Night was a poor time to be traveling in the mountains. For generations, the dark squat of the Mountains of Myst had been haunted by the legion of the dead. Corpses, ghouls, revenants ....they spilled from the heart of the highest peak to roam the forests and inclines of the mountainous valleys, killing the living that they found if those living were blessed with luck. The unlucky ones were dragged back to the heart of the Dragon Peak, and never seen again.

Yet travelers who attempted the mountain pass often came out of those oppressive peaks safely, and spoke of glimpses made of living warriors who guarded that pass, each one tall and blessed with sun-kissed hair in a place that so rarely saw such sunlight. No one knew who they were, or where they quartered, nor even how they could live surrounded by the undead, yet clearly there were more than corpses haunting those mountains.

But no one from the lowlands strayed from that path and lived, for no adventurer, no explorer, had returned from their ill-fated venturing into the gorges and thickets of the dead. Indeed, the dead took revenge for such incursions, spilling forth into the lowlands to seek out the villages that had given aid to those who disturbed their borders in raids that saw more added to their never-ending army. No, the Mountains of Myst were not for the faint-hearted, and night was the domain of the dead.

No sane man would have dared travel the passes through those mountains without good reason, especially at night, but that particular night, one such man had dared do so, and for good reason. He wasn't doing it for profit or even adventure, but because he was tracking someone he cared for who'd gone missing, and he needed to find her before it was too late.

But no matter the skill of the hunter, or the urgency of his task, beneath the moon the dead stalked the land. He could not go unnoticed forever. Yet in this part of the mountains, deeper in than others from his home had dared to go, the dead had other things on their minds. Through the thick forest came the sound of battle, of swords clashing, shields thumping, voices raised in anger and pain arrayed against the sibilant hiss of the voiceless dead.

If you were human, there was only one kind of prey this deep in the mountains, where the hunters often became the hunted. As far as he knew, no humans lived here, but the sounds of battle could only mean one thing - a hunting party of some sort had come upon a pack of walking dead. Their enemies were his enemies, and the hunter didn't need to think twice before coming to their aid. It was only a matter of minutes before he added his arrows to the fray, taking down one abomination after another.

The battle he had come across should have been one-sided, judged by the standards of the lowlands. Thirteen warriors in mail and leather armor faced dozens of ghouls and corpses, hacking at the rotting flesh with swords and axes. No archers in their number, yet there was no lacking for strength and courage as the band broke the ranks of the undead. The hunter's arrows were noted, but not mentioned, allowing him his kills as he cut a path through the lurching, skeletal foes toward the armored brute that was the revenant in command of them. With a howl like a wolf, one warrior leapt into the revenant's path, wielding sword and shield, and snarling as she engaged with that fight. The sooner the leader was down, the easier the fight would become.

There was no time to consider the wisdom of his actions as he entered the fray. With a common enemy at hand, he didn't think twice about joining the fight, whatever the odds against them. Working his way toward the center of the battle and what appeared to be the leader of the pack, he swapped his bow for a sword and started to cut his way through the walking corpses, shearing off heads and arms as easily as cutting through butter.

If his appearance in the fray gave the other warriors pause, they showed no sign of it, giving way to let him take the kills he chose, guarding their own leader's back as she engaged the revenant with wild ferocity. There was a wildness in the way she fought, in the way they all fought; an acceptance that, if it was their time, then this would be their last fight, and they would take as many down with them as they could. Black blood spurted from the wounds of the undead as they were hacked down, until a bare few remained, and still they fought on, heedless of injury. And the revenant still stood, exchanging blows with the warrior that faced it, her shield shattered, sword broken, but still unflinching.

There were few among them who remained unscathed, all of them covered in black blood mingled with red. There was no point in worrying over the dead and wounded until the last of their foe was finished. The hunter knew there would be plenty more to take their place, but with luck, none of his fellow warriors would join their ranks. It wasn't long before he cut his way to the center of the battle, his sword clashing with that of the revenant just in time to save the warrior from a blow that would have brought certain death. Unflinching or not, one could not defend themselves against such a foe without a shield or weapon.

