The flames licked higher around the stone-like corpse, black smoke billowing into the dawn sky. Rickon watched from a distance as the body burned, the smell of scorched flesh mixed with something else, a mineral tang that reminded him of wet slate. The men stood well back from the pyre, muttering amongst themselves, making warding signs when they thought no one was looking.
"A curse," he heard one grizzled veteran whisper. "The Old Gods have turned against us for coming to this cursed isle."
"Shut your mouth," another hissed. "Lord Stark will hear you."
Rickon's father stood nearest the fire, his face unreadable in the flickering light. The war council had continued long into the night after they'd discovered the body, lords arguing in circles about what they'd witnessed.
"It's some Skagosi trick," Lord Karstark had insisted, pounding his fist on the table. "Poisons or alchemy to frighten us away."
"No poison turns a man's eyes to stone," Lord Bolton had countered, his quiet voice cutting through the clamor. "Nor his tongue. This is something else."
The argument had raged until dawn, when Cregan finally ordered the body burned. "Whatever afflicted him," his father had declared, "we take no chances with contagion."
As the corpse blackened in the flames, an eerie crackling sound emerge, —like stone splitting in extreme heat, and the body crumbled to pieces. Several men backed away, crossing themselves or muttering prayers to the Old Gods.
Rickon slipped away from the gathering, his mind churning. The foul magic that had lingered on the corpse still clung to his senses like an oily residue. He could almost taste it, ancient, bitter, hungry. It reminded him of the presence from his vision, the slumbering titan beneath the island.
He needed quiet to think, to process what they'd discovered. The camp was too noisy, too full of frightened men looking to him or his father for answers he didn't have.
Walking to the edge of the camp, Rickon reached out through his bonds. Zenith was perched atop a tall pine tree half a mile away, his keen eyes scanning the landscape below. The eagle was alert but calm, sensing no immediate danger.
Canis had ranged further, deep in the woods to the west. Through their connection, Rickon felt the direwolf's focused attention, he was tracking something, following a scent that intrigued him.
A harsh caw broke his concentration. Rickon looked up to find a crow perched on a low branch just ahead, its glossy black feathers catching the morning light. It was watching him with an intelligence that no ordinary bird should possess, head cocked to one side.
The crow cawed again, more insistently this time, then flapped its wings and hopped to another branch a few feet away. It turned back to face him, as if checking whether he was following.
"Ah," Rickon murmured, recognition dawning. "A warg."
The bird's behavior was too deliberate, too purposeful. Someone was behind those eyes, using the crow as Rickon used Zenith.
"Lead on," he said quietly. "I'll follow."
The crow took flight, moving deeper into the forest. Rickon set off after it, sending a pulse of awareness to Canis through their bond. The direwolf acknowledged, already changing course to intercept them.
The crow flew slowly, landing frequently to ensure Rickon kept pace. It led him west, away from the camp and deeper into Skagos's primeval forest. Ancient trees towered overhead, their massive trunks covered in moss and lichen. The ground underfoot was soft with centuries of fallen leaves, muffling his footsteps.
After nearly an hour of walking, Rickon sensed Canis drawing near. The direwolf emerged from the underbrush ahead, crimson eyes gleaming as he padded silently to Rickon's side.
"Found me, did you?" Rickon murmured, burying his fingers in the thick black fur. Through their bond flowed Canis's impressions, the forest teemed with normal wildlife, but there was something else too, a scent of humans nearby, afraid and hiding.
The crow cawed impatiently from a branch overhead, then took flight again. They followed for another hour, climbing steadily upward as the terrain became rockier. The trees thinned, giving way to scrubby bushes and exposed stone. Finally, the bird landed on a boulder beside what appeared to be a narrow crevice in a cliff face.
Canis growled softly, hackles rising as he scented the air. Humans were close, very close.
"Who's there?" Rickon called, his hand dropping instinctively to his sword hilt. "Show yourself."
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then slowly, cautiously, a boy emerged from the shadowy crevice. He was small and wiry, perhaps twelve or thirteen, with dark hair and eyes that darted nervously between Rickon and Canis. Despite his obvious fear, he stood his ground, positioning himself protectively in front of the cave entrance.
"Are you Stark?" the boy asked, his voice steady despite his evident anxiety.
"I am Rickon Stark," he confirmed. "And you are?"
"Alyn." The boy swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving Canis. "The crow was mine. I... I'm like you."
Understanding dawned. "You're a warg," Rickon said softly.
