Freystein lifted an arm and pointed to an open space among the trees. "THERE LIES MANY BONES. GRIFF SAID A GREAT BATTLE WAS FOUGHT ONCE. THE BONES OF MEN AND BEASTS LAY THERE SUCH THAT GRASS WILL NOT PROPERLY GROW," they said. Halthor resisted the urge to pull himself up to standing to attempt to peer over the mountain troll's head at where they pointed. "I HAVE WALKED THAT FIELD. THINGS ARE STRANGE THERE. I LIKE IT NOT. EVEN THE WIND BLOWS QUEERLY."
"Can you bring me there?" Halthor said, remembering the Blue Lady's talk of the battle where Count Olerand's great-grandfather had fallen in. Freystein turned their head and peered over their shoulder at Halthor. "Or at least bring me near enough I have safe passage?" Halthor asked. Freystein turned their gaze back at the snowbound field.
"I WILL BRING YOU TO THE TREES BUT I WILL NOT GO IN THAT FIELD. SOMETHING EVIL LIES THERE, WAITING FOR SOMEONE." Freystein answered. The mountain troll followed a wide path beneath endless evergreens. It seemed only a few paces and then they were at the edge of the field. Halthor carefully climbed down Freystein's side as the mountain troll stooped. They straightened and looked at the snow covered field. "I ADVISE YOU NOT TO TRESSPASS ON THIS CURSED GROUND, YOUNG HALTHOR." Halthor looked up at Freystein.
"I'm not so young," Halthor answered and the wind began to blow across the field. The sounds of combat met his ears. Halthor looked over and saw only the white expanse between the trees. Uncomfortable with this clamoring where there appeared to be none causing it, he slipped his hammer from its carrying loop. Freystein took a step back deeper into the treeline. "That is the sound of men," Halthor said, "Of many men in battle."
"I LIKE IT NOT. I WILL WAIT HERE IN THE SILENCE OF THE TREES," said the mountain troll. Halthor looked down at Elwis. The dog seemed untroubled by the clamoring of phantom soldiers. Deciding that if the dog wasn't troubled, he would just ignore the noise and walk the field, Halthor stepped forward. A sound like a great rushing wind rolled over him. Then the world moved sideways and the season changed. Halthor found himself standing at the edge of a great battle.
A banner with the white flower of house Olerand on sable ground flapped near him. The carrier lay bleeding on the ground, having used the last of his strength to stab the pole end into the earth. Deciding that Olerand's great-grandsire had to be somewhere near by, Halthor walked towards the doomed battle. A horse came clattering towards him and Halthor jumped out of the way. The builder looked up to see a tall man wearing plate armor rush past. Halthor watched as the rider clashed with another rider. Halthor saw a group of horses in a tight formation about a central rider under heavy assault. Halthor tried to see through the group to who was in the center of the knot of roiling violence. A flash of black and white told him that a noble of house Olerand was there.
Unsure of what to do, Halthor looked over at the banner planted beside him. He grasped the haft of the pole to free it and his passed through it as though it were but a shadow. Halthor turned and walked towards the combat and he heard the sound of the phantom arrow before it passed through him. The strange experience assured him that he was as safe as he could be walking through the field. He approached where the knights and their lord struggled. None saw or noted his passing, it was as though he was as much of a phantom to them as they were to him. Halthor carried the hammer in his right hand and tried to will the tension out of his shoulders. The constant noise of combat made him uneasy more than the phantoms of the combatants. He reached where the man wearing the colors of Olerand was on his horse.
A shield of a sort that Halthor hadn't seen before was on his left arm. Square and emblazoned with a stylized white lily and the white flower of Olerand on black, it was a striking sight. And then that sight dropped to the ground as an axe hewed the arm from the shoulder. Halthor tried to will himself to go into the melee to retrieve the shield. The sight and sounds of horses screaming along with those of men made him break out into a cold sweat. Elwis nudged Halthor and he looked at the dog. Reassured by the dog's presence at his side, Halthor reached out and grasped at where the shield would have fallen. His hand met snow. Halthor dropped his hammer into its carrying loop and began to dig in the snow. All around him the battle continued on in some kind of endless chaos.
Halthor's hands met metal that was bitingly cold. As soon as he did that, the illusion fell away and the sounds of combat turned into the moaning of the wind. Halthor dug in the snow and freed the shield. Beneath it, the bones of the former owner crumbled to dust. He pulled it up and an eerie feeling rolled over him. Halthor slipped his left arm through the straps of the shield to find that they were sound. The feeling that something was watching him grew stronger. Elwis whined at Halthor's side. Halthor looked around.
Upon the field, which was now properly snow covered, Halthor could see there was a shuddering over the snow. "Time to go," he said to Elwis and bolted to his feet. Though the shield was awkward to carry on his left arm, Halthor proceeded to run. Behind him, skeletons begain to rise out of the snow. Halthor paused as he reached where the banner of Olerand had once been and looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of the skeleton army lumbering towards him. "Freystein!" Halthor shouted, "Time to go!"
The mountain troll came forward with a large log in hand. "NO, TIME TO FIGHT," they pronounced solemnly. Halthor groaned.
"I should have known you were going to say that," he muttered as he pulled his hammer from its loop and turned to face the horde.
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