Chapter 87

The aurora danced across the night sky, almost mocking Faendal and Inigo for their tardiness at arriving. The mountains had kept the storm upon them until it had passed midday. Even after the weather had cleared, the fresh snow had made their progress very slow. In some places, they had waded through drifts nearly as high as their chests. Inigo, not usually one to mention the climate, was shivering amid the light breeze. “The cold here saps the strength. I think my fleas are frozen…”

Faendal nodded, his own lips trembling with how bitting the night was. “It probably won’t be much warmer inside. But I can only hope getting out of the wind will help.” He swung his weapon free, setting an arrow on the string before leading the way into the mouth of the cavern.

The ice was glossy smooth. It glowed with a strange light that reminded the wood elf of the mushrooms he had sometimes seen in the caves around Riverwood. Was there something alive in the ice? If that were the case, did it mean that they had lost their chance at surprising any guardians this book might have? He shook the thoughts from his mind. No matter what was waiting for them, failure was not an option for them. Inigo followed close, his bow also ready for a fight. The path began to narrow, soon forcing the men to press close together. At one point it was even necessary for Faendal to suck in what little stomach he had to progress further.

“If there is anyone in here, they must be very tiny to navigate this maze of ice and stone.” Inigo struggled, the sound of the jar on his belt scraping against the wall making him pause. “Faendal, do you mind holding Mr. Dragonfly for a moment?” He passed the Bosmer the jar with an excess of care. “I don’t think he would enjoy it if he were to lose his home so far from any replacements.”

Faendal examined the insect. “Don’t you think he would be happier if he was free? I imagine that there are plenty of ponds and lakes in Falkreath that would make him a lovely home.”

“I have asked him many times if he would not rather I let him out. For whatever reason, he is comfortable in the jar. I respect his decision. He may have lost most of his freedom he once had, but I will not strip him of the freedom to choose his home.”

The elf nodded, handing the jar back to his friend once he had come through the passage. “Gaeolin told me about how you found him. It sounds like a truly impressive tale.”

“It was fun to tell it! I would be happy to tell it to you in person someday, if you like. It is much better to enjoy a good story in a nicer place though. Perhaps if we return to Raven