Alyn nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "I need your help. We all do." He glanced behind him into the cave. "The stone men are coming. Thousands of them, heading for your camp. They'll be there in a day."
"Stone men?" Rickon asked, though a cold dread was already spreading through his chest. He had a horrible feeling he knew exactly what Alyn was describing.
"Like the one you found," Alyn confirmed. "But fully transformed. Weapons won't stop them. Nothing normal will."
From the cave behind the boy, a woman emerged, holding a younger girl by the hand. Both looked exhausted and terrified, their clothes dirty and torn from hard travel.
The woman stepped forward, her weathered face etched with lines of worry and exhaustion. Rickon noticed her practical clothing, rough-spun wool and leather - with a small pouch at her waist that contained what looked like herbs and small talismans.
"I am Mara," she said, her voice soft but carrying a quiet strength. "What my son says is true. We've been running for days to reach your camp."
She glanced at Canis, her eyes widening slightly before she composed herself. "You have a direwolf companion. The old magic runs strong in your blood, as it does in my son's. Perhaps you were meant to find us."
Rickon gestured for her to continue, sensing there was much more to her story.
"Stone priests are generally peaceful people," Mara explained, settling on a rock with her daughter pressed against her side. "We are healers and teachers of the old ways and the Old Gods. For generations, we have communed with the weirwood trees, preserving knowledge others have forgotten. Often you get chosen if you have a hint of warging ability or greensight, or a propensity towards wild magic."
"But two years ago, Kargan Stone-Tongue emerged," Mara continued, her voice hardening. "A priest who began invoking the name of a singular god, unlike the Old Gods who remain nameless. He called this god the Stone Father."
Alyn shifted nervously beside his mother. "At first, we thought nothing of it. New priests sometimes try to distinguish themselves."
"Initially it was harmless," Mara agreed. "But then Kargan began healing people by invoking the Stone Father's name. Injuries that would have meant certain death, crushed limbs, mortal wounds, wasting sicknesses, all healed overnight."
She drew a shuddering breath. "People flocked to him. Who wouldn't want such miraculous healing? But we noticed something strange. Those who were healed... they would wake cured, but over the course of months, stone would begin forming on them. First just patches of skin, hardening and turning gray. Then deeper, affecting muscle and bone. Eventually, they would lose their sense of self."
"The stone men," Rickon murmured, remembering the twisted corpse they'd burned that morning.
"Yes," Mara confirmed. "They become extensions of the Stone Father's will. Empty vessels that Kargan and his followers control."
The little girl—Lyra, Rickon remembered, whimpered, burying her face in her mother's side. Mara stroked her hair absently, the gesture automatic and soothing.
"My husband was among the first," she said, her voice barely audible now. "He was crushed beneath a fallen tree during a storm. Should have died instantly. Kargan 'saved' him. For three months, he seemed fine. Then the stone patches appeared. By the sixth month, he wasn't himself anymore. His eyes... they turned black, then hollow. And one morning, he simply walked away to join Kargan's growing army."
Canis growled softly, sensing Rickon's mounting horror. The direwolf pressed against his leg, a reassuring presence amid the nightmare Mara described.
"How many?" Rickon asked, dreading the answer.
"Hundreds at first," Alyn replied. "Now thousands. Nearly every village on Skagos has been affected. Those who resist are either killed or forcibly 'healed' of invented ailments, beginning their transformation."
"What is the Stone Father?" he asked. "In my vision, I saw something ancient beneath the island. A titan of stone and darkness."
Mara's eyes widened. "You've had visions?" She exchanged a meaningful glance with Alyn. "Then perhaps there is hope after all."
She reached into her pouch, withdrawing a small object wrapped in leather. Carefully unwrapping it, she revealed a piece of carved obsidian, etched with symbols that seemed to shift when Rickon tried to focus on them.
"The Stone Father is older than the First Men, older even than the Children of the Forest," she explained. "When the world was young and still taking shape, titans walked the earth. Beings of elemental power, ice, fire, stone, sea. They warred among themselves until the Children arrived with their songs of earth."
Rickon leaned closer, fascinated despite his growing dread.
"The Children couldn't destroy these beings," Mara continued. "Their power was too fundamental to the world itself. Instead, they bound them. The Stone Father was imprisoned beneath Skagos, sealed with blood magic and songs that bent reality itself."
