Wudurúnena Wyrd

When Heardréd Flame-hand, sister-son of Mæþelbrand king, had won his people victory in the Battle of Mainwood, he resolved to keep a keen watch among the great trees that marked his realm. And so he formed anew the Order of Déormód: the ancient brotherhood of woodland rangers named after their first founder Déormód the Hunter, the far-famed bowman who was said to be of Elvish blood through his mother. Dark and green were their hooded raiments, and as Wudurúnan they were commonly known, for more than any other mortals they knew the secrets of the forests and the hills and the beasts.

As their leaders he appointed Gísla and Dunhere, the sons of his fallen oath-brother Ælfgár the Sheen. Like their father they had chestnut brown hair and were fair of face. Under their great watchfulness no foe dared pass the woodland mark, save by the most wary stealth, and even then none would ever come far. Yet Mainwood and its bordering forests remained perilous never the less, for evil shadows would not sleep there, and stern Gísla was made witness to the slow and harrowing death of his dear brother, ill-fated Dunhere who was struck by a snake-like arrow of breaching fiends.

The Wudurúnan, noble vanguard of the Folk of Fyrna, endured and became once again of great account. And though it was never practice for a Lord, it is said even Éadwine the Old was of their Order, roaming in his youth the wild lands with his sure-footed brethren. Solemn were the whiles when he would sing of their high deeds and his men would hearken. Clear and proud was his voice, though often it seemed filled with sorrow.

Many lives of men passed, until from beyond the sea wanton Wícingas came, bringing great woe to the isle of Britain and the ancient homeland of the Fyrnings and their kinsmen. By the skill and mastery of the Wudurúnan their people were spared many an assault and needed not their full muster, as the hateful hosts were oft driven out or destroyed before taking their spoil. Yet the Wícingas were great in greed and numbers, ever arriving in new ships, and at last won for themselves with great mockery a foothold in the land of the Angelfolk.

It was then that the Men of Déormód were faced with a heathen host so large that their noble captain Ælfweald, greatly shocked by this untold number, gathered every ranger he might, and by ambush essayed to bring his foes into great disarray. Long and ruthless was the hail of arrows loosed upon those sea-farers, and though many found their mark, the rangers were utterly overborne in the clash that followed. Never will it be forgotten how brave Ælfweald, in his final effort like unto a mighty bear, fought his way to their leader and slew him and countless of his men. “Light of Fyrna!” he thrice cried before at last he himself was hewn down. That was the Battle of the Arrowmarsh, for so blood-run and strewn with arrow-riddled dead was the ground that it was much like a red field of reeds.

Although the Wudurúnan had been all but destroyed, they had made the host headless and quarreling for leadership. Enough time they had bought for their fellow Fyrnings and countrymen to muster an army and master their foes. And so that old and noble Order numbered but few in later days, though its flame would yet be rekindled by Ælfweald’s youngest pupil, Gúðláf’s child.