How the warrior knew the hunter had approached was anyone's guess, but what seemed to be a crouch to avoid the revenant's killing blow merely gave the hunter room to bring his own blade up to prevent that attack. From the ground, the warrior howled once more, dragging an axe from the still body beside her to hack one leg out from underneath the undead commander. The revenant screamed, dropping down as it thrust its shield out toward the hunter, trying to push him away.

Lacking a shield of his own, which the hunter had judged would only weigh him down, the revenant's shield caught him by surprise, knocking him back a few paces, momentarily dazed. But he didn't remain so for long, shaking the blow off and surging forward with a battle cry of his own, swinging his sword in the air to make the killing blow. The sword seemed to almost sing with berserk joy as it found its mark, taking the revenant's head clean off with a single blow.

As the last of the undead fell, the warriors cheered, a sharp sound that cut through the dark night before being abruptly cut off with the ease of custom or tradition. And the hunter found himself ringed with swords and axes - though he had joined the fight, he was not one of them, and these were not his lands. The warrior whose life he had saved rose to her feet, spitting a mouthful of her own fresh blood as she eyed him levelly, her pale gaze traveling the length of him with suspicion and interest.

Though they had a common enemy, it seemed that did not automatically make them friends. Finding himself surrounded, he lowered his sword, but did not let go of it or offer it over. The thing had grown quiet again, hungry for black blood as it had been, and dripping the stuff on the ground at the hunter's feet. He, too, was bleeding from various cuts and wounds and panting from the effort of battle. Assuming the warrior woman was the leader of the group, he met her gaze before nodding his head in silent greeting and acquiescence.

She looked him over for an uncomfortably long moment, stepping close to seize his chin with strong fingers, turning his head this way and that, inspecting him closely.

"Dawn Rider?" one of her number spoke, a burly man who wore paint rather than armor.

She released the hunter, nodding sharply. "A life for a life," she said in a tense tone, turning to nod again to her people. "I claim him and his possessions. Bring him."

The hunter scowled at the news of that. So, he was to be held as a captive, and for whatever reason, they seemed to think they were doing him a favor. There wasn't much he could do about the situation just yet - not wounded with bound hands and guarded by a man who was nearly twice his size. All he could do was bide his time and hope they would understand reason. That would involve honesty on both sides, and it started with names. "Aiden ap Owen," he replied, grudgingly.

"Strong name, that one." Svarn nodded approvingly, glancing up at the sound of raised voices from within the roundhouse. "Sounds like the Dawn Rider just told him of her claim." He chuckled at the very unsavory language being thrown at the woman by the owner of the harsh male tone past the door.

"Why do you call her that' The Dawn Rider?" he asked curiously, against his own better judgment. He wasn't planning on staying long enough to get to know her or her people very well, but it didn't hurt to know what he was up against.

"Do you not have legends in the lowlands?" Svarn asked curiously, scratching under his armpit and causing great flakes of dried war paint to come away in a shower. "Names given for great deeds. She's the Dawn Rider; earned it, she did. Thane sent us out with her at our head, into a trap he knew was set. Heard back the night after that the hold was under attack, and she lead us back through the hordes. Broke their lines at the gates, we did, with our leader at our head, all bathed in dawn's gold."

"Certainly, but no living legends that I'm aware of," Aiden replied. Though he might have become something of a legend himself with that sword, he made no mention of it or of what his business was on the mountain.

"Aye, well, Katla Dawn Rider is a living legend, right enough," Svarn insisted rather jovially. "Never taken injury from the dead, never beaten in battle against living or dead. One of these days she'll have to spawn new blood and give up her warrior's ways, but for now, we couldn't ask for a better commander. Word to the wise," he added, meeting Aidan's eyes with a stern gaze. "If, by some chance, you were to defeat her and escape, we'd kill you for it. We protect our own, and until you're in her bed, you're not ours."

