The Rune Stone

Hill

 Nicholas was roused by Torstein. He found that he was lying, well wrapped in his bedroll, under the tall grey-barked trees in a quiet corner of the woodlands, a few feet away from the bank of the river, it seemed as the forest still moved against them, trying to envelop Nicholas during the night, as there were no trees so close by when they first arrived. The three had slept both the day and night away, now the grey of morning was dim among the bare branches. Varonno was busy with a small fire near at hand. There was no sign of any living things about, save for birds. Of these there were many: small fowls whistling and singing in the reeds, but they were rarely seen, always hiding just out of sight. Once or twice the travellers heard the rush and flutter of swan-wings, and looking up they saw a great arrow head shape streaming along the sky. They ate little, and wasted no more time on chatter, none of them wanting to spend any more time in this accursed forest. When the sky was up in the sky for proper the company had already been on its way along the bank for two-three hours. It was a silent and windless journey, but cold nonetheless. They stopped rarely, only once or twice, when Varonno either thought he heard something rustling in the woods on either side or when he had to change Torstein's wound binding. By the time the sun was falling down in the West, the trees had started to be younger and thinner which could only mean one thing: They were finally getting out. Then they saw it, a sprawling green country, rolling plains as far the eye could see with nothing but the river to split it down the middle. The three walked on for a little longer along the river, until the sun was half-way gone over the horizon and the Windsong woods could be seen no longer. Far ahead, still a dozen leagues away, the smokes stacks and shapes of buildings could be seen. A village, a proper place they could rest.

However, when the fogs of the river started creeping outwards, enveloping them entirely they convined to stop, setting themselves up against one of two massive standing stones a ways off from the water. Nicholas looked from his bank to the other side and back uneasily. The trees had seemed hostile before, as if they harboured secret eyes and lurking dangers; now he wished that the very same trees were still there. He felt that they were too naked, sitting and walking along the river in the midst of a shelterless land. The air was silent, heavy and chill. Both Torstein's horse and Shadow were standing crowded together by the rest, refusing to stray away, with their heads low.

The men slowly drifted to sleep, that night they heard no noises. But either in his dreams or out of them, Torstein heard a sweet singing running in his mind: a song that seemed to come like a warm light, like the one in the hearth of his old home, it grew stronger and brighter until it turned into a far green country, much more beautiful than the one they found themselves in, which opened under a swift sunrise. The vision then changed again, the sun had turned into a shimmering pale light, that of a silver dagger.

In the morning, the fog was still present, even thicker than the night before. They all felt as if a trap was being sprang about them. The company decided then and there to skip breakfast and packed up as quickly as their chilled fingers could work. Soon, there were lead by the old barbarian, atop his horse, in single file through the two monolithic stones and ever north-wards, using the veiled, pale light of the sun as guide. Their hoods and cloaks soon became covered with beads of frosted dew. Their going was very slow to prevent their getting separated and wandering in different directions. Suddenly Torstein saw a hopeful sign. On ahead a darkness began to loom through the mist; and he guessed that they were at last approaching the buildings of the village they saw the previous night, before the fog had set in. "Come on lads! Follow me!" he called back over his shoulder, and he hurried forward. But his hope soon changed to bewilderment and alarm. The dark shapes grew darker, but then they shrank; and suddenly he saw, towering ominous before him and leaning slightly towards one another, two huge standing stones. When he looked back he found that he was alone: the others had not followed him. "Nicholas!" he yelled. "Varonno!" but there was no answer. The old barbarian backtracked, wandering aimlessly, trying to find his two companions, but to no avail.  He suddenly thought that he caught a muffled cry, and made towards it; and even as he went forward the mist was rolled up and thrust aside, and the starry sky was unveiled. A glance showed him that he was now facing southwards and was on a round hill-top, which he must have climbed from the north. Out of the east a biting wind was blowing. He dismouted, and as if waiting for the chance, the horse wasted no more time and sprinted off to the north in a frenzy, neighing wildly.

Torstein cursed his luck as he held his weight upon the axe at his side before calling out again. "Where the bloody hell are you ?!" "Here!" answered a voice, deep and cold, that seemed to come out of the ground. "I am waiting for you!" Torstein felt a chill rattle him to the bones, but he did not run. His knees gave way, perhaps because of the wound, he could not tell. Nothing happened, and there was no sound. Frowning and dazed he looked up, in time to see a tall dark figure like a shadow. It leaned over him. He thought there were two eyes, very cold though lit with a unholy light. Then a grip stronger and colder than iron seized him by the arms, knocking his axe away. The icy touch froze his bones, and he remembered no more.

