A Song of Dread

The raven soared high above the fleeing Jotun and his human companion. He watched in confusion as the wolves began to drop back as if by some silent command. They slowed and then stopped and still the two ran on. A sense of dread fell over the raven then as he heard a whispered song on the wind. Something approached. A dread power that his memory could not recall. It slipped through his talons like a wisps of smoke. He cried out in frustration and then as if in response the words came as if carried on the wind...

Sal sá hon standa
sólu fjarri
Náströndu á,
norðr horfa dyrr.
Fellu eitrdropar
inn um ljóra,
sá er undinn salr
orma hryggjum.

An ancient song that sent a chill to his core. A flash of memory, images of fire and terror as his brothers heart beat fiercely in his chest.

A hall I saw,
far from the sun,
On Nastrond it stands,
and the doors face north,
Venom drops
through the smoke-vent down,
For around the walls
do serpents wind.

Below the pair had stopped. Exhaustion finally taking its toll. The raven dipped its wings to get closer to the pair. The wolves had gone, returned to their master but what came now was worse. The voice growing stronger and the breeze lifting as the creature approached. The stench of death filled the air now. A herald of its arrival.

Sá hon þar vaða
þunga strauma
menn meinsvara
ok morðvarga
ok þanns annars glepr
eyrarúnu.
Þar saug Niðhöggr
nái framgengna,
sleit vargr vera—
vituð ér enn, eða hvat ?

The pair were not aware of what approached. They were settling down to rest. Their minds still consumed by their recent flight and their momentary safety. He resisted the urge to cry out to raise alarm. If they wished to sleep, then all the better. Dreams were a source of great power, but how could they not hear the dread song that now filled its mind.

I there saw wading
through rivers wild
treacherous men
and murderers too,
And workers of ill
with the wives of men;
There Nithhogg sucked
the blood of the slain,
And the wolf tore men;
would you know yet more?

The dread wyrm of Hel was close now. The raven could almost hear its wings beating upon the wind. The two were sleeping. Perfect! He sweapt down to perch between them and released his ancient power. Dark tendrils of magic snaked out from the bird and seeped into the minds of the two dreaming warriors. The Jotun stirred and the man cried out, but neither of them woke as the magic of thought stole into their dreams and enveloped them.

A dark shadow overwhelmed the sky above as something huge bore down upon their sleeping forms and with a caw of defiance the raven stole the sleepers away just has a billow of white hot flame reached the place where they had slept.

They appeared on a hilltop overlooking the shores of Hvergelmir. The Jotun was first to rouse from his sleep, looking around wide eyed to see that he had been transported by some unknown means.

The raven cawed in frustration. The dragon would be here any moment, they needed to reach the others. There was safety in numbers. He took to wing as he spied the embers of a camp fire below. Before he was half way down the roar of the dragon could be heard. Níðhöggr was close.