“Anything within a mile of us will see that light, Geran!” Hamil called.
“I know, but I don’t want to risk the horses in the dark. It’ll be a long walk if one of them breaks a leg.” The horizon was no longer visible, and Geran couldn’t make out his landmarks any longer. He picked a dim star that he hoped was in the right direction and urged his horse onward. The jogging pace was beginning to wear on him, making his thighs and back ache.
Some subtle note in the wind changed, and the steady moaning took on a new tone. Cold, distant voices seemed to mutter and whisper in the wind, and Geran’s heart skipped a beat. “Barrow-spirits,” he said softly. Ghosts, wraiths, some sort of dreadful phantoms-whatever they were, they meant no good to the living. He and Hamil needed to get off the moor, or they’d soon find out exactly what was abroad on the night wind.
Do you hear them? Hamil called silently.
Geran simply nodded in response. He felt something drawing closer and glanced quickly to either side. Nothing was there-but when he looked again at the path in front of him, a spectral figure seemed to hover in the air a short distance before him. It was the image of an ancient warrior, dressed in the simple mail hauberk and nasaled helm a warrior of five centuries past might have worn. His braided beard was gray and tattered, and his blank eyes shone with a pale green light.
“Thy doom is upon thee, mortal,” the ghost whispered. “Thou shalt sleep under cold stars this night, and never again the sun shall find thee.”
Geran’s horse tossed its head in panic, and icy dread seemed to rob the swordmage of his will. He stared at the apparition for a long, terrible moment. Then he tugged at the reins and turned his horse away from the dour spirit. He kicked his heels to the animal’s flanks, and with a shrill whinny of terror the black charger bolted off into the night. Geran leaned down low over its neck and let the animal run; he heard the hoofbeats of Hamil’s mount falling behind him. Finally he slowed the horse’s pace, and Hamil soon caught up.
“Don’t stop now!” the halfling said. “I think it’s following us!”
Geran kicked his mount back to speed and led Hamil over the moors. Whatever track they were following was long behind them, and he did not want to try to find it again. They came to a steep-sided gully that cut across their path, and Geran swore. He had to detour one way or the other around it. His sense of direction told him to veer left, but in that direction the terrain generally became more rugged as the land descended toward the Winterspear Vale. To the right they had a better chance of finding a place to cross, but he was afraid that would set them even farther off course. The swordmage grimaced and decided to head right first. They rode westward for several hundred yards, and the gully shallowed enough to cross. When they scrambled back up the other side, Geran caught a glimpse of a dim yellow light far across the moor.
“Thank Tymora,” he breathed aloud. “I think that’s the abbey.”
“Good,” Hamil replied through chattering teeth.
The travelers picked up their pace, following the distant light. For a long time it seemed to recede before them, never growing brighter, but finally they began to make up the ground, and a sprawling heap of broken towers and grass-grown stone appeared atop a short, steep-sided hill. Faint light showed from a few shuttered windows and a lantern swinging in the wind. They crossed an old stone-flagged causeway and scrambled up onto the road, and Geran breathed a sigh of relief as they stretched out into an easy canter and hurried the last few hundred yards.
They rode up to the weatherbeaten door in the crumbling wall and dismounted. Geran found a pull-rope by the door and tugged on it. From somewhere inside he heard the flat clang of a small bell. Nothing happened for a while, and he rang the bell again. Then he heard the rasp of wood on wood, and a small port in the door opened. The eyes of an aged man gazed out at him.
“Yes?” the fellow asked. “Who are you, and what do you want at this hour when no honest folk are abroad?”
“I’m Geran Hulmaster; this is my companion Hamil Alderheart. I ask shelter for the night. And I’d like to speak with the Initiate Mother.”
The monk’s eyebrows rose. “Geran Hulmaster? What in the world are you doing out here tonight, lad? It’s the dark of the moon. Don’t you know who walks the Highfells on nights such as this?”
“I’d rather not find out. Can we come in?”
“Yes, yes, just a moment.” The port closed. Then a heavier timber slid somewhere out of sight, and the abbey gate opened. The old monk appeared in the doorway a lantern in his hand. “Come on, then. Hurry, lads, it’s not safe to linger outside the walls tonight.”
Geran and Hamil led their horses into the doorway, and found themselves standing in an old courtyard. The monk pushed the heavy door closed and slid the bar back in place before turning to face them again. “Welcome to Rosestone,” he said with a wry smile. “I know the abbey has seen better days, but you’re safe enough inside these walls. I’m Brother Erron. Here, let’s stable your mounts and get you something to eat.”
“Thank you, Brother Erron,” Geran murmured. He glanced around at the crumbling towers and the broken pavement of the courtyard, then followed the old monk to a stable that evidently had not seen a horse in quite some time. Still, it was better than spending the night outside. He could no longer hear the chill voices in the wind, which led him to guess that old priestly wardings likely kept the restless dead far from Rosestone Abbey.
After stabling their animals, Geran and Hamil followed Erron to the abbey’s refectory. A handful of other monks waited there, and they provided the two comrades with a plain dinner of cured ham, boiled potatoes, black bread, and sharp white cheese, washed down with a tankard of hot cider.
“All right, Geran,” Hamil admitted. “This is better than huddling in some barrow out in those dreary hills, waiting for ghosts to come for us. But we were lucky to find the abbey when we did. There was a whole company of ghosts following us for that last mile.”
“You didn’t say anything about that,” Geran said.
The halfling shrugged. “I wanted you to keep your eyes on what was ahead of us. I was keeping watch behind.”
When they’d finished with their supper, Brother Erron appeared by the table and bowed. “Gentlemen, if you please, the Initiate Mother would like a word with you. Will you follow me?”
The two companions pushed themselves away from the table, rose, and followed the aged monk. He led them through a maze of passageways that took them through the main chapel-a tall room whose eastern wall was graced with a great window of stained glass depicting a glorious sunrise in panels of red, rose, and gold-and then a dark scriptorium filled with wooden writing desks and scroll racks. For all of the abbey’s weathering and the poor condition of its outer walls and towers, the interior seemed to be in good shape. On the far side of the scriptorium, Erron led them to a sturdy wooden door in a deep stone arch and knocked twice.
“Initiate Mother?” he called. “I have brought Geran and his companion.”
“Enter,” a muffled voice called.
Erron opened the door and led them into a small study or office, sparsely furnished. A stocky woman in yellow robes with iron-gray hair and a nut-brown complexion waited for them by the fire. She had a stern, lined face that would have been quite severe if not for her warm brown eyes, well creased by crow’s feet.
“Ah, Geran Hulmaster,” she said in a rich, melodious voice. “I have not laid eyes on you in ten years or more. And this must be Master Alderheart. I confess I am more than a little surprised to find you on my doorstep on such a bitter evening.”
“Mother Mara,” Geran said with a smile. He’d always liked her. From time to time he and Jarad had passed by the abbey in their youthful ramblings, and the monks of Amaunator had always been happy to set places at their table for two hungry young hunters. He crossed the room to bow and take her offered hand, raising it to his lips. “I’m glad that Brother Erron let us in. It would’ve been a long, cold night otherwise.”