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Sagaen om sommerens sønner

Three sons of Summer's End
Sent South to ancient Albion

Erik, son of Sven,
Music lover, borrower of beasts’ senses

Sigurd, son of Halgrim,
Strong axeman, stout shieldbearer

Jari, son of an elf,
Singer of songs, weaver of magic

A trio travelling from Winter to Spring
Eager to test themselves

The Fox and Chicken a new home,
Drinking deep of its heady brew

No watery swill for wizards' men,
Dreaming of adventure and glory


Their first challenge fell in Winter
in faerie lands of snow

Hard winters there,
even for those shaped by Sweden

Alien lands that became familiar
and yet alien still

Sigurd, axe ever sharper than his wits
Still saw first the trod

Leading to icy caves deep in Winter
Where the Queen of Snows held court

Cold halls filled with giants and svartalfar
And a feast of faerie food and ale

Naught but ashes could Sigurd taste thereafter
Faerie fodder has its price

Yet Jari’s song won her favour,
And she gifted them a tower

Winter they unwittingly brought to the Summer glade,
These Sons of Summer’s End

Jago, mighty centaur lord, raged,
Sigurd stood undaunted


They came to the faerie Stonevale,
Where winter not yet ruled

But blizzard brought Snow Queen’s army
And battle of Winter ‘gainst Stone began

The fight surged back and forth
Jari too timid to interfere

Into the fray strode Sigurd
Smashing down two men of stone

Yet stone blunts the keenest axe,
‘gainst Cyrgig their chief he was outmatched

Though battle was won, Sigurd lay senseless
Erik's clever hands brought him back

Well pleased was the Ice Queen
Promising Sigurd a better axe to split stone


Sigurd’s reward brought in winter by Njal
Once also a warrior of Severn Temple

Gifting Sigurd an axe of biting frost,
Njal told his saga

Not the first Northmen to come here
These sons of Summer’s End

One hundred years before,
Njal, son of Hromund

Skald from the Kingdom of Orkney
Sailed South with his sword brothers

Swearing vengeance on a vicious Trow
Vile murderer of their clan chief

Wizards helped him triumph
Their aid repaid tenfold

For long he stood as covenant champion
Earning much glory

He slew two giant spiders
Saving the castellan’s life

Battled devilry in Bristol,
fighting in the final triumph over the Fells

Earned the favour of the Queen of Snows
Confronted a wyvern and lived to tell

Until at last he spurned Valhalla
Choosing the undying lands of Winter

Now greater but lesser
Still Njal but not Njal


Once, exploring in the faerie wilds
They were tricked by a witch's trap

All save Jari transformed into beasts
Sigurd a boar, Erik a polecat

Two grogs to a bear cub and a fox
Destined for naught but the witch’s pot

Afraid and alone save for sleeping animals
Jari guaranteed the greedy witch much gold

Their freedom hard won but won it was
Though oft-times magic lingers

But if any saw Sigurd snuffling his supper
They dared not say


The wizards sought the Green Chapel
Much desiring ancient knowledge

Setting out cross the surrounding faerie marsh
Misstep sent all into an endless lake

Jari flew, Erik saved Sigurd but Oratio sank
Saved not by his jealous God but Llyr, Lord of Water

Such salvation bore a heavy cost
Dooming many who might have lived

For Oratio spoke with the Lady Nimue
Claiming the dread blade Excalibur

After, though Erik led all safely home
‘Twas into a darker future

Where visionaries spoke of a pale sword,
glinting in moonlight and dripping with blood.


The wizards worked to sheathe the sword
Hoping to fix the fateful skein unpicked by Oratio

They found tale of Saint Kenneth
Ancient bearer of an enchanted scabbard

His remains in a monastery in Lindisfarne
Round the Northern seas they sailed

To stand on a cliff studying the site
Erik borrowed a gull’s sharp eyes and soaring wings

But saw the templars already there
They tricked the foolish monks

Stole away with their prize back to Roxburgh
Their fortress in the North

Jari and Terentius crept in to check
But alas they were too late

Though the drums of war grew ever louder
Wizards work to a different time

13 years before they sought to raid Roxburgh
And the sons sailed North again

There the English and Scots made bloody war
And neither soldiers nor wizards were spared

Hypathia waited without Roxburgh to battle a demon
And it was nearly her end

Veiled by magic, Jari and Terrentius crept inside
Alas, once more they came too late

The bloody crusade was begun, leaving naught
But the stench of Hell and a mocking emptiness


Thrice widdershins round white stones
Lay Myrddin’s twilight land

Now lit by a Shining One
God of Gods if tales be true

With it came monsters from myth
Harpies keening in Northern skies

Chimera’s claws claiming one man,
Aging another with a glance

The tiny cockatrice, half serpent, half fowl
All death for any that approach

Velka, tree elementals serving the Shining One
Even Sigurd’s axe faltered against them

The woods there so thick and old,
Sigurd bore Jari on his back like a boy

Wolves the size of bears, wise as men
Old Ones the wolf-blood wizard named them

Worst was the winged death,
a great dragon from high in the hills

Even Sigurd hurried not to face that creature
And none were sad to leave that place


