Árbædes Brandas

For many lives of men the war-kings of the Folk of Ing had fought battles against grim outlanders from the eastern plains, suffering much hardship and many defeats. Few of the noble folk still dwelt in the eastern mark, a once green land now marred and ashen. When Heorumund King was slain in the Battle of Greyfire, his son Heremód cast aside the caution of his forebears and rode south to seek out Árbæd, the whispered smith who dwelt in those caverns known as the Barrowhalls.

Heremód bade the smith lend him his skill in weapon making and fashion him victory-swords so that he might drive the foes from his lands and find peace for his people. But Árbæd refused, though he offered his guest to stay in his stone fastness. The king was dismayed and pressed by great need, loathe to return empty-handed. Again he asked and again he was denied. Heremód yet agreed to abide with Árbæd, though he had grown impatient. And so during one night he had his men take hostage the smith’s daughter and so force him to make the blades he yearned for.



Árbæd yielded and for the king forged three swords, stronger than he or any of his men had ever held before. The first sword was called Dréma, for it resounded joyously as it swung. The other was called Angmǽl, as it was marked most by slender design. And third, plainest to ear and eye, was the sword known as Réonung. But the smith warned Heremód that whichever army should use all three swords in one battle would meet a fate most ill. The king mocked him, though fear was in his heart, and said to him he would keep his daughter until he had won victory once and for all over the Easterlings. The Barrowhalls and their lord he left as he hasted back north to his hall.

Dréma he gifted to his oldest son Éanréd and Angmǽl to his second son Heaðulác, while for himself he took Réonung. His sons marvelled at the craft before them and thanked their father, assuring him they would at last prevail. The smith’s daughter, who was called Ælfhild and who was fair as her father’s blades, uttered again the warning as the king locked her in the highest tower of his stronghold, that a great doom would befall him and his kin if all three blades be wielded at once, if indeed he would ride out to battle with both his oldest sons. For his taking of the maiden, the king was admonished by Cynemód, his third and youngest son. Greatly angered was the king by this and he sent him away to lead the rangers of the northern forests.

As the struggle with the Easterlings grew ever more savage, Heremód and his son Éanréd with the arms of Árbæd met their foes near the Ironhills, where long ago the great king Hárra had crushed the hosts of the Réodígan, strewing the wold with weapons and armour. Heremód his heir was less fortunate, for with his army twice outnumbered he bought victory at high a price – great were his losses in the slaughter. Upon returning to his hall, tidings he received of new hosts of Easterlings encroaching still, and despair had begun to grow in his heart. Árbæd he cursed and his words he called idle – threats of a powerless man gone mad under the mountains.

And so Heremód chose to forget what had been forewarned. Together with his sons Éanréd and Heaðulác, each of them bearing what Árbæd wrought, a great and noble army he mustered and led eastward to Earndale – shields blazoned with green crosses and white steeds, coats of mail shimmering as far as the eye could see, hardy men under high banners. The Folk of Ing rode out in splendour and clashed with the might of numberless foes. Heremód King son of Heorumund was there slain, his army overborne and utterly destroyed, and his sons taken captive and led away to savage lands. So many men died that day that the hazy vale was hued with blood. It was known after as the Battle of the Red Mist.

Though the Easterlings mocked the vanquished and looted their arms, they did not take the body of the noble lord and left the three swords on the battlefield, as perhaps they knew their perilous power. Cynemód son of Heremód returned to bury his father and king in the mounds of their forefathers, vowing vengeance and to find and free his brothers whatever the cost. Ælfhild he let loose, the fair maiden. He treasured the swords, for wielded asunder they were a boon to his folk – Dréma he kept for himself, while Angmǽl he locked in a chamber deep under his hall. But he bade taken away and hidden the third sword, for of all three blades it looked of least account, and in his mind would be sought less than the others. This he entrusted to his bold and greyhaired thain Cúffa, who rode forth at once, not returning for many months, and who died an aged man soon after. That Cúffa took with him the secret of Réonung, of which none dared speak, save in whispering.

Cynemód King himself travelled south to seek out Árbæd, so that he might return to him his daughter and ask for his aid for the sake of his brothers. But he could not find the Barrowhalls, was unable to find the entrance, and neither was Ælfhild, who was taken by forgetfulness. Her he wedded thereafter and she bore him sons. The outlanders he was yet able to drive away, and for thirty winters he searched for his beloved brothers. Thus he died looking, though it was rumoured he found them at long last in a high keep, still alive, but ruined in torment, Heaðulác and Éanréd.