The Tale of the Bregða, Part 7

It came to pass then that the Álvarhamrmaðr returned to Þingvellir, where the Álvar had made a camp. Raði had told them to go, and they heeded his words.

In the holmganga a temporary hall had been raised, and within it was old Greiða, the Law-Giver. Greiða was sympathetic to the cause of the Ferðu and honored them. They, in turn, gave him a horde of silver they had uncovered in the Grænthorp. With the Law-Giver were Bua and Varði. Varði had chosen Bua over Raði at last, and the poet had sworn vengeance.

The time had come for a final accounting. Greiða told the Ferðu to draw up what armies they could, for their enemies had already begun to march toward Þingvellir.

The Álvar and their allies were arrayed in three vast hordes to the west, north, and east.

The Fylkingar Norðursálvar, Northern Álvar Army, was led by Gusúl Hlódynsson, grandson of Samlaga. His Álvar followers formed an army of considerable strength, and Gusúl commanded a mighty ormr. Gusúl would fall to the terrible magic of Vorðus. In their wake came lesser armies of Myrkyrlander, Varmaleki, and a sea of terrible, rapacious drut. There were traitorous Ferðu among them, too - the Flykjabroðr U-vinr Norðrsfjorðr, or Northern traitor Vanguard, was commanded by Korólfur Blayða, the Coward - the former Helvegrmaðr war-leader. With him were war bands comprised of traitors from Ulfhúsið and Mjolkvatnsveit.

The Fylkingar Austursálvar was led by Liða, Goddess of the Hunt. Eymir, Álvarhamrmaðr and consort of Liða, was to be War-Leader of the Ulfhednar in her sway, but he rejected her and would later slay her at the cost of his own life. Medija Varma, Wolf-Witch of Liða, traveled with her mistress. A sizeable army of Varmalek and a war-band of eastern traitors accompanied her as well.

The Fylkingar Vestursálvar had ravaged Hrimtindur and Hveitifoss. Ás Aziga-Bal, the Curse of Violence, carried Bard's birthright, Wound-Witch, before his army of Álvar and hordes of drut. Although they had borne the brunt of Ferðu rage, these forces were still dangerous.

Leading all was the horde of Samlaga, the War-Leader, who went to battle at the side of his skjaldmey Pálfriður. The hatred he bore those who worshipped him was unknowably fierce. In his camp were Grœr, who followed close behind her war-leader and ever healed his many wounds, and Ráði, who swore to punish Varði for dismissing him in favor of Búa. The Fylkingar Samlaga, Army of the War-Leader, destroyed everything in its path. Rúrik would slay first Pálfriður and then Samlaga.

There were others, too terrible to be named, that arrived late in the day, when the Álvar need was greatest. These would try to turn back the tide of good.

And so the battle was joined near Mjólkvatn, at the place known today as the Valley of Iron, where the boulders of metal that were once statues of Vorðus and Gusúl can be seen to this day.

Eymir rallied the Ferðu auxiliary from the south, and held his position in battle bravely, until he spotted his former brethren, the remaining fellow ulfehdnar, enter the battlefield, let by none other than Liða herself.

"Brothers, my heart bleeds from the thought of ripping out your guts, but your sin is dear, you have sided with the fiend of men. I scorn thee, may your souls never find their way to the land of hope. " Thus he spoke, and slew all of his former comrades with his mighty axe.
 
Finally, he saw Liða approaching. The hunter goodess looked as beautiful as ever. She spoke: "Fallen child, what vexes thee such that thou slayeth thine brothers? How shalt thou be remembered, my love, as the slayer of kinsmen? I have asked thee before, and ask thee again, stayeth by my side, and the pleasures that victory and glory bring shall be with thee."
 
"I shall not be remembered as the slayer of men, but as a slayer of gods." And thus he charged into battle. There was much fighting between them, but Liða could not break Eymirs will to fight. She dealt a terrible blow to him, and stuck her spear through his heart. "Now, thou hast struck my heart the last forceful blow" he cried, but would not fall. He walked to her, and chopped her head off with a single blow.
 
The dying Eymir appeared on the battlefield. His troops, and the enemy Myrkyrlanders they had been fighting, appeared to halt - and listened to his dying words: "After all my fights and travels, this is the end. It was not men who betrayed men, it was gods who betrayed men. But see, your god is dead. Slain by my hands. And what do I see, men fighting men? I ask you, for what? Grant a dying hero his last wish, and fight Álvar instead."
 
