The eastern road was one that they were all familiar with, if in slightly greater or lesser measure. The most familiar with it was Thormundr, with the least familiar with it being the Wolffish, who had never ventured further than the road into the local mountain.
Unlike many other roads, such as those established by the Romalians in South-Agenor this one was unpaved as stated before now. The route east was surrounded by large ash trees, most of whom were old, thick at the waists and which fluttered in the wind. The breeze that whipped past them did so whisperingly a hint of menace in its 'voice' so to speak, so that all knew within a few hours of leaving their homes there would be no safety found there.
It was these trees that they had for company, to watch over them as they travelled through the night, so that they did not stop to rest until the suns' had risen in the east. It was with a great deal of relief that they greeted the day, and set themselves to establishing a camp.
"First watch through the day shall have to go to you Guðleifr," Thormundr decided wearily, with a glance to the east. "It might have been better had we left during the day, I suppose."
"And stop to rest in the middle of the night? Never," Wolffish hissed, superstitious at the best of times, a sour look on his face. "I will claim the last watch, goodnight my friends."
"Good day, you mean," Thorgils teased lightly, only to receive a 'harrumph' for his trouble, whereupon he placed himself on the opposite side of their small fire, threw his furs over his shoulders and slept.
There was something peculiar about this forest, he mused to himself as he drifted off to sleep. Something not quite right, about those whispering tree branches and their leaves that seemed to turn and rustle endlessly, even when the wind seemed to halt.
Perplexed by this, it happened that Thorgils as he strove to find sleep in the waking hours, was to trace their journey in his mind. They had journeyed through the forest; just past the dark mountain where the Collubar had taken up residency from there they had made their way through Burrows-Forest. Named after a number of burrows dug more than four centuries prior, it was said that they were dug by Ratvians who had made their home there, before men and Wolframs, those ancestors of Thorgils and Wolffish had made their home in Heiðrrán.
It was said that those residents of the forest, those first people of Heiðrrán had perished in the Second Wars of Darkness, when the Collubar and Svartálfar invaded Norvech. It happened that they had slaughtered the Burrows, as the homes of the Ratvians were called. The story went, Thorgils knew that men had gone there to save them, found them all dead and buried them only for them to have risen back up as Unliving and slaughtered some of the men. The next group of men were sent by King Eyvindr, third son of Bynjarr who had the corpses cremated.
Once this was accomplished, those who came to make a home for themselves, decided not to live in the Burrows-Woods and move further to the west.
The reason for this was because the forests were haunted, Thorgils' mother had whispered when he was young, haunted by the former residents of the Burrows. This was why their ancestors had moved further west, why the first Jarl of Heiðrrán had arranged for a mound to be established and a fort built atop it.
Worry over the wronged spirits of the Burrows remained with Thorgils as he at last drifted off to sleep. His last thought being a prayer to Oðinn to guard his rest, and to give the spirits the rest they so richly deserved.
Awoken several hours before lunch to the smell of cooked rabbit, the smell wafted up from the fire not unlike perfume. It tickled Thorgils' nostrils with the youth startled to discover that it was not his father rotating the animal on the spit, but Thormundr. Bewildered, he glanced to either side of him, only to sag in relief when he found his father sleeping peacefully, while Wolffish snored loudly.
"How anyone can snore so loudly, is a mystery to me," The sorcerer remarked to him, with a disdainful sniff in the direction of the canine.
Thorgils sighed. If only, he asked himself as he studied the small fire before him, with mournful eyes, Thormundr and Wolffish could learn to get on a little better. Always they were at war, it seemed. The two of them were utterly incapable of the slightest compromise with one another, so that Thorgils often had the notion that the two men had it in their heads he ought to shun the other.
"I should think it preferable that he snore, than he seek another quarrel with you, Master Thormundr," Thorgils said with considerably greater patience than he had ever shown, to any member of his family.
Something of his exasperation must have shown though in his eyes, or in his voice because the old sorcerer was to grumble beneath his breath. "Of all those you could have brought along, on this journey it had to be the Wolffish, the singular individual in the whole of the village who always seeks trouble and refuses to ever listen to another."