Mara nodded grimly. "The ritual has already begun. The stone men are gathering at the base of the Smoking Mountain. Kargan believes that with enough sacrifices—enough converted vessels—he can break the final seals and fully awaken the Stone Father."
"Weapons won't stop them," Mara cautioned, rising as well. "Not once they're fully transformed. The stone that covers them is harder than steel."
Rickon squared his shoulders, decision crystalizing in his mind.
"Aye," he said, his voice steady despite the gravity of what Mara had described. "But let's see if these stone men can resist shadow."
He turned to Canis, who had already risen to his feet, sensing Rickon's intent through their bond. The direwolf's crimson eyes gleamed with anticipation, shadows already gathering around his massive form.
"Canis, come," Rickon commanded, feeling power surge between them, dark and ancient.
Alyn's eyes widened as shadows began to coalesce around both boy and beast. "What are you—"
"Alyn, keep you and your mother safe," Rickon interrupted, reaching for the leather cord around his neck. He pulled it over his head, revealing a silver direwolf pendant that gleamed in the dim light. The metal felt warm against his palm, imbued with meaning beyond its craftsmanship, a symbol of House Stark and his father's trust.
He pressed it into Alyn's reluctant hand. "Take this to camp. Show them this necklace and say that Rickon Stark sent you. Tell them I've gone scouting ahead."
Alyn's fingers closed around the pendant, his expression torn between awe and fear. "But the stone men—"
"You should be safe there for now," Rickon assured him, though he knew the danger was far from past. His father would know what to do with these refugees, how to protect them while Rickon sought out the heart of the threat.
He stood up straight, feeling the shadows gathering more thickly around him and Canis. The familiar cold energy flowed through his veins, darkness solidifying like cloth being woven by invisible hands.
"We'll go now," Rickon said, placing his hand on Canis's neck. The direwolf's fur felt like living shadow beneath his fingers.
The darkness enveloped them completely, reality shifting as they stepped sideways through space itself. Through the rapidly closing veil of shadow, Rickon caught one last glimpse of their stunned faces, Alyn's mouth hanging open, Mara's eyes wide with disbelief, little Lyra pointing with a trembling finger as they simply ceased to exist before her.
Then they were elsewhere, moving through a realm of cold silence where light had never penetrated. Shadow-walking always felt the same, like moving through water that wasn't wet, breathing air that wasn't quite there. Time stretched and compressed simultaneously, distance becoming meaningless as they traveled.
When they emerged, it was into a different part of the forest entirely. Rickon recognized the area from Zenith's reconnaissance, they were now at the base of the Smoking Mountain, nearly fifteen miles from where they'd left Alyn and his family.
The stench hit him immediately, sulfur and decay. Through their bond, Canis shared his more acute impressions: hundreds of beings nearby, their scent a perversion of human odor, stone dust and stagnant blood mixed with the sharp tang of corrupted magic.
"There," Rickon whispered, pointing toward a ridge above them.
They crept forward, using natural cover as they approached. When they reached the crest, Rickon's breath caught in his throat. Below them stretched a vast clearing at the mountain's base, and within it stood the stone men, hundreds upon hundreds, arranged in perfect rows like a macabre army.
They didn't move, didn't shift or fidget as normal crowds would. Their skin gleamed dully in the morning light, mottled gray like weathered granite. Where eyes should have been were only hollow sockets, black and empty. Some were more fully transformed than others; the most advanced cases appeared almost sculptural, limbs fused into twisted approximations of human form.
At the clearing's center loomed a massive altar of black stone, and upon it stood a figure that could only be Kargan Stone-Tongue. Unlike his followers, his transformation seemed controlled, deliberate. His skin had the texture of polished marble rather than rough stone, and his eyes - gods, his eyes glowed with an inner light the color of molten rock.
"The final sacrifice approaches," Kargan's voice carried across the clearing, unnaturally resonant. "When the sun reaches its zenith, the northmen's blood will feed the Stone Father, and He shall rise again!"
A chilling certainty settled in Rickon's gut. The northmen. His father's army. The stone men were marching toward their camp, not as attackers but as sacrificial collectors. They meant to bring back prisoners - blood offerings for their awakening god.
Through their bond, Canis shared his assessment: too many to fight directly, even with their powers. They needed a different approach.
Rickon closed his eyes, reaching out through his connection with Zenith. The eagle was circling high above the Stark camp, watching in the distance as Alyn and his family ran towards the Stark camp.
"We aren't going to attack the circle right away," Rickon murmured to Canis, his eyes still fixed on the gathering below. "Let's first test ourselves with the cannon fodder."