Thus he died, and with him the tradition of the Ulfhednar.

Rúrik, son of Þengmúr, sought out Samlaga but could not reach him through the ferocious van of the war-God's army. "If I cannot reach him," he said to his friðavigr, "I will goad him into reaching me."

Deep in the fight was Samlaga's skjaldmey consort, Palfriður. Rúrik found her and struck a telling blow, cutting off her arm and opening her side. She soon died.

"I have slain your old hag," he cried, "And, raven-starver, I carry your own sword. Fight me!"

This was more than enough to enrage Samlaga, who waded through the battle roaring with fury and grief to meet Rúrik. They fought, and the Ferðu was over-matched in skill of arms. Rúrik was a seasoned duellist and had a hundred tricks to bring a powerful opponent to heel. These he tried, one after the other, but Samlaga could not be bested. The God of war tried to disarm him but could not. Finally Rúrik grew desperate and settled on a final course of action. He allowed Samlaga to disarm him. The Iotun moved to retrieve his sword, Ættartangi. For a brief moment he was exposed, greedy for his old blade, and Rúrik raised his dependable axe Bjornton and brought it down upon the Iotun. Samlaga was thus felled empty-handed.

This was a great victory, but the enemy were like crashing waves, numberless in their hordes. The loss of their War-leader was keenly felt, but merely spurred them to greater blood-thirst. The battle did not go well for the Ferðu and their center began to collapse.

Now Vorðus had taken on the aspect of a great seiðrmaðr which inspired fear in all those around him. But Gunhilde said, "I call all Ferðu who stand with me today my brothers," and took her spear into battle beside the unsettling sorcerer.

Many men would die that day on the tip of the skjaldmey's spear before she fell to Gusúl's sword. But the Álvar were many, and the great ormr that came through their ranks scattered the men which Vorðus led, leaving the seiðmaðr alone.  None could approach him, though, for the Kunningsdottir would not let them.

Having covered himself in the substance of the earth, Vorðus strode through the midst of Gusúl's great army.  The Álvar spears could not pierce his armor. Gusúl ran to meet him in combat, but the Iron Wife had shown this to Vorðus before, and he knew it would end in victory. At their meeting the magic was strong and these two would fight their battle till the world-snake wakes again.

The battle raged, and the forces of darkness were reinforced by the terrible Raven King, who came from the east. He brought a horde of foul abominations with him, as well as treacherous Iotun - Panu, the Fire Child and the hated Kuses Sud.

Eyfrið thought at first that these had come to contest the battle as a third party, but his hopes were dashed when the Raven King's troops rallied the enemy Álvar, who sent up a lusty cheer. He saw among that newly-arived host his old friend Olgrimur, long lost to the dark madness and thræll to the Hrafnkunnigur.

The skies darkened as the two old friends meet on the battlefield. Eyfrið, the battle hardened warrior, and Olgrimur the Mad, once a humble smith, now driven into madness by his own desire to free himself of the dark. Eyfrið remembered the rumors he had heard, a few years before when he still was a child, about Olgrimur - the only survivor of a village raided by the Álvar. It was whispered that the Svartálvar riders that sacked the village were about to slay the young boy, when their leader suddenly rushed forward and commanded his troops: No, not this one. He will still be of use.

This dark prophecy haunted the boy, and he spent his life preparing himself to fight against the darkness, against the forces that always considered him to be one of their own. Thus he married a witch, for she might help him. Thus he swore allegiance to Njala, to have her magic protect her. Thus he became a Seiðrmaðr, so that his own magic might protect him. It was this pursuit of salvation that drove him into his sad destiny.

A ring of Svartálvar had formed around the two warriors, ac ircle of both protection and respect for the duel to come. Eyfrið was cut off from his troops, but none of the Álvar seemed to dare approach him.

"My old friend has come to die. Do not disturb us, my children." Echoed the dark and ghastly voice of Olgrimur. "It has been a long while," Olgrimur continued, as the black shadows that formed around his skin seemed to intensify his shape into a demonic figure of pure evil.