"That is quite unfair Master, Wolffish at his core is the most loyal, the most faithful of all men in the whole of Norvech," Thorgils disagreed at once.
"Dog you mean."
"Pardon?"
"He is loyal as a dog, which is what he is," Thormundr replied with a snort, "Never forget that he is no man, regardless I doubt that loyalty extends to my person given our disagreements."
There was more that Thorgils wished to say to him, but he was stopped by the ever louder moaning that seemed to stem from the nearby ash trees. There was something in the air then, some great shadow that had stolen its way across the land, through the forest that took his breath away. Some premonition overcame him, so that he could neither speak in defence of his dearest friend, nor could he say pointedly as he might have liked that, some of the difficulties between Thormundr and those younger than him, such as Wolffish and Auðun, was his fault. That there might be peace, were the old man simply a little less proud, this he might have liked to say but could not.
This was because of the sudden frisson that overwhelmed him; one that left him convinced that the Burrows were hardly safe. This could not be due only to the winter weather that haunted the whole of Norvech. Well accustomed to winter, and wrapped up in enough furs and having slept near enough to the fire to feel the heat of the flames on his face, he had begun to wonder if there was more to Wolffish's superstitions than originally thought.
"Mayhaps, it might have been wiser to continue until the Burrows lay behind us," Thorgils remarked as Wolffish blinked his eyes, and yawning widely.
"I said just that earlier in the day, yet all of you spoke of how we had need of rest," The wolf snapped irritably.
"What difference does it make? We have rested and now may follow Sigrún and that fool apprentice of mine's tracks in the light of day." Thormundr countered at once, with a shake of his shaggy head.
"Certainly, but for all we know they may be distancing themselves further from us," Holmfríðr's eldest son retorted evenly.
"Enough the both of you," Guðleifr growled as he awoke, sitting up and pushing the thick collection of furs, "We have a duty to attend to."
Thorgils nodded his head, grateful for his father's presence, and the respect he inspired in those around them, especially in Thormundr. It was when they each turned away to put away the effects and possessions they had taken out in order their encampment.
As he was stuffing away some of the extra furs and cooking implements he had brought along with him, Thorgils heard his father whisper to him. "You see to Wolffish, I will see to speaking to Thormundr before I venture on ahead."
"Yes father," Thorgils agreed at once, looking to the tracks left in the snow by his stepsister he was to murmur. "We are fortunate in that it has not snowed, nor rained and that the weather has remained cold, so that the snow has not melted."
Guðleifr agreed before he hurried over to the side of Thormundr, who was to throw himself onto his horse with a disdainful sniff in the direction of the Wolffish. Exasperated by this, Thorgils was to turn to his friend with a small tight smile on his bearded lips. "Wolffish, why do you insist on remaining so hostile with old Thormundr?"
Wolffish regarded him gravely, ere he turned his attention back to the old man who was trotting off down the road with Guðleifr whispering to him. "Because Thorgils, he is a man of many secrets, many of which the village has forgotten, or over the decade I suspect remained ignorant of."
"And you think you know them?"
"Only one which my father passed on to me, just as my mother did," Wolffish retorted sharply as he threw one long leg over his horse's side after heaving himself up over it.
"And what secret is that?" Thorgils asked of him, as he did much the same.
"That almost forty years ago, when he first arrived in Heiðrrán, he found most of the library in his fortress, and that he did not bring it with him to our village."
"I know this, but many of the elders said he has added to the library Wolffish," Thorgils replied sharply, tired of his friend's myriad excuses for why he detested the old sorcerer.
"Mayhaps he has, over the years but make no mistake my friend I have it on good authority that on first arriving in our village, he did quite the opposite." Wolffish answered with darkened eyes, only to lean towards his oldest friend. "My parents told me many times that when he first came, he set to work gathering a great many of the books therein his fort, down in the courtyard and set them ablaze. There was such a great fire that the smoke could be seen for many kilometres for hours."
"Are you certain, of this?"
"I saw the horror and his suspicion in my father's eyes, the day he told me, and I had never known him to ever tell me a single lie." Wolffish replied tartly, with all the weight of a man who felt that he carried a burden greater than that of Atlas. The wolf was to add after a moment's thought, for good measure. "I do not trust men with secrets Thorgils, because the moment a man takes it into his heart to hide things from the rest of the world especially those dearest to him, or nearest he places himself in some manner above them. This I do not trust. Any man who claims some special knowledge or right to know things no other should know is the moment is not one I wish at my side, in any dire hour or time of need."
