Song of the Blood Riders
The Song of the Blood Riders is a poem of unknown origin, popular in the North. There, it is taught in schools as an epic legend meant to convey the ferocity with which the ancestors of the current northerners defended their homeland. For every person who believes that it is a myth, there is another who believes it's a true and accurate account of a real historical event.
Song of the Blood Riders
Yet once more to the breach ev’ry man, ev’ry boy
Tell your comrades to ride or they won’t see the dawn.
For the enemy closes you into the pass
Between Lång and Stortoppen your fate shall come on.
O Blood Riders, blood brothers, you keep us all free,
‘Neath your banner of jewels you ride on to your deaths.
Ride on heroes, we sing in a desperate plea:
For your sacrifice lasts far beyond your last breaths.
As you face down the evil oppression we fear,
As you ride to the brink of destruction and pain,
Far behind you the infantry flees through the pass
in Mount Lång’s long black shadow their lives you’ll sustain.
Brave lord Henrik, the General leads on his steed,
Mighty Skåra pounds on, striking sparks with each blow.
Next comes Gunnarsson matching his cunning and speed
As he lifts up the standard they clash with the foe.
For the General slew ev’ry man in the front
while strong Gunnarsson fought, still protecting his back.
As the Blood Riders roared out defiance and rage,
They all knew the time came for a final attack.
And they prayed to the god on his mountain of stone
And they sang to the dark one to carry them home
But they knew there would be not one man to survive
So they buried the standard they carried with pride.
First fell Ivan the Young, who had played on the fife,
And his brothers, they screamed for a counter attack,
And strong Gunnarsson charged til he met blow with blow:
Full two dozen men fell before Gunnarsson’s wrath.
But he’d gone in too deep and the enemy swarmed
And their leader advanced with his ravenous horde
The Blood Riders were breached before they had reformed
And the General fell to the foreigner’s sword.
Then the ruthless invader slew Bern and Borén,
And he cut down old Dagfinn and handsome Hjalmar.
When each Blood Rider lay, a horse rider no more,
The fierce enemy left them beneath the cold stars.
But one warrior had not yet succumbed to his wounds
And he staggered alone to his general’s side.
Loyal Ingvar surrounded the body with runes,
And he called on the mountain to help them all hide.
First a rumbling from Lång and a creaking of rock,
And Stortoppen shook off the still ages of calm.
The stones covered the Blood Riders’ bodies at last
For there never were heroes as gallant as these.
So now mountains entire shall serve as their graves,
And they lie in their tomb with their armour of gold
And their weapons the gods blessed lie there in the caves
Only truest Blood Riders can ever behold.
O Blood Riders, blood brothers, you kept us all free,
Your jeweled standard is lost, and your lives were the fee,
You will lie ‘neath the stars as they wheel endlessly,
But we shall not forget all the debts we owe thee.