Having been relieved of the witch’s presence so suddenly, the remaining members of the group sat back down at their old places by the fire.

Now that supper was over and done with, the four set about getting things ready for the night, and found that their spirits had been raised, if only a little. They brought kindling over to a new pile by the oven, made sure the mare and jack were secured with enough rope to allow for their wandering, and had discussions of the sleeping arrangements. Two would remain awake until midnight, one to keep control over the oven and the other to tend to Jynge, should she call down for any assistance.

In time, as they moved about the lower chamber, the voice of the witch came to be faintly heard echoing down from the passageways above. None could properly discern what words she said, but it was not hard to guess their purpose or their placement. The four merely shrugged, held their cloaks looser over their shoulders, and settled into the places where they had made beds for themselves, but talk between them soon wavered. For although the night had come and they had made it through the day, the distant incantations of witchcraft was nothing calming to the senses, even if it lay just beneath the surface of a slightly louder sound. Sometimes, she ceased for a while, and there were long periods in which no sound at all would come from the upper levels.

The rest of the evening went by tensely and tediously. Every now and then, Jynge would call some incantation out loud, but for the most part, all that the group heard from the higher levels was either the tapping of wood against wood or bare footsteps upon stone. After the four had finished their meals, most had instinctively made a short journey to the exterior of the tower, taking in the sight of the hills for whatever they may be worth. The Silver Hills were not exactly the most appealing place while blight loomed overhead, and a Veil could be seen far in the distance, but remnants of it splendor could still be found somewhat if one considered them for a time. As none were in the right minds to do so, their examination of the land was one born from hesitation and the need for assurance of security. The rangers found it more reassuring than Troíde, for while she was seldom used to the sights of a land in which not a single light from even a distant farmstead could be seen, they were somewhat partial to the isolation. That is not to say that they enjoyed the loneliness of High Ridge beneath the blight, but that itself was not as horrible a place to sleep beneath as Troíde believed.

Perhaps it was well that they went outside the tower, for while inside the tower, they could not have noticed the light of a great fire that the witch had created atop the battlements of the tower. A flickering yellow glow shimmered from between the high stones against the night sky as they gazed upward. Though nothing so large as a signal fire, even a blind man could point out High Ridge in such circumstances of isolation. The sight was anything but obscure. Like a heightened pinnacle upon the coastline, if one looked in the direction of High Ridge even from ten miles away, he would immediately be aware that it was no longer abandoned. Although the rangers could find some comfort in a place so far away from others, that comfort could be easily destroyed and turned to fear if their presence was signaled to others.

Górin remained outside for some while after the others had gone back into the tower, for he was the first to keep a keen eye on the grounds of the ridge and listen for Jynge’s requests. He looked grimly up at the illuminated stones, and sighed. He knew that it could not be helped, but he liked the beacon no more than he liked guiding a city-dweller on a hunt. No thought or care for secrecy. For the journey so far, secrecy was not even an issue that had needed to come into play, nor should it now, but as the cloudy night went onward, he felt more and more like a sheep lost from its herd and very close to the grounds of wolves.

It took some time, but his thoughts were finally becoming lighter, and his mind settled in the peace of a few moments away from the others, but as it were, his heart could still fall in an instant at the slightest provocation. For just as he was about to get up from leaning against the wall, and stretch his legs with a short walk, a chill and echoing call rattled out through the trees below the ridge.

Harsh and dark, it croaked in malice from what seemed to be no more than three or four miles away. The events of the day had preoccupied Górin's thoughts enough that the memories of being greeted with a distant howl had been set aside for a time, and the moments just after sunset had loosened some tension, but that was all done for now. The tremors repeated many times in his mind as he stood there, frozen in surprise. He waited for a moment, and the call rang out once again. This time, listening intently, he gained a better sense of its origin, and looked out to the stretch of land to his left.

Even with his accustomed eyes, he could see little beyond the reach of the ridge. A black pall spread over a black land that extended forth like a shoreless sea from the safety of light. He could see for perhaps a hundred feet down the hill, but beyond that, deep shadow hid all from sight. Barely any moonlight broke through the clouds, that night, and there were no places at all where stars could shine through. Whatever it was that had stalked the Silver Hills since they had arrived, it had seemed to have survived the Veil as well, and somehow ended up closer to the ridge than before. Even if he were generous in his guess and assumed whatever made the sound was five miles away, it would still surely notice the light of the tower if a line of vision could be had.

Górin turned to the entryway and moved into it, keeping his back to the light within. There was still some time to go until midnight, and if Górin was considering ruining his night-eyes for the final stretch of time until he was to wake up Troíde and Handor, there was no question now. He had little faith in the hunter's eye or bowman's fingers of both of his ranger companions, younger though they may be, even at noontime.

"It is out hunting," Dákk called out before Górin could even open his mouth to speak. The sudden address surprised him to hear, and he almost unintentionally turned around before stopping himself. He kept his head towards the dark land beyond, but nervously looked to the side where the edges of the doorway glowed in the firelight.