The direwolf's crimson eyes gleamed with understanding, shadows already gathering around his massive form. Through their bond, Rickon felt Canis's eager anticipation, the primal hunger for battle that always simmered beneath the surface.
Rickon held his hands above the ground, focusing his will. The shadows responded, pooling beneath his palms like liquid darkness before solidifying into the familiar shape of a one-handed longsword. The weapon hummed with power, its edge sharper than any steel blade could ever be.
Beside him, Canis mirrored his actions. Shadows coalesced around the direwolf's muzzle, forming a perfect katana that the beast gripped confidently between his teeth.
"Let's let loose," Rickon grinned, feeling the familiar rush of power surging through his veins.
They charged toward the outer perimeter where a dozen stone men stood in eerie stillness, separated from the main gathering. The ground flew beneath Rickon's feet, his body moving with supernatural speed as shadows clung to his form like a second skin.
The first stone man turned too late, empty eye sockets registering nothing as Rickon closed the distance.
"Cut," he whispered, the word a command rather than a description.
His shadow blade sliced through the creature's torso like it was nothing more substantial than fog. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then a thin dark line appeared across the stone man's chest before its upper half slid away from its lower, collapsing to the ground with a sickening crunch.
Canis darted past him, a blur of midnight fur and gleaming red eyes. The katana in his jaws whistled through the air, cleaving through three stone men in a single, fluid motion. Their bodies fell apart like shattered statues, the sound of breaking stone echoing through the clearing.
Rickon spun, his shadow blade singing as it separated another stone man's head from its shoulders. The creature continued to move for several seconds, arms reaching blindly before finally crumpling to the ground.
"They can be killed," he breathed, a fierce joy rising in his chest.
But his triumph was short-lived. The commotion had drawn attention. Dozens more stone men were turning, their movements synchronized with unnatural precision. They began converging on Rickon and Canis from all sides, their stone feet striking the ground in perfect unison.
Rickon cut down two more, his blade passing through stone flesh without resistance. Canis took down another four, shadows exploding from his jaws to impale a cluster of approaching enemies. But for each one they felled, five more took its place.
There were just too many.
Through the press of advancing stone men, Rickon caught sight of the figure on the altar. Kargan Stone-Tongue had turned to face them, his marble-smooth features twisting into a grotesque smile. Their eyes locked across the distance, Rickon's silver-gray meeting the molten glow of the stone priest's.
"Stark!" The name echoed across the clearing, amplified by some foul magic that made the very air vibrate. "Stark blood! Kill him!"
The stone army surged forward with renewed purpose, their movements faster now, more desperate. A wall of living stone closed in from all sides.
Rickon backed toward Canis, their shoulders touching as they formed a defensive circle. Together, they cut down a dozen more stone men, shadows slicing through transformed flesh with terrible efficiency. But the horde kept coming, endless and implacable.
"We need to retreat," Rickon told Canis through their bond, even as he decapitated another stone man that ventured too close. "We'll relay this to Father."
The direwolf's agreement flowed back to him, along with a tactical assessment, they needed space to shadow-walk without being overwhelmed during the momentary vulnerability of transition.
Rickon gathered the shadows around them, feeling the familiar cold energy building. "Ready?"
Canis snarled in confirmation, his massive body pressed against Rickon's leg.
With a final slash that cleared a momentary circle around them, Rickon plunged them both into darkness. The last thing he saw was Kargan's face, twisted with rage as his prey vanished before his eyes.
As they stepped out, into the dense forest near the camp, the shadows around his hand dissipated, the longsword dissolving back into nothingness. Canis's katana likewise vanished, leaving the direwolf's jaws empty once more.
Through their bond, Rickon sensed Canis's reluctance to retreat. The direwolf had tasted battle and wanted more, his instincts urging him to return and finish what they'd started. But even Canis recognized the futility of facing such numbers alone.
"We'll be back," Rickon promised, stroking the direwolf's thick fur. "With reinforcements."
He closed his eyes, reaching out through his connection with Zenith. The eagle was still circling above the Stark camp, and through its keen eyes, Rickon could see the bustling activity below. His father stood at the center of a group of lords, gesturing urgently as men rushed to and fro, preparing defenses.
Alyn and his family had reached the camp safely, then. Good. His father would already be mobilizing their forces.
"Come," Rickon said to Canis, gathering his strength for another shadow-walk. "We need to tell Father exactly what we're facing."