Mid-winter came not the Queen of Snows
but Sir Turold, a surly knight of Stone

He swore vengeance for Stonevale
Demanding a duel to the death

Jari tried to trade words not blows
No real viking was that wizard

Sigurd feared not his fate
And vowed to death it would be

He fought bravely, struck fiercely
But no ordinary foe did he face

Neither valour nor enchanted axe
Could best the knight of stone

Sir Turold felled him like an oak
Jari begged for Sigurd’s life

The faerie speared only the cold earth
Saying Sigurd must fight for him when called

Next winter, Sir Turold found them in the snows
And called on Sigurd’s geas

Stone was waging war on Winter once more
Sigurd eagerly accepted call to battle

Jari and Erik tried to flee the fight
But fate is fickle and more so the fey

They found themselves in front of the army of Winter
Whose Queen bade them join

Jari bowed and declined courteously
But Erik rudely refused

The angry Queen demanded he atone
With allusion to Loki, Erik agreed

He would steal Gofynnwy’s fiery brand
For it could fend off half her forces

Thus brother took the field ‘gainst brother
While the third watched from afar

Sigurd waited axe in hand, eager for blood
But Erik was swift and clever

With quiet feet and quick hands
Stole the brand away without alarm

Then Winter fell on Stonevale once more
Sigurd and his allies battled bravely

But without the brand they were beaten
Sigurd battered down by a giant

Defeated Sir Turold dragged to an icy dungeon
To the Erechwydd’s delight

The Queen bade Erik choose a great reward
One weapon, prisoner and song he claimed

Thus he received Sir Turold's broken sword,
Sigurd and a song about Loki



One summer the Sons went south to London
Seeking to learn the ways of Court

Fearing spies and subverters of the Peace
Jari slipped into the Tower as a scribe

Lacking his glib charm and ready deceits
The other sons spent the season in a city inn

With clever hands and kind heart
Erik made fat purse as a barber surgeon

Sigurd, happy to fight men of flesh not stone
Gained bruised knuckles and a satisfied smile


Looking for long-lost Witherendun
Where once wizards lived

Home only to mysteries and secrets now
Left to naught but dust and shadow

Or so the wizards hoped but they feared
something foul may have found it

Erik’s sharp eyes saw a cave in a hill,
Recent rockfall blocking the way

Sigurd set to shifting stone
Then Jari and Erik squeezed into the dark

Carefully they crept through caves and corridors
Searching for signs of someone or something

Suddenly a wolf-sized spider seized Jari
The wizard helpless in its grasp

Sharp-witted Erik saved him with his Gift,
reaching into the spider’s mind

Too alien to borrow but enough
to distract it from its prey

Both men fled for their lives
Feet flying through caves just in time

They tumbled into the light
The spider staying inside to Sigurd’s sorrow


Once, Jari gazed too deep into the roiling chaos
Where the Shining One reigned

Volutus, wise in the ways of wild magics
Bade everyone withdraw save Sigurd

Pyrrhus, all fire and bluster, retreated
Afeared of the touch of twilight

Sigurd carelessly called him a coward
Pricking Pyrrhus’s pride

Planning to call fire upon Sigurd
He stepped back out of reach

Fearing Sigurd’s strong arm and hard axe
And so proving Sigurd right

Sigurd saw not his peril, but Jari,
His senses recovering, was sharper

He stepped twixt Sigurd and the fire wizard
Bidding Pyrrhus hold his flame

Pyrrhus promised to stay his hand
If Jari punished Sigurd properly

But the Sons shared in stubbornness
Jari simply slapped Sigurd’s wrist

Proud Pyrrhus burned with rage
Silently seething but doing nothing


Grey in his beard now,
but no straw death for Sigurd

War came at last to the Dean
A terrible force of Templars

Cold-eyed they came
Pitiless veterans of carnage

While magics battled out of sight
Swords sang on the forest road

Too many for hope of victory
But one man stood tall

A mound of dead before him
His axe flashed and steel shattered

But mortal eye could not see the demon
And devilry stilled great heart

Then the forest turned on the templars
Their triumph turned to ruin

Victory for the temple on the Severn
Bought with much brave blood

With a faint cry upon the wind
The valkyries bore Sigurd away

To sit with his kin in Valhalla
Until the last of days


The Norns decreed no son of Summer’s End
Should sup without a sibling

Two sons and two soldiers strode into the woods
Seeking the Heart of the Forest

Trees clawed at Erik and the soldiers
But not Jari, guardian of the forest

Jari made to go inside with just his familiar
But alas Erik’s courage failed him

The men begged not to be left behind
And alas Jari let heart rule head

Led all down the hidden path through the trees
Into a heart of darkness

No friendly oaken face favouring wizards
But a bitter and twisted tree god

The dark God denounced them
Cursed all terribly save Jari

Cruel magics changing flesh to wood
Agony echoed round the glade

Jari pleaded vainly for their lives
but no mercy in oak

A hard death then for Erik
No glory, only pain

Finding his courage, he drew his blade
And asked for a viking’s end

Captain Merrick with swift sword
Sent Erik to sup with Sigurd

Thus came the valkyries
For the second son of Summer’s end


Now two brave sons of Summer's End
sit and feast in Odin’s hall

But will the third son Jari
ever earn the valkyries call?

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