"You heard it?" he replied, careful to not let his voice become too loud. He wondered where in the room Dákk was, and suddenly, he felt very reluctant to stand with his back so exposed. Taking a step to the side, he stood right outside the entryway and leaned his back against the stone wall. There was a sound of growing footsteps behind. They moved slowly, but with a strange and speedy rhythm that even a blind man could tell was anything but a straight line. Eventually, it came close, and Górin saw the near shadow of a figure upon the grass. Without thinking, he lowered his knees slightly and moved an arm back. He did not truly think that Dákk meant any harm, but that did not stop his instincts, nor did it stop the unease.

“I only hope that whatever lurks beyond those trees takes little interest in this beacon,” he said slowly, turning his head in a similar speed towards the doorway. After a moment, the form of Dákk appeared at the edge of his vision, but the man did not move any closer towards the exterior.

“It knows this place,” Dákk said with a drowsy voice, as though speaking not to Górin but to someone beyond where the two stood. “It’s come here before.”

“What makes you so certain on that?”

“On the other side,” Dákk replied, “Down the ridge, not far from where we met earlier...I found the men who wrote those signs we found.”

This time, Górin turned his head so quickly that he caught quite a glimpse of the illuminated walls, but he didn’t turn so far that he saw the flames of the campfire. For only a brief instant, he saw Dákk standing near him. Though he did not see much of his companion, it was clear that he did not look at Górin as he spoke, but rather the beak of his mask pointed out into the lowlands from where the howling had come. Like before, a moment of levity and good news is nothing more than a moment, and realization came to him before he could even express an interest in the find.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Ah,” he finally said, nodding.

“I know little of the beasts of this land,” Dákk continued, seeming to not pay much attention to his leader, “But I have seen enough deer and foxes to understand that such a region is not wanting of prey animals. Should such a creature seek to hunt for sustenance, an easy catch would not be difficult to find. It wanted a different game.”

“Stop worrying yourself,” Górin grumbled, already growing tired with Dákk’s ramblings, no matter how much sense he made. It wasn’t until he had been dragged out of his comfort of escape that he realized he was not feeling such anxiety and hostility, and the sudden reminder of the howling, the lingering afflictions of his companions, and Jynge’s continued use of lights was not one that Dákk’s presence would help ease at all.

If the chanting is what it takes, he thought, then we must deal with that madness and do our duties, however ignorant the ordering of which might have been. Fool of a king. I would be amazed if he had ever taken half a step out of the Stékkr’s reach, or even beyond tamed land. He moved outward and looked back towards the peak of the tower. It still glowed with a flickering yellow light. He wondered when she would set fire to the brand. Suddenly remembering what Jynge had told him some days ago, he removed a glove and lifted his hand to the beak of his mask. Only just barely could he feel traces of warmth. Not accepting an unclear answer, he went about, with some hesitation, to fully remove his mask and look into the contents of the beak itself. With a careful stirring by his knife, he exposed several smoldering embers and brightened them with a few breaths. The embers had so far lasted long as Jynge promised, for the flames of the daír burnt long, whether in strength or in struggle. Yet kindling must be given, and the portion within had diminished considerably in the past days. Much ash fell through the holes underneath the beak, and Górin thought grimly of how much more would last before it required more of the strange poultice.

Absentmindedly, and not quite sure of how to go about handling the embers, Górin continued to stir around the dull-brown fibers, sifting and spreading the glowing red throughout. He worked intently, succeeding in ignoring the presence of the other beside him, and was right in the middle of gently pushing a large chip of smoldering wood when the sudden shriek nearly made him drop the mask. From above and upon the top of the tower, a forceful and ringing cry burst forth.

“Árwa veðí síða ammen, dáras dégr an dégan!” Jynga screamed.

The sudden verse that echoed throughout the hills rang many times, but it were not alone, for soon after, another was screamed out into the winds. A wave of fear pulsed through Górin, and he spat in wrath.

“Can she not do that more quietly?” he hissed, though his words were often overshadowed by the shrill chants from the rooftop. Even from where they all sat outside the tower, her words were clearly heard and felt.

“I’d expected something like this,” Dákk murmured.

“Shut your mouth, too,” Górin snapped. He speedily gazed throughout the black of night around the ridge, as though he might suddenly see the faces of townsfolk amid the trees, peering out to see what the shouting was about. “No doubt the others will be awoken from this. Fetch them quickly. If they somehow have slept through this racket, then put a blanket over their heads and save their night-eyes.

Sending Dákk to fetch Troíde and Handor had not been necessary, for the sleepers had been immediately brought awake, and a blanket was no longer needed, for they had already ruined their night sight upon looking around the chamber.

“What did you expect?” Troíde said, not far off, though headed in the direction of where the two watchmen stood, “Her spells to be made silently and hidden in a dark room?”