Aiden's brows flickered upwards with a hint of mingled shock and annoyance at the big man's words of advice. Living legend or not, he wasn't planning on warming anyone's bed or becoming their prize pet, just because they said so. Ally or friend, perhaps, but lover was doubtful. On the other hand, if that was what it would take to earn their trust and help, perhaps he shouldn't discount it entirely. "I appreciate your people's ....hospitality, but ..." he started, though that wasn't quite the right word to use, considering how he had been brought here against his will, hands bound like a captive. "I am tracking someone, and I cannot stay. Their life depends on it."

Svarn's brows drew together fiercely at this. "Not a word to the Thane," he advised. "Old-Tooth isn't like to let you free at all if he thinks you'll stir up the dead. Keep it to yourself. Tell the Dawn Rider instead. She's the one with the freedom to get you out of here if you play it right." The male voice from inside barked out an order for the captive to be brought to him. Svarn nodded to Aiden. "Speak fair," he warned, giving him a gentle push in through the door.

The roundhouse was one large room, a great brazier in the center burning hot coals to heat the space. At the far side stood a grand throne, carved from a single piece of oak, ornately decorated with the gods of the tribe, and on that throne sat a broad-shouldered man in thick furs, his beard and hair shot through with gray. The Dawn Rider stood facing him, stiff and glowering, but silent.

Svarn's words of advice echoed in Aiden's head as he was pushed through the door. It was only adrenaline and his own stubborn pride that was keeping him on his feet at this point. Exhausted from tracking the dead for days without little to no sleep and wounded from the battle, it was getting harder to remain upright without betraying any sign of weakness, but he had a feeling his own survival depended on showing these people his strengths, not his weaknesses. He took the scene in, quickly assessing the situation. Trying to escape at this point would not only be foolish but suicidal. He could only follow the big man's advice and hope he was telling the truth.

The Thane rose to his feet, clearly used to intimidating captives with his sheer size. "Why are you on our lands, lowlander?" he demanded in a booming tone. "Think to steal our women for your own?"

"Is Ailgun so desperate for a man that you'd offer her as captive bride to get her out of your house?" the Dawn Rider snapped back at her Thane.

He reached out, almost casually backhanding her across the face. Interestingly, she barely moved under the force of that blow, spitting blood back at him as he chuckled.

These people were clearly savages, in comparison to those who lived gathered in villages and farms spread out through the lowlands where he'd been born. And yet, he had seen proof of their legendary strength and courage in battle and respected them for it. He flinched at the blow, surprised it had not been meant for him but for the woman, presumably for the insult made to the Thane's daughter. He waited until things calmed again before answering the man's question, deciding to give the man as honest an answer as possible, without revealing too many details. "I am tracking a pack of dead who attacked a settlement and took some of the people prisoner."

"You track the dead," the Thane repeated, disgust showing in his face and voice. "You'd come to our mountains and stir up the legion of the dead for your own petty revenge" We shed our blood to keep your passes safe, and this is how you repay us?" His hand went to the sword at his hip, but the Dawn Rider was quicker.

She stepped in front of Aiden, her dagger drawn from her belt. "He is mine," she reminded the Thane. "Draw his blood, and there will be a new Thane by the noon."

"I track the dead to hunt and kill them and save those who they've taken prisoner, or have you no care for those who are unable to defend themselves?" Aiden countered, even as the Dawn Rider came to his defense. There wasn't much he could do to defend himself, but he wasn't about to be butchered like a sheep to slaughter without putting up some kind of fight. "I belong to no one. I am a Free Man and a Guardian of the Lowlands. I aided your people in their fight, and this is how you repay me?" he said, raising his bound hands to indicate his indignity, dark eyes flashing with anger of his own.