Though the dark circle of Myrkr Álvar surrounded them both, the world was red to Eyfrið as the berserk rage washed over him.  He beat his breast with Fyandeithurmaðr, red with the blood of Álvar and man.  Long had he been free of the bloodlust, but in this final battle he had surrendered. He knew not even how he had found himself here in this circle facing his old friend whose soul had been corrupted by dark magic and the Raven King, but somehow in this moment, the long forgotten words of the the Dyrhamr which cursed him as a youth came to him in his madness:

And thus you slay me, youngling, with thy father's sword
And thus I curse you, for once was I a boy young and sweet
Thy wyrd be the blood of the bear to haunt thy days and make thee feared and shunned among men
And at the end of days, in the last battle where great foes and friends fight themselves
Then and only then will a choice be thine
Is a friend a foe or a foe a friend?

And the blood washed back and Eyfrið knew what was to come.   He  looked square at Olgrimur and held up his blood-soaked sword.

"Olgrimur!  This is Fyandeithurmaðr! Foe Bane, the sword of my father and father's father, and his before him.  It drinks not the blood of friend but the blood of foes.  You are still my friend.  Beneath that shell of darkness is the soul of my brother Olgimur and from that darkness I shall find it and set it free!"

Eyfrið thrust Foe Bane into the soft turf and threw down his ragged shield.  He pulled the tattered mail hauberk off and stood facing Ogrimur, in his blood soaked tunic, the tooth of a bear dangling from his neck, a horse shoe in his right hand and a willow stick in the other.

"This is the Helskoe which bound Soren Larson, who fights today. I, Eyfrið, took it from his head.  Now it is a Helskoe no more, but mearly cold iron.  With this I will free you"

Thus Eyfrið spoke and threw the hell-shoe at Olgrimur. The massive cold iron hit Ogrimur's chest, and the shadows surrounding him gave protest, shrieking in terrible anger. With unnatural force Olgrimur approached Eyfrið. He held Eyfrið in an icy grip, and Eyfrið could feel the shadows crawling up on his skin. As he turned his head, for the first time he heard the old, familiar voice of Olgrimur speaking.

"Old friend. The shadows are falling from my dying body. You have a choice to make. Kill me now, and destroy the shadows together with my body. If you do not kill me, they will feast on you, and I will kill you. Should that be the case, I will see you in the Half-World, where we shall fight our way through the Álvar forces together, until we reach the portal where I last fell to Skjoldurs rage."

"There is but one way old friend," Eyfrið spoke choking from Olgrimur's death grip, "and it sorrows me deeply for I will not see my wife and children any more in this world, but it is the only way and we shall seek the Reið-Fara together"

The shadows had all but engulfed Eyfrið and he stopped struggling as the darkness engulfed them both, Eyfrið broke the stick of alder, it was the cutting from the sacred alder tree, Metár, powerful in healing.  A flash and white flame erupted engulfing the two companions.  The Álvar surrounding them were blinded and fled in disorder and panic. Olgrimur and Eyfrið were gripped in white fire as the shadow was burned away.  Olgrimur smiled at Eyfrið.

"I will see you before the bridge of Gjóll, my friend." And Olgrimur fell with a smile, his body was cleansed of the shadow, no black runes or tattoos marred him he was the man he was before the helgrind took him.

Eyfrið staggered back nine steps and fell to the earth beneath Foe Bane, a look of peace upon him. And so fell two heroes.

It is said that they kept promise and met at Módgud's bridge, and that they slew the Iotun Starkad and broke his tether on Eyfrið's soul, and in the end sought out Reið-Fara together, and passed on into Rókþjóða as true brothers. Their tale ends here, but the battle was not over.

Many good men had already fallen - Jurek Ljotturson of Grey Bay and Hafni Friðsson, first friend and Goði to the Álvarhamrmaðr among them. Gunnhildur Sæhildursdottir was also slain, along with her southern vanguard. War-bands from Haygate and Conception Inlet - the very defenders of Þingvellir - were routed, and Þeyr Ingolsson along with them. The situation was desperate. The Ferðu were badly outnumbered.

"Friends, we may have found our road back to the Half-World today. We can stand, fight and die," said Korsteinn, "Or we can turn and run, and die. I intend to die where I stand." None felt otherwise.