“Something that wouldn’t require shrieking into the skies of strange lands,” Handor said, “Did you expect it?”

Troíde didn’t answer him, but addressed the others as the two rejoined them. “If you are thinking of going up to say anything to her, I would suggest otherwise.” she said with a low voice, “She warned me of this. She must be in a trance. Such things separate one’s mind to a degree from the common thoughts, but the separation can be easily ruined. If you shake her back enough to listen to your words, the entire process could be likewise ruined and she would have to start anew, tomorrow.”

“Bróg a lótta ek bíg bjoð! Frekks fálta an dégs is fájr!”

Górin covered his face in one hand. “Anything in five miles could see the great beacon she’s created upon the battlements. Anything in ten will hear this.”

“Perhaps we could put a sack over her head, if it is true that she would not notice?” Handor suggested. Troíde gave him a look of unbound hatred.

“Kraþnraht, kraþnreígs, om króws dajg ek kraþ!”

“It can hear-” Dákk began.

“Oh, a curse upon ‘it!’” Górin exclaimed, “Unless you have something worth knowing to say, don’t speak again until I give you leave. There isn’t much to gain in terms of secrecy from being inside the tower as opposed to outside, but all the same, we should relocate ourselves for now.” He gave an exasperated sigh and turned to enter the tower, blinking as he beheld the fire for the first time. The itching in his eyes was the most he cared about in that moment.

“I would rather just abandon this whole campaign and leave from this place,” Dákk muttered, though he likewise followed Górin into the tower.

“Would you now?” Troíde hissed, “You look backwards to security? You had accepted the summons upon your own will, if I am not mistaken. Is that the honor you have earned? A guard that is a faithless coward is little more than a single distraction before death is dealt.”

“Stop this!” Górin only barely checked himself in time to keep his voice to a loud grunt and not an outright shout to match the witch’s. “There is at least one foul creature, enough to fell grown men if Dákk is to be believed, not far from High Ridge, and I’ve no interest in meeting it while we bicker amongst ourselves. There’s still Kaðrosedd to get to, and I will not like it at all if this is a taste of how you shall act upon the way.”

Jynge’s shouting continued for much longer than they would have liked. At times, it diminished, returning to a low chant, and other times, she cried out like a banshee. Night passed onward, and it was only through moments of thin cloud that they could spot the location of the moon within the sky. By their best guess, it was well after midnight, and Jynge had awoken them not long before it. For a time, they had considered simply to sleep again, but the stresses of the night had kept their hearts from stillness, and none felt as though sleep would soon come, even if Jynge would return to her quiet incantations.

The night passed onward, but day was still far off. While the words of Jynge varied often and she went through a long list of verses, the time seemed to go by no sooner or easier. Beneath the confusing layer of clouds, the night went on at a snail’s pace.

Now and then throughout her shouting, the distant howling came to the ears of the three below. Being inside and speaking quietly among themselves, they didn’t always hear it, but when they did, all went silent for a moment as each looked quickly into an other’s eyes as though to confirm the ghostly cry was not some dreadful fancy. While none cared to admit it, least of all those that had been awoken, they were all horribly tired. Although some came close to drifting off, some sound or odd thought would send them awake once more, briefly alert and then back to sluggish. Their conversations were not profound, and many words were said simply to be said.

Like the mist itself that crept over the Silver Hills, this call repeated itself over time, slowly but surely coming closer to the tower. The call was not to be overshadowed, but it overshadowed Jynge. If not in volume, then in captivation. Her incantations had faded from Górin’s attention, but the howls chilled his heart and bit at his spine. The call held no words of any spoken language. Yet, through its distant moaning, could easily understand its meaning without any effort. A rally, a challenge, a warning. There was no inflection or notable variation in the call itself, like there might be so with a wolf or dog, but it fell upon his ears like the howling of wolves might fall upon the ears of a goat. The sickening music of a distant war call.

The echoing of the beast’s cries was suddenly shaken from his mind, as he felt a hand grip his shoulder. Turning, he beheld the white mask of his companions, and after a moment, he identified the rest of the figure’s clothing as belonging to Troíde. Only then did he realize just how little attention he had been paying to the others. When he sat, he leaned far and closed his eyes, not seeing or noticing much of what occurred within the tower.

“It is done, now,” the muffled voice of Troíde said. “Come. We’ve already moved much of our things up to the higher level.” As she spoke, Górin looked only briefly at Dákk before turning to look out at the woods in the east. The other ranger was shaking and held himself tightly in an uncertain embrace.

“It is coming,” Dákk choked out. “The calls grow nearer.”

“Which is why we must make haste,” Górin said as he pulled Dákk’s frame towards the rope ladder. “I fear that we have been more careless than was wise, though some things do seem out of our control.”

“The mare and the jack,” Handor said as they passed the two beasts of burden on their way to the rope that led to the upper level. “How are we to protect them?”

Górin said nothing, but gave him the rope and motioned for him to climb upwards.