Thorgils wished he could have doubted his words then, and wished also that he had provided a proper defence of Thormundr. Yet all he felt thenceforth was the seed of suspicion towards his lifelong benefactor begin to take root.
The forest was pockmarked as they soon saw, with dozens of mounds. Some were small barely reaching three meters high; others though rose to twelve meters in height, to the amazement of Thorgils and Wolffish. Neither of whom had ever seen them before in their entire lives, which amused their older travelling companions.
The mounds themselves were in the summer typically covered in green, and were hardly all that steep, whilst being surrounded by old oaks and ash trees that towered over each of the barrows which were without entrances. The emerald man made mountain was one that yellowed at times or greyed in the autumn, yet at present as it was winter were covered in snow, so that at times the only indication that they had that they were riding over these tombs was how they were slightly more elevated than the rest of the earth.
It was a remarkable experience, for Thorgils who had a great many questions regarding them, yet found that neither of his companions knew a great deal.
Strangely, Guðleifr knew a great deal more about them, than the old man saying to them as they rode over one of the twelve meter high mounds. "These mounds it was said, are the burial places of many ancient kings, those who reigned over this portion of the land long after the First Wars of Darkness, almost two millennia ago. I recall once hearing of how it was said that, these kings warred with all around them, and that the greatest of their number was the lady Sigfrøðr, and her husband King Rúni."
"What is so remarkable about the two of them?" Thormundr queried curiously.
"You have never heard of them before?" Wolffish asked in turn of the sorcerer, who shook his head wherefore he was to remark. "It seems to me that you ought to have a book on them, and those from their time."
"There is very little written about these barrows." Thormundr snapped turning away from him, to return his attention to Guðleifr. "Do go on, Guðleifr."
"Rúni was a man who was a ferocious warrior, one who found the Ursidon of his land beset by a strange madness, which drove them to strive to slay all those around him. Seeking to protect his youngest brother, he was to venture forth in battle against them, with only a few of his huscarls. Wounded, he crawls away from the battlefield, after he had littered the ground with the bear-men's corpses, reaching the sea he was to be found by the lady Sigfrøðr. It was she, a simple woodcutter's daughter who saved him, healed his wounds and with whom he was to fall in love with at first sight such was her beauty."
"I have heard that the lady Sigfrøðr became a queenly lady in her own right, and that she fought in a series of battles of her own," Wolffish interrupted impatiently. "My old mother once told me that she it was who presided over the death of their enemy Alfvin."
"Indeed she did, never let it be said that she was weak, for she knew that she must protect her husband though I had heard tell that she was not simply a woodcutter's daughter but that she was also that of a fairy." Guðleifr replied in a quiet voice, ere he took up the song of the ancient Queen of the Burrowwoods and her bear-slaying husband.
"Lo! The Stars and the Earth,
Do still remember her mirth,
The white lady raised up by one act
Of kindliest love,
This be the way she in fact
Elevated herself high as a dove,
Sigfrøðr was her name,
She who's beauty lent her great fame,
Her husband she could ne'er tame,
He who was made near lame
By battle when he won acclaim
O'er the bear-lord whom he didst defame
By blade as by battle this he didst without shame,
Lo! Sigfrøðr of the great mane,
The lady of the woods' daughter she was,
And therein the forest it was,
Where she found him, there under the stars,
And there it was together they pressed palms,
And swore their love with many a psalms
Sung by her kinswomen, the children of the stars,
Of Rúni many art the legends,
Told in north and south lands,
Great his weapons,
Ne'er gentle wert his hands,
That didst spread fear in the wicked,
Where it is he has gone,
None know, there Sigfrøðr followed
Of this minstrels still sing,
Hearts ablaze with sorrow."