Many traitors of men fought along with the Álvar, just as Álvar fought to save the Middle World for mankind. Among the Ferðu, many of the Helvegrmaðr turned against their brothers. The ties between blood-brothers Æggur and Korsteinn were severely tested as they battled friend turned foe. Though it is the Ferðu way to honor ones opponent in battle, the traitors were considered little more then dogs. They were still men, but they fought against kin along with dark Álvar, malformed drut, and the hideous Iotun of the Hrafnkunnigur. Korsteinn, so recently suffering the loss of his arm to a strong enemy, did what he could to defend his homeland from the invaders. Æggur worked on his flank to protect the weakened side of his companion.

Korsteinn shielded his brother from the many fierce attacks of his foes.

When things appeared to be at their bleakest, Æggur began to sing. His sonorous song filled the valley and heartened the Ferðu. Enemy Álvar swarmed around him, and his blood brother Korsteinn, sensing that his words held great import, fought valiantly to defend him as he sang thus:

Since the time before our father's fathers,
from the beginning of the Second Age,
when the first great heroes sailed the seas,
the Ferðu have walked in the shadow of the Gods.

Yet while Ferðu scraped harvest from icy fields
and cleaved knarr through mountainous waves
and fed the earth with noble warriors blood,
the Gods lay slumbering in their bed closets.

So long have we sought their favor,
we have grown blind to our own strength.
For generations have we sung their praises,
yet the over-praised are the worst deceivers.

Now magic is awake once again in the world
and with it the Álvar have returned.
The Gods walk among them-
we look upon them and call them Iotun.

On this day we Ferðu stand tall before our once-gods-
Too long have they slept, while Ferðu grew strong.
With stout heart and sharp steel
we look them in the eye as equals.

He's a wise man who knows himself, as all men know.
This day every warrior is a hero,
and every man is the master of his own fate.
On this day Every Ferðu is a God.

Æggur then gave himself over to the Vættur there, and fell. There are those who say he became one of them.

None too soon, the noble Varði came with her retinue in aid to Korsteinn and all Ferðu who stood with him. Korsteinn was pulled from the fight for a brief rest.

It was at this point that a wondrous cry arose among the Ferðu. To the west there was a strange sight - a golden boar, shining in the dim sunlight. It was Hildisvini, and mounted upon that beast was Hunila, the Twilight Goddess, and behind her were a great host of Busa spoiling for a fight.

"She has kept promise! Now you shall see a true God!" cried Asdrubal, who ran to worship her and join his kinsmen.

To the north came ships, and from the ships poured tall, graceful, battle-hardened easterners - the armies of Velland, under Rami Copperfoot and Okko Cirkia, who had come to Ferðu shores to repay debts of their own. These foreigners plunged into the fray and helped turn the tide when all seemed lost, and the bonds of fealty and friendship thus formed would be long-lasting.

At the same time Korsteinn returned to battle, first taking the bounty of the Álvarhamr to slaughter the traitor-army of the north. This battle finished, Korsteinn moved against the armies of the Raven King at Bryndis' side, to end this bloody war and retake the Middle World.

At last the Álvar and their minions began to falter. But their vanguard, now rallied by the hideous Hrafnkunnigur and his Half-World army, could not be defeated. They cut through the Ferðu like a scythe through grain. At last they came to the bloodied troops of the Chisel House, under Isar Slipstone, with whom Bryndis fought.

In Æggur's death-speech were words that stirred Bryndis and all who had listened. The skjaldmey felt the Álvarhamr grow light in her hand and Æggur's words were upon her grim lips as she fought her way to Vald-Fráfall, the Raven King, Lord of Death. He had no reason to fear her, for she had sworn an oath to him that she would not harm him.

Oath or no she struck him. The blow landed true, and stove in his helm, and his tongue lolled as his skull was crushed to pulp. He would fight no more. Such was the price of his arrogance.

"Daughter of Oddvar," said Asdrubal Þreykja, "what of your oath?"

Bryndis cleaned the Álvarhamr of gore before she replied. "What of it?" she said, "I am a liar." And thereafter she wore that byname with great pride, although only her closest companions dared to use it. Others called her hausakljúfr, which means skull-cleaver. Here ends her tale.

Upon the death of the Raven King his minions grew fearful, for they thought him invulnerable. The battle changed then, and those in the enemy host turned and fled. Some made their way to safe, secret places, and others returned to the Half-World. The rest were slaughtered like animals.

And so ends the tale of the Álvarhamrmaðr.