When he came to his senses again, Torstein could not recall anything but a sense of dread, just like the one he felt when he abandoned his people, he laid flat on his back upon a cold stone with his hands on his chest. Then suddenly he made sense of it all, he was caught by one of the dead wights. The hills and the standing stones, it all made sense to him. They had wandered into a graveyard, not with tombs, but with burial mounds and barrows, that is what the hills were. He turned, and there in the cold glow he saw Varonno and Nicholas, lying beside him. They were on their backs, and their faces looked deathly pale. They both had jeweled circled on thier heads, golden weaved belts were fastened around their waists, and in their now ringed fingers swords were clasped thigtly, and shields were at their feet. But at each of their heads, including his own, he also saw wights, holding a sword each, ready to be plunged into him and his friends.

He thought of running free, through the open door to the side, outside of this place, grieving for them, but free and alive himself, just like he did before, during that battle...  But the courage that had been awakened in him due to the shame he felt back then was now too strong: he could not leave them so easily, not again, not like his old clansmen. Looking down at himself he found that he was weildeing a sword in his hands, and had a shield at his legs too.Taking a deep breath as to not rouse the wight above him, he gripped the sword proper before rolling off to the side, kicking and then grabbing the shield also. All of the three spirits then turned towards him in an instant, letting out a shriek than froze the old barbarian to the bones. But he did not falter, he drove the blade into the face of the first one to approach him, and then... nothing. It passed through him without any harm. Torstein felt his heart shrink. He backpedaled holding the shield high, fighting through the pain of his leg, trying to think, to remember the tales of old, of how to fight the undead. Then it came to him, after parrying and avoiding blows from all three, hiding behind wooden support beams or the stone slabs where he and his comraded layed upon. Silver, salt and iron, those were the things that could be used. But he lacked all three. However, when it all seemed most dire, he noticed a ray of hope, literally, as the fighting has weakened one of the pillars, allowing the sun to shine through, much to the anger of the wights who semed to hold no love for it, avoiding it at all costs. This gave Torstein an idea. He weaved and moved away as best he could towards the side where he used to lay, away from his companions, there he bagan to use his sword to hack away at one of the old wooden pillars, and before the dead could even react proper a deep rumble could be heard as the roof started to collapse, followed by the pained shrieks of the wights who began to burn and whisp away. "Sunlight... It was also sunlight for wights." he'd say with a chuckle.

To Torstein's great delight the other two men woke, stretched their arms, rubbed their eyes, and then suddenly sprang up. They looked about in amazement, first at the barbarian, then at themselves, crowned and belted with pale gold, and jingling with trinkets, and then at the tomb they found themselves in. The air was growing warm again. The company then walked out on the grass, laying in the sun af if after being long ill and bedridden. Soon they began to feel hungry and once they had stowed away the jewels they had upon them as their just reward for the ordeal they had been forced through, they made their way away from the graveyard, which had many more mounds about it, now that they could see it in the sun and to the bank of the river. Here Varonno caught them some fish, whish they fried and ate, combined with some of the rations they had, by a small campfire. During all this time however, the ranger could not take him mind off his faithful companion, Shadow, who was nowhere to be seen. He insisted on waiting around for a while longer, before departing for the village, as Torstein could not go proper without his lost mount anyway. And soon enough, as if feeling the words of his master, Shadow, holding the reigns of Torstein's horse in his mouth, came prancing back to them, all proud of his deed of getting the animal back.

The company then prepared to depart once again, after Varonno fed his wolf and the horse had grazed nearby for a little while. They had wasted more time than intended and agreed to hire a boat with some of the gold from the barrow to make their way to the Neck faster, despite none of them being too eager to meet back with the mage.

The village itself was not much of a sight, mainly exisisting as a fishing spot with a few houses dotted about. Nevertheless they managed to exchange some of the gold they acquired after they told the story of how they came about it to coinage and rations. This was much to the delight of the fisherment who had been plagued by the wights for some time, and were all too happy to be rid of them. After resting for a little while, and getting a proper sense of where they found themselves, the men managed to convince one of the villagers to ferry them as close to the neck as he could in exchange for three golden coins.