Rolling and swirling, the mist clung to the ground, covering the land in a blanket of chill, and deadening all sound within. It rolled and heaved, swirling with clutching tendrils, reaching out and seeking for material forms within its immaterial mass. Whispering beams of morning sunlight poked and prodded, piercing the grey-clad depths that gave birth to the hints of rainbows, filling the land with peace and serenity, if not for the movement within.

  The sun was rising, the light of the wolf dawn slowly filtering through the mists and caressing the handful of individuals who stood in Morthal’s graveyard. They stood in a semicircle, facing inwards at the single individual who stood before the disturbed pile of earth at his feet. Nothing could be heard but the far off cry of birds awakening to a new day in the marshes, and the soft, muttering prayers.

  Stepping away from the grave, the robed priest of the God of Birth and Death bowed slightly, pressing the collection of beads and amulet of his god to his lips and turning away. The necessary rites had been performed, the grave was consecrated once more, and his duties were completed. There was no more than he could do for the deceased, but for those standing nearby, watching him as he conducted the ritual, their duty was only just beginning.

  Over a dozen men and women stood in a rough semicircle, watching Arkay’s acolyte perform the funeral ceremony for the second time for the young girl buried at their feet. The tears of the night had been burned away in the long, dark hours. All of the sorrow and sadness was gone, giving way to a cold fury and rage that infected all of those who had come. The word of what had happened had spread quickly even through the nighttime hours, and volunteers had come without hesitation.

  “In nominibus octo et unius, duc hunc spiritum ad Aetherius.” Kaius intoned, stepping forward from the semi-circle of those gathered to witness the funeral, fumbling with the front of his armour for a moment as he moved. The others couldn’t hear the events occurring in Morthal’s central square, but with his vampirism, he could. There was a crowd gathered in the city’s heart, watching silently as the gallows were put to use for the last time that morning. A wooden hatch banged open, a rope jerked taut, and for a minute or so a figure was squirming and twitching before it finally ceased all movement. Some would call it ‘justice’, but Hroggar’s execution was yet another small part of the overall tragedy, the man’s vampiric enthrallment being publicly ended to ease the fears and concerns of all those who still lived.

  In the graveyard, like the city square, there was silence and expectation. Those to his back were watching, seeing the way that Kaius moved over to the gravestone of the young child before affectionately placing the object he was holding on its roughly hewn top. There were no more words. Nothing else that needed to be said, and as he stepped back the gravedigger was already hard at work a few metres away, spearing his shovel into the soil as he began digging a third grave alongside Helgi and her mother’s. While they had been broken apart in life, the family would now be united in death.

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  There were no tears. No more crying. Only solid, implacable determination and will, tempered by anger and hatred left in those remaining. These few had chosen to stand by his side, and defend their homes against the evil that assailed it, but Kaius couldn’t feel anything as his hand wrapped comfortingly around the hilt of his broadsword. Death had come to Morthal, but he would bring it in kind, to the evil that sought to claim the region.

  Dozens had originally volunteered as the fires of their emotions burned fiercely at the stories that had been passed through the night, but as the anger and rage cooled only a handful would remain.

  Men and women, eyes bright, but narrowed in determination were waiting for him, waiting to follow him against Morthal’s enemies. Sofia, the memories of the night and horror of facing a vampire for the first time, fresh and undiluted by alcohol, standing ready to fight by Kaius’s side once more. Lydia, the minor wound on her hip treated, but with her axe sharpened and ready to taste corrupted blood once more. Fallion, a bag at his hip full of scrolls, and robes shimmering with latent energies. Even Thonnir, dressed in a borrowed set of chainmail and leather armour stood ready, the axe that had claimed his wife’s life prepared to hew more undead in her name. There were others; a collection of guards, fyrdmen, a pair of Jarl Ravencrone’s huskarls, and an assortment of commoners dressed in cobbled together armour and equipment. All of them, no matter their backgrounds, stood ready and determined to do whatever it took to safeguard their home.

  One by one Kaius looked over the assorted warriors and militia, seeing the same hardness in their gazes as he knew that was in his own. Louder than the morning’s prayers and the sounds of the morning nightingales singing their tunes in the fog, his sword scraped as he withdrew it a few centimetres, habitually testing its edge with a gloved thumb before sliding it back into its sheath. There would be death and blood this day, but he and those before him stood ready to play their part.

  "Let's go hunt some vampires." As one, they turned, walking with purpose to the northeast and the creatures that lurked in the darkened places of the Hold. Not a single one of them hesitated, lagged behind or waited, following Kaius as he led them against their foes.

  Behind them, resting on top of the tombstone sat an amulet of Talos, slowly beginning to gleam with wetness as the morning mist clung to the sword and axe shaped pendant. Its weathered, handmade leather loop hung down, swaying lightly in the breeze as though caressed by an invisible hand, as it began its silent vigil over the graves of a young girl and her family.

  Blood of Dragons Volume 7 - Laid to Rest