The song might well have simply been a song, and been left at that, were it not for how to the alarm of all four men, it seemed to be picked up if distantly. The chord and rhythm of the answering voice was finer, more melodious than that of Guðleifr. It brought to mind dreams of gold, silver and of a lost age, one from a time when the world was young, one when men rode in great chariots, and sang their great dirges long into the night. A time long ago, when the Elves those great and majestic people, who once ruled over more of the world than mortal men, were to be found in every glen, valley and hill, ruling over his own domain. These domains had once stretched from the lands of Norvech in the west, to those in the distant east, and throughout all of Beveriand, and the two Agenors, along with portions of distant Ifriquya.
At present, they had been reduced to smaller domains, with only the lands of the Álfar having retained its glory and might it was said, or so Thormundr had once claimed.
"Where did that voice originate from?" Thorgils exclaimed as he looked all about, in search of the mysterious voice that seemed to echo from all about them, yet further within the terrible forest they found themselves within.
"It seemed as though, it came from further into the woods, hurry! Do not tarry my friends!" Thormundr cried out as he threw and pulled on the reins of his horse, urging it to gallop as fast as it could.
Having been riding a little ways ahead, as he sang and inspected the ground just as he had done hours earlier, just before high noon, Guðleifr was taken by surprise by the sudden movement and could only gape at the sorcerer.
Nearly thrown to one side, he was to exclaim loudly after his friend, cursing and complaining loudly about his burst of unexpected impulsiveness. "Wait you fool! Filthy knave, do not race on ahead lest you gallop atop the tracks of the children!"
Yet Thormundr did not pay heed to his words, swept up as he was by his conviction that Sigrún was the one who had sung to them, and that she was just a little further ahead. Thorgils was no less surprised, as he exchanged an angry look with Wolffish.
"I had thought that old age, was supposed to bring with it wisdom," Thorgils complained no less furiously than his father before him.
"It does with regards to a great many people, but not one such as he I suppose," Wolffish grunted disdainfully, only to search about the ground all around them. "I had thought the voice came from nearby, echoing up from the ground or the wind."
His friend was inclined to agree with him, as he searched all about them. Consternated, he was to move to follow after the excited Thormundr, in the hopes of restraining him, as his father sought to do himself. It was with a start that Thorgils took note of how a fog had begun to roll in, how everything had begun to darken and how the cold began to worsen.
The mist that had rolled in so suddenly did so just as a song erupted from somewhere near, yet it seemed at the same time far away. Alarmed by this, and feeling the pinpricks of the icy wind stabbing at him, with all the ferocity of a bear's fangs.
It happened that as the wind rolled in and Thorgils urged his horse forward, with Wolffish to the left of him that the horse no less stricken by horror reared back. Hardly the most experienced of horsemen, Thorgils struggled to regain control of the animal. Tugging and pulling at the reins with all his might, he was to with a great bellow feel the animal buck and resist with ever growing ferocity.
Next to him Wolffish, who was even more inexperienced in horse-riding was in the midst of struggling also and soon met with the same fate.
The fall felt sudden and long, as though it took some time before his head hit the ground. Groaning, Thorgils made to regain his feet, grateful for the snow that had softened his fall he was to move to pick himself up, while Wolffish grumbled about the horses.
It was at this moment that Thorgils felt something grasp his left ankle. The grip was icy, such that he could feel it even through his boot. Rearing up, axe in hand he came near to take a mighty swing at the offending hand, when he saw that it was as bony as it was dusky, so that he gaped at it.
Gasping at the cold that swept over him, he was to attempt to shake its grasp, fail wherefore he was to attempt to hew it with his axe. The blade to his alarm was to with a crack split in two, on contact with that terrible black-knuckled hand.
The head that appeared from beneath him, drew itself up from below the snow and was no less dark than its hand, and did so with the slowness, and ease of a heron taking flight in the morn. What chilled him more than any cold grasp that seemed to chill his bones even through his boot and clothes, was the gleaming eyes that now stared at him.
Holding itself up, the skeletal figure loomed over him, with eyes that seemed to glow with some internal light, one that overwhelmed the whole of his being. "Youuuuuuuuu…. Ouuuuuuurrrrrsssss…!"
And then he knew only darkness.
It was some time before the fog that held sway over him, was to clear away. It was with more than a little surprise that he shook himself awake, from the stupor that dominated him. Confused, he was to look all about him and attempt to move, only to realise he could not for his hands were tied up above his head.