"You trespass on our lands, no matter your purpose," the Thane roared furiously. "You sneak and you hunt and you raise their ire against us! You think your lowlands bear the brunt of the dead, do you? Do you live hemmed in on all sides, unable to pass a day without the sight of them' Do they smash themselves against your walls, steal away your children, spit their blood into the mouths of your best to turn them against you? Do they?"

"We suffer their existence as much as do you. We should be allies, not enemies. Tell me, if it were your people who had been taken captive, what would you do' Would you remain in your village and let them be slaughtered or would you follow? I am only one man, and I have only one purpose, and that purpose is the same as yours," Aiden countered, refusing to back down.

"Once taken, they never return," the Thane growled at him, fury darkening his expression. "And you'll not stir them to return, either. Dawn Rider!" The woman stiffened, but held her ground as the Thane glared at her. "You claimed him, he's your problem. He escapes, you die in his place."

She scowled, but didn't say a word, turning on her heel to stalk out of the roundhouse. Svarn gave Aiden's shoulder a nudge, urging him to follow.

"Of a sort. A grown boy," he replied, leaving the cloth in the bowl and reaching for the steaming mug Sigrun had left beside him. "I am from ..." He hesitated, unsure how to explain in a way she might understand. "From the other side of the mountain."

Little Siv considered this for a moment, absorbing it happily enough. "I got a kitten," she offered then, with the charming disinterest of any small child. "Want to see?"

At the hearth, Sigrun chuckled at the change of subject.

"Of course!" he replied, as enthusiastically as he could, despite exhaustion and pain. If his belongings had been brought here, then that included his sword, but he had promised not to harm these people, and he intended to keep that promise.

Siv nodded, shuffling back out of sight. Aiden wasn't left alone for long, however; within a minute, two boys came shoving into the room, both older than Siv, but both bearing the same sun-kissed hair. The younger of the two, however, had dark eyes where his companion's were blue.

"Who're you?" the elder demanded as they skidded to a halt. "Did Father bring you home to mate the Dawn Rider?" He grunted as the younger boy punched him in the stomach.

The hunter was startled at first by the boys' arrival, curious as they were. He had no plans on mating with the Dawn Rider, though a plan of sorts was starting to form in his mind - an idea that might work out well for all of them.

"I am Aiden ap Owen of the Lowland Guard," he told them, giving them at least some of the truth. He chuckled at the obvious camaraderie and competition between the pair. "You let down your guard," he pointed out to the elder of the two. "And you," he said, addressing the other. "It is not wise to start a fight with someone who is bigger than you are." Anyone who had seen him fight or seen his sword would know he was more than a mere Guard, but he saw no point in revealing more than that, until he gained their trust, if he ever did.

The younger boy grinned as his elder was told what he'd done wrong, and scowled at the warning Aiden then gave him. "Everyone's bigger'n me," he complained. "Wouldn't get to fight no one if I did that."

The elder boy snickered. "'Cos you cheat," he countered, and that would have set off another round of rough-housing if Sigrun hadn't intervened.

"Don't you two start," she warned them, running a fond hand over the elder boy's hair. "Tabren, go and fetch in the milk pail. Hakon, put your boots on."

As the boys parted ways to go about their chores, Siv came back into view, carrying a scruffy little kitten in her arms.

Aiden didn't bother pointing out that the boy might not always be the smallest, as their mother seemed to have them well in hand. He sipped at the drink she had left him with, its warmth spreading through him and easing his hurts, relaxing him a little. He felt oddly safe here in their home, but not so safe as to feel content. He envied them, in a way, knowing such a life was not for someone like him.

Little Siv dumped her kitten directly in his lap, climbing up onto the bench that ran the length of the table, her ragged blanket still clutched in her hand. "D'you like my kitten?" she asked him pointedly, ignoring the fact that the boys had been there at all, it seemed.

"It's hard to say when we've only just met. I don't even know his or her name," the hunter pointed out, one hand going without thought to curl around the kitten to hold him or her steady on his lap. Oh, yes, this was a place where one could find contentment in a life of family and friends, but he could not allow himself to entertain such thoughts.

