Gármundes Grambanan Sang

Tells the tale of that towering man,
highborn Gármund of the House of Fyrna,
who met with Grama the great dragon
by the southern eaves of Silverbeam Forest.

~

The son of Heardgár heard the rumours
from ill-fated men in the eastern dales
of the grievous work the worm had done
in that fair land. That foe had burned
many dwellings, marred the earth,
stolen stores of star-bright metal,
had left but few alive to warn
the folk abroad of his furious deeds.

Mighty Gármund mustered kinsmen,
steel-clad thains, strong-willed men,
fellow Fyrnings and famed others,
to rid the folk in that ruined land
of that dark dweller. Doughty Heregeorn,
Regnhere’s son, swore him an oath,
as did Ingulf, who urged for haste,
and Lýding the Tall, trusted war-friend.

Hauberks were donned, horses mounted;
Gármund rode Gléam, the gallant one
of the blood of Blanca, brightest of steeds
in ancient days when Earth was young.
The horn sounded as the host set out
and made for the mark that men had fled
from the evil breath. The anger of Grama
filled the hearts of the helpless with terror.

The fearless Fyrnings followed keenly
the baleful beast as it burned its way
through green meadows and murky woods.
The Fiendberg they sought, that foul mountain
where the cruel snake had his cavernous abode,
hid his treasure. Harried were the lands
around that rock, ravaged by the fire
that Grama spewed by greed and wrath.

But the worm was away, the wicked foe
had left guardless the gate of his dwelling
and the hall within, where a hoard lay
of jewels and weapons of worth untold,
in numbers countless. Nethermost they found
bright Tungolláf, the blade once forged
from the white star bestowed by the One,
last wielded by Ésgár of the ancient kings.

Scouts gave news of the screams of Grama
south and beyond Silverbeam Forest,
and the lordly host of hard-minded Gármund
sharpened their haste in sheen ire,
to find the fiend as fast as they might.
On woodland’s end they watched it fly,
the wretched writher, as it wrecked all
and cast a shadow by cold design.

The Lord of the Fyrnings had lingered not,
and taunted that terrible killer of men,
led his household to hazardous meeting.
The enemy eagerly answered the call,
threw himself down with deathly might.
But keen Gármund cast up his spear
and struck the beast. Strong was his arm
for Grama came crashing, crying in throe.

Yet still he smote, staring with rage
and gaping maw, maiming and killing
the thains of Fyrna, till the First of them
unsheathed his sword and slew at last
the fearsome fiend with the flame of Ésgár.
Thus Gármund Grambana, that great king,
made safe the land for lives to come,
had gained victory for the glory of Fyrna.

E.F.