At first all, was bathed in darkness that is until his eyes had adjusted at which time he was stricken with horror. They had somehow found their way into the burial mound, having been dragged down into the darkness, to find a small hall with painted walls. Painted onto the walls were a number of hunters and wild beasts, many of them were also engraved in some places, into the stone walls all around them.
The ground was cleared and stony-grey, with Thorgils alarmed to find at his and Wolffish's feet, gathered together was a large collection of tree branches, bramble and other such flammable bits of nature. Thorgils was to gasp at this sight, and at once attempted to rouse his friend whom he could feel pressed against his back, and could see from the corner of his eye.
"Where are we?" Wolffish asked after he had awoken with a groan, only to glance up at their hands which were tied to a hook set into the ceiling above them. "How did we come to be here?"
"That I do not know," Thorgils retorted no less horrified and distraught, by their present situation, with his attention diverted to the impenetrable shadows that loomed before him.
The darkness that had gone on to dominate the larger part of the cavern they currently found themselves within, was one that no matter how much his eyes adjusted continued to appear utterly shadowed. It was uncanny he mused to himself, as he sought for several minutes to see past it, so that when at last the darkness seemed to begin to give way, he felt a surge of relief. That relief soon gave way though to shock, when he saw Sigrún and Auðun standing there before him.
They did not however hold themselves as they had last he saw them. Rather, their stance was considerably more upright, and prouder than they had ever held themselves prior to this moment. Gone was Auðun's timidity and doubt, and though she leant towards arrogance, Sigrún had never held herself so imperiously as far as he knew.
It was at that moment that the two of them burst into song, yet it was not their voices that burst forth from their mouths but in the case of Sigrún it was the same one as before. It was the voice that had answered his father's song by singing back to him. So that Thorgils and Wolffish were left confused and bewildered at this even more pronounced change in her.
All around them though, from deep within the shadows of the small hall, including from the large stone sarcophaguses that Thorgils could not see, but Wolffish could there echoed the song also, as a number of sepulchral voices joined their voices to those coming out of Sigrún and Auðun's voices.
"Lo! The Stars and the Earth,
Do still remember her mirth,
The white lady raised up by one act
Of kindliest love,
This be the way she in fact
Elevated herself high as a dove,
Sigfrøðr was her name,
She who's beauty lent her great fame,
Her husband she could ne'er tame,
He who was made near lame
By battle when he won acclaim
O'er the bear-lord whom he didst defame
By blade as by battle this he didst without shame,
Lo! Sigfrøðr of the great mane,
The lady of the woods' daughter she was,
And therein the forest it was,
Where she found him, there under the stars,
And there it was together they pressed palms,
And swore their love with many a psalms
Sung by her kinswomen, the children of the stars,
Of Rúni many art the legends,
Told in north and south lands,
Great his weapons,
Ne'er gentle wert his hands,
That didst spread fear in the wicked,
Where it is he has gone,
None know, there Sigfrøðr followed
Of this minstrels still sing,
Hearts ablaze with sorrow."
"Who is that that is singing to us? Their voices are colder than ice in the dead of winter," Wolffish complained loudly, to his friend who glanced back at him from the corner of his eye.
"It is Sigrún and Auðun, who sing to us."
"You lie, they sound nothing at all like the two of them!"
Holding herself imperiously, Sigrún was to speak with eyes aglow, just as those of the shades all about them were, her eyes glimmering in the shadows of the cavern as she asked of them. "Who is it that you have had brought before us?"
"Tressssspasssserrrrssss, O Queeeeennnnnn!" The shades answered all as one, their hissing voices echoing throughout the caverns, and sending a shiver up the spines of the two tied in the middle of the small hall.
"And what do we do with trespassers O noble ones?" She was to ask in a voice that was not her voice, if with a sardonic twist that made Thorgils' stomach fill with nausea.
He did not much like the sound of her voice, as he hung there not unlike a pig on a spit ready for the slaughter. Looking about all around him, he was made distinctly aware that there was almost no opening, no doorway that shed light or offered a proper means of escape, from the dreadful fate he suspected these beastly phantoms had in store for him.
