Braedthurnir Tolfsaga - The Tale of the Twelve Brothers

[THE KING'S HALL BURNS]

Truth was spoken by the king; suddenly the Vargs attacked.

The battle-lines were ready, in order like a stand of birch,

Their sharp, bright blades like a forest, branches reaching out.

All twelve of Leowrac's sons fought, from most lofty Bjarn,

To nimble Jannii; and from eldest Narin to youngest Kell.

All fought with ferocity, but none matched their father,

Wreccan's heir with the Riversword, in rage or skill.

And well the army of men fought, but they were outnumbered;

Each of them was counted another ten times by the enemy.

And so they were pushed back, step by step, towards the palace.

The stepped ramparts of King's-helm gave them some respite,

But the Vargs came ever on through the long night.

I have heard how it was at the end, the twelve brothers on the hill,

Fighting either side of their noble and most mighty father.

Rekke-hoell was at their backs, and their foe ranged below.

There would be no escape, no way or means of flight,

It was their last stand. More sorrow fell upon those men,

As the burning arrows of the Vargs, flying brightly.

Many landed, flame-spreaders, on the lofty thatch,

Then set the very timbers of Rekke-Hoell ablaze. Turning,

Leowrac dashed inside. His terrible decision was made,

And his doom set. The brothers feared not death,

And gathered together, ready to give themselves for one another.

But they were saved. Although one sword was carried,

And born in battle by the king of Banahgar, the other was hidden.

Beneath Rekke-hoell it lay, locked in chains,

So that none could swing or carry it; to keep it from harm.

Only one man could break the locks, and Leowrac-king was he,

The keys bequeathed with the signs of kingship.

And so in this desperate struggle, despair unmanned him,

And he unlocked that blade. It was not ugly,

But in it was evil, that none, even the king, could master.

And so, as he battled before the burning hall,

Sverthfiota in one hand, Svertillur in the other,

His sons were granted escape from death, but were not glad.

Their father had changed, the fell blade was fuel,

For the darkness in all men. And so it destroyed goodness.

A bestial cast was on Leowracs face, in battle fierce,

And even his sons feared him, such was his ferocity.

But, such a sword gives strength, and each strike,

Each blow from those blades knocked back a company.

And the 12 brothers were with him, mightiest warriors alive.

And so the great army of Vargs, the grandest ever seen,

Was routed, the survivors running for their lives,

Fleeing the fell king in his wrath. And as the fires burned,

The great hall now gutted, Leowrac gathered his sons,

And made a chase.