Dread of the North
The story
Corren Ashfoot finds a refuge door split open and every winter sack slashed, yet nothing taken. Beside the searchers' carts he has seen jars of pitch and lamp oil. Why bring fire to a search? Down the upper track comes a column from the far north, marching under the Crown and singing its own glory: they stand together, strike together, the dread of the north. Corren brings his evidence to the circle and asks for hands to stop the march before it reaches the roofs. The circle chooses warning signs and flight, and no bow without consent. Corren takes no title, but several people pick up the tools they brought and leave with him. Then the bells ring out in the wrong order, and a blow lands beyond the hedge that no two people can explain.
The bells ringing in the wrong order at the end open "Bramble Night", and the first blow beyond the hedge stays unexplained there too.
Lyrics
Far from the north, We came for conquer. Over black water, We carried our blades. For victory sworn, The dread of the north.
I found the refuge latch split through, The hinge torn from the grain; No loaf was taken from the store, They slashed each winter sack. Pitch jars rode beside the carts, Lamp oil under hide; They say they only search the road— Then why bring flame inside?
Black wings mark the spearhead rings, Old north-knots mark the shields; Their song comes down the upper track And carries through the fields.
You trust the rain to close the way, The hedge to turn their eyes; A hidden door still burns as well When someone marks the site.
We stand together, We strike together, Far from our hearth-fire, Under the Crown. For gods and glory, For oath and for pride, We are the dread of the north— Hear iron arrive.
I set the splintered latch on wood, The grain cloth at its side; The jars leave circles in the rain, The road runs east and wide. Before that column reaches roofs, Before the search begins, I ask for hands to stop the march Beyond the orchard rim.
The circle chooses signs and flight, No bow without consent; I hear the boots beyond the wall And count the time we've spent.
We hid the names, we moved the grain, We led the living clear; But every path that turns a blade Still leaves the blade somewhere.
Thor at the hammer, Odin before us; If we should fall here, The feast waits beyond. Valkyries find us, Valhal receives us; Far from the northland, Our honor lives on.
The open hand divides the seed, The reed path draws them west; If waiting feeds the Crown's road, Then what will stop the rest? Does danger grant a voice command, Or only sharpen fear?
No title passes to my hand, No banner leaves the room; But several take the tools they brought And face the eastern gloom. One plan will draw the search away, One clears the homes ahead; We leave beneath the selfsame rain By roads that do not meet.
A hidden door still burns. If no one stands before the flame, What waits behind the hedge? Their marching song draws near.
We stand together, We strike together, Far from our hearth-fire, Under the Crown. For gods and glory, For oath and for pride, We are the dread of the north— Hear iron arrive.
The bells ring out in the wrong order. Feet break across the yard. One blow lands beyond the hedge; No two ears name its cause.