"I do not much care for the manner with which they speak of us," Wolffish exclaimed with a yelp that sounded remarkably akin to that a surprised dog might let out.
Inclined to agree with him, Thorgils was to cast about all around him, for some means of escape when his eyes were inevitably drawn once more to the hook, from which they hung. It had not crossed his mind before, but the hook looked quite old and the clay into which it had been cast, did not inspire confidence.
It was his view that with every minute that passed, the nearer they came to it falling from the hole it had been set into. Pleased by this, it gave him an idea, if a desperate one as he continued to stare up at it, he whispered to Wolffish. "Wolffish, do you still have thy wineskin? The one you always carry about when fishing with thy brother Oddr?"
"Yes, indeed I do, why do you ask?" Wolffish was to demand of him, a little impatience in his voice.
"Be prepared to give it over, in the event I should free our hands," Thorgils murmured back to him, his tongue almost caught between his teeth as he continued to study the hook above them.
"Is your throat truly so parched you shan't wait, until we have returned to the light of day?" His friend demanded of him.
Thorgils did not answer his question. Disinterested in it, he devoted himself instead to the task set before him, he was to have the satisfaction of noticing how inch by inch, it was giving way. It did not do this rapidly, but ever so slowly the more he pulled.
It was as he paid at last attention once more to the two before him, that he heard Auðun speak once more, this time in a voice other than his own. "Mark it well, that as thou hast trespassed purification by flame is the only just punishment imaginable for ones such as thyselves."
"What is it that he just uttered?" Wolffish asked stricken with worry, and horror at the sentence that Auðun had just declared.
"Never you mind, what he intends pull on this rope with me!"
"Why attempt to unravel it, when it is so tightly bound?"
"I do not seek to unravel it, muddle-minded cur just to pull the hook loose!"
It was at this time that Wolffish glanced up, took notice of what had captured the attention of his friend, and at last realised why it was that he was pulling with increasing fervour. Startled by this, he was to take a moment to stare before he began to pull with all his weight also.
Between the two of them, it was not long before the hook began to give way, inch by inch, centimetre by centimetre. Thorgils' heart was in his throat as they made slow yet steady progress, and as liberty came ever nearer to them, ever closer to being theirs.
"Buuuuuurrrrnnnnnnn!" Hissed one of the shades as it lit a torch, the first in some time with the two warriors grateful for this sudden burst of light though their relief was short-lived.
"Fire!" Wolffish shouted alarmed by the sight of the flames.
"Keep pulling!" Thorgils yelled back to him, as he pulled with thrice as much resolve as before, so that the hook gave way ever more.
There was a moment when it seemed as though all the shades were studying the duo, it seemed as if they had at last realised what it was that they were about. But the moment passed, when Auðun signalled to the shade holding up the torch to start the fire, this it did just as Wolffish and Thorgils fell from where they hung.
A brief moment of elation followed as they fell, with Thorgils almost letting out a great cheer whereupon it became a scream of pain as the flames licked at his buttocks. The agony that followed was worse than what he had expected as he and Wolffish tore their hands loose, from their ropes and began to roll about in the dirt.
Rolling about in the filth and dirt they were to fight hard to put out the flames that lit their bottoms and their trousers, desperation fuelling every movement. Graveness never departed from the sternly set expressions of the glimmering eyed faces of Auðun and Sigrún. Both of whom observed the movements and actions of their friends, with baleful airs.
"Seize them!" Sigrún commanded her voice cruel and merciless as the heat from the fire that had lit her brother and his friend's bottoms.
"Wait!" Thorgils was to yell adding for good measure, "Please Sigrún, will you not shake off what madness has possessed you?"
"What did you call my wife, interloper? She is Queen Sigfrøðr, do not make that mistake again," Auðun corrected him to his bewilderment.
"Pardon?" Thorgils asked utterly dumbfounded.
"Have you gone daft, Auðun?" Wolffish queried no less stunned by the strangeness of Auðun's response.
"Kill them." Auðun ordered icily, his eyes glowing even more in the darkness of the caverns, which inspired such a fright in his friends that they pressed their backs against one another, glancing all about themselves fearfully.
The shades that had hitherto remained in the shadows, and moved only to supply flames for the fire with which to cook the two men closed in on them, eyes no less bright than those of Auðun. It was at this moment though that there was a great cry that erupted from up above them all, as a hole was opened up and a shovel was seen punching through the darkness and letting in a flood of sunlight.
"Ah! At last, there you two are!" Thormundr's voice was heard to exclaim as he set eyes for the first time in some time on the two of them.
"Thorgils, Wolffish how in the name of Tyr and all the other war-gods did you arrive inside this great barrow?" Guðleifr was to shout no less loudly than his friend, as he widened the hole ever so slightly before casting aside his spade, to leap inside the hole, landing outside the circle of shades without thinking.
Following after him, if with a disdainful sniff at the dirt, bugs and other filth that clung to the tomb as might sails to a ship. It was with a start that they realised, had it not been for the most desperate of circumstances that assailed them now; he would never have entered the tomb.
"I knew you to be a fool Auðun, but I never imagined you might well find thyself possessed one day, by such a lowly spectre," Thormundr snorted with visible displeasure.
Staff in hand he was to approach the glowing-eyed Auðun, which caused consternation amongst his friends who almost pressed together such was the worry they felt for him. "Caution Master Thormundr!"
Only Wolffish looked from him to the cavern opening that had been dug by the mighty Guðleifr, and was to remark to them, "Away we must go! I depart first from this filthy place, do not tarry Thorgils!"
"No, I shan't leave so long as Auðun, my father and Sigrún are here," Thorgils retorted, though he did not say it, he deep down wished to observe how Thormundr might rescue his friends from their current state.
Thormundr for his part, did not disappoint him, in presenting a great demonstration of light and greatness as he took up his staff, held it high at first wherefore muttering some incomprehensible words pressed its gemstone against Sigrún's forehead.
As he did so, several of the spectres all about him attempted to move towards him, yet were driven back by a sudden burst of light that emanated suddenly from the old man. So sudden was this burst of brightness that shone as though he were lit by a hundred torches that not a man could stand to look on his person for very long. Bright as the suns', his staff was all the brighter so that though initially unaffected by him, the possessed pair now could not long stand to gaze on the staff.
A great cry was torn from Sigrún's throat when it was pressed against her forehead, a moment later it was pressed against Auðun's chest to the same effect.
Once the two were properly cleansed of the taint that had been cast over them, they were lifted bodily from the tomb by Thorgils and Guðleifr with the other phantoms fleeing when they saw the couple lifted from the grave. It fell upon Gertrud's husband to explain to them how they had noticed the two had not followed, with Thormundr having heard their cries.
It was he who had divined that they had been dragged down into the large man-made hill and he who had set the stronger man to begin digging.
"I was aware that the spirits had been active of late, but I had not thought that they might seek to possess Auðun or Sigrún," Thormundr declared unhappily, whereupon he rounded upon his apprentice. "And you Auðun, how could you be so foolish as to allow thyself to be possessed by a spirit? You who are trained, to resist such things?"
Auðun who was still wearied and was a sickly green hue due to his time below ground, was to blink in his eyes until they had adjusted to the light of the suns'. Having only freshly awakened, he was to adopt an abashed expression and say shame-facedly, "I was ambushed."
"Leave the boy be, we shall hear his tale in time, let us first finish refilling this hole, and hurry from this place." Guðleifr told him wherefore he added with a glance over his shoulder, "We could soon be back in Heiðrrán in a day or so."
"But it should only be an hour or so from the Slobbering Hog," Thormundr replied wearily, "And I have no wish to rest in a forest especially a haunted one. Therefore, let us stay there before we have any further discussions of returning home."
Though he might have wished to argue, Guðleifr was to glance to the formerly possessed two, and to his son and even Wolffish and find in them reluctant travelling companions. It was Thorgils though who told him, "It might be for the best father, we could travel back hither the way we came, and be home by dusk tomorrow."
Agreeable to this, what neither father nor son, nor even their sorcerer friends were aware of was the trotting hooves that trailed after them; along the very road they had travelled themselves. From shadow to shadow, it flitted as though it shunned the light of day and all about the land the mist summoned by the shades of the Mound, grew thicker and thicker.