"It's a girl, silly," the little girl told him, as though it was patently obvious. The little kitten mewed pathetically, all bright ginger fur and no coordination. "She's just Cat. Like Mamae." She offered him a gap-toothed smile that only broadened at the sight of Hakon, the younger of the two boys, hopping back into the room as he pulled his boots on.

"Is Katla coming back for breakfast?" he asked, clambering onto the bench opposite Siv.

Sigrun glanced over at them. "She'll be here," she promised.

"Cat," Aiden echoed, wondering if he could convince the little girl of a better name. "If she is just Cat, are you just Girl" Is your brother just Boy' What if there is another Cat' How will you tell them apart' How will you call one and not the other?" he asked, giving her food for thought.

"She's my Cat," Siv insisted stubbornly. "And I'm Siv, and I don't have a brother."

Hakon laughed. "Siv's not my sister," he objected, shaking his head. "I don't have a sister."

"Neither do I," the other boy, Tabren, added, heaving the milk pail in through the door for Sigrun. "I'm Tabren. That's Hakon. Are you sure you're not mating the Dawn Rider?"

Siv scowled at him. "Stop sayin' that!"

"I see. I stand corrected," Aiden said, his expression a mixture of amusement and apology, though he stood by his point. He wasn't quite sure how they were all related or why they all lived under the same roof, but he'd assumed they'd all been family.

Svarn came into the room at that point, patting Sigrun familiarly on the behind and earning himself a smack with her spoon for his trouble, laughing as he sat himself down beside Hakon. "Now, now, why the snarl, little Siv?" he asked cheerfully. "These boys been unkind again?"

"All I asked was if the Dawn Rider's going to mate," Tabren complained, silenced with a look from Svarn.

"That's no one's business, and definitely not yours," the big man said sternly, glancing to Aiden. "Settled a bit, have you?"

Aiden certainly wasn't about to remark on the mating business, reminding himself not to get too comfortable or familiar here and not to get too fond of these people as he wasn't planning on staying. "Just being polite," the hunter replied, reminding the big man without saying so that at least he knew how to be civil.

Svarn nodded to him, a smile on his own face as Sigrun began to serve bowls of steaming meat porridge - a decent enough meal to begin or end a day. As the children started to scrape spoons through the mixture, the door opened to admit the woman called the Dawn Rider, and a yell went up from quiet little Siv.

The little girl scrambled down from the table to throw her arms around the woman's neck as she crouched to hug the child close with a warm smile. "Mamae!"

She sighed, rolling her eyes at the arrogance of the man. She had lived and fought in these mountains all her life; he had entered here only a few days before, and yet he presumed to tell her that he knew more of this place and the dead than she did" Twisting, she watched him for a moment, moving to kneel at his back as she reached for the ointment. "You have other hurts you cannot reach," she told him by way of explanation, covering her fingers with the stuff to smear it over other cuts and bruises he could not see.

It wasn't arrogance so much as experience. He wished he was wrong; he wished they were both wrong, but the longer it took to find his sister, the less hopeful he felt. "I do not wish to put your life or the lives of your people in danger, but I cannot stay here," he told her yet again, waiting to see what she said to that now that she knew his reason and purpose for being on the mountain. He hardly seemed to notice the fact that she was smearing ointment over his back, too lost in thought, his heart heavy with worry. "If you understand family, then you understand why I must go," he added. There were other marks of old wounds on his back, signs that he was as much a warrior as she was. There was also a tattoo that had been burned into his flesh - a strange symbol that had no obvious meaning.

The symbol he wore drew her attention. It was ....familiar somehow, like she'd seen it somewhere before but couldn't quite work out where. His words, however, drew her back to the present. "You think very little of us, don't you?" she said disapprovingly, tending to those cuts carefully before handing the pot back to him. "I've not said a word about keeping you here, but you assume I would. What you'll do is sleep, and when you wake, you'll make a show of your bow skill in front of the tribe. No one will question your place when we walk out at dusk."

