A Ritual of Bone by Lee C Conley

Author:Lee C Conley [Conley, Lee C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781999375010
Publisher: Wolves of Valour Publications
Published: 2019-06-16T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER Fourteen

The Hound in the Mists

The dawn light brought another mist. It crept over the rocks and scrub with its swirling and seemingly ghostly tendrils. Other than a few nearby gorse bushes, only the Waystone could be seen. The great stone, looming faintly into view as the moorland about lay shrouded in the white haze.

The slopes in front of them were still barely visible. The trail ahead, winding back up into the passes, weaving between huge rocks and outcrops, as it disappeared up into the mists of the hidden peaks above.

The torches had burned out. Some were still smoking as sentries stood nearby gazing out into mists. Arnulf sat before a dwindling fire with his fur cloak wrapped about him. He pondered the day ahead with apprehension.

He had not slept. Few had, for fear of dreams of staggering dead men and the lurking things of the night. He had a fear that he would return to the pass only to find the bodies of those they had slain, only one day past, had gone. He feared, too, that the bodies of the men slain in the night, or of the girl, were to be found gone with the morning light. He shuddered. So many fears gnawed at him, stealing his sleep. What terrible thing had the gods sent him into?

Dawn came, and with it was discovered the bodies of the dead. Still laid behind the rocks, buried in the shallow pit topped with stones, still dead. Arnulf was relieved. Old Night had claimed their spirits back into his cold realm.

Although with the dawn light, Arnulf was now troubled by a new sinister tiding. The warrior, Olad, had mysteriously disappeared without trace. The sentries claimed to have not seen him go. None amongst them had seen him leave or seen anything else. Arnulf was troubled.

The reinforcements who came with Erran had brought fresh bread in the wagons from home. Some of the warriors sat around a rekindled cook fire and shared a loaf. Arnulf and Fergus talked quietly of the passes that lay ahead.

‘None among us have ever ventured further along the trail than where the path forks off up to the watch post,’ said Arnulf.

Fergus nodded slowly, and then said, ‘The trail into the passes beyond is seldom trodden, only by those few brave explorers or mad men seeking adventure. I have never spoken with anyone who claims to have been up there. But I bet some of the locals may have ventured into it, even if not far.’

‘Aye. Shame there is none to be found,’ said Arnulf with a frown. ‘The ancient trail has been unused for centuries. If what the folk say is true, it allegedly passes through the treacherous high valleys that lie amongst the peaks of The Spine. It is said a path through can be found.’

‘Aye, I have heard of it, through to the frontier and the western Mark of Arnar. But it is also said that the trail is littered with bones and the ghosts of those who failed,’ said Fergus with a grimace.

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