were left for the dark-coated ones
Cunning ravens and crows on black wings
And the moon-singers of the woods
The grey-coated wolves were blood-muzzled for many months afterward
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