"I aided you in your fight, without expecting anything in return," Aiden reminded her, as he turned to face her, unable to hide the weariness and the pain and the grief from his face. "I understand you don't trust me, and I understand I must earn your trust, but if you will help me in this, I will be forever in your debt."

She eased back onto one heel, the other knee tucked against her chest as she held his gaze. "You have no idea where you were, do you?" she asked quietly. "We couldn't have left you there, and you wouldn't have come willingly even if we had asked. The revenant was a warning - it guards a tunnel to the Heart of the Father. Another would have spawned within half an hour. You would have to be lucky every time. They need only be lucky once."

"The Heart of the Father," he echoed. Okay, so maybe she did know more about the abominations than he did. She did live on the mountain, after all. It would seem neither knew very much about the other. "What does that mean?" he asked, meeting her gaze, the fact that he was only half-dressed forgotten.

She frowned, almost confused by his lack of knowledge in this arena. "Do you not know the Father?" she asked in surprise. "He who made the earth, who raised the mountains; the Lord of the World" His Heart is in the deepest part of the highest peak, poisoned by the dead these many generations past."

His expression betrayed his confusion at her words. "I'm afraid I do not, but tell me about these revenants. What do you mean one would take its place" How are they made" Where do they come from?" he asked further.

"You hunt prey that you do not know?" Katla seemed astonished, staring at him. "You are either brave or a fool, lowlander. What do you know of the legion of the dead" Do you know how to distinguish between them, to know what will kill each?"

"I do not claim to know everything. That does not stop me from hunting them," he replied, pausing a moment as he turned to return the ointment to his pack. There were likely some things he knew that her people did not; perhaps they could share information. "Teach me what you know," he beseeched her, turning back around.

It was a lot to teach, and a lot to learn, but she knew a stubborn soul when she saw one. She had one herself. Sighing, Katla raised her hand, folding down each finger and her thumb as she listed the varieties of undead she had fought all her life. "Corpses, ghouls, revenants, abominations, demons," she said, holding his gaze. "Last night, we fought corpses and ghouls under the command of a revenant. Had you encountered any of them before that moment?"

"Aye," he replied, lowering himself to sit beside her before he fell down and folding his legs beneath him. "I have fought them all before, except for the revenant. I have never encountered such as him," he replied. As experienced and well-traveled as he was, he knew there were still things that he did not know.

She nodded thoughtfully. "A revenant is a dark spirit bound to the broken form of a corpse," she explained to him. "The spirit cannot be killed, only dispossessed, and it will take another form as soon as it can. The armor, the sword, the shield, they are a part of the spirit itself. No matter how fragile the body, the revenant will fortify it."

Aiden's expression turned thoughtful at her explanation and he turned to look for the sword that had been long ago entrusted to him. He had killed the revenant, or so he'd thought, but had he really killed it or only the body it had possessed" "There is no way to defeat it?" he asked curiously.

"None that we have found," she told him regretfully. "Our legends speak of blades forged in the Heart of the Father, touched by the Lady, washed by the Mother - blades that could kill any spirit, any demon. But we have never found one, nor the hand that could wield it."

Her mention of the Lady drew his attention, and he turned back from his consideration of the sword. "I believe I might have such a blade," he confessed, deciding to trust her. After all, who made a better ally than one who shared the same enemy"

"I've not the skill to discern one," she admitted ruefully. "We would have to show it to an augur, but One-Who-Watches is the brother of Old-Tooth. The Thane would take your blade from you if word came to him of a true legend in his hold." She frowned, considering her options. "There is one other who might know it for a legend-blade," she said thoughtfully. "Eldwynne."

He frowned. As fascinating as it would be to find out the origins of the blade, there was only one problem. "I do not have time for this, Katla. I need to find my sister before it's too late," he reminded her with a weary sigh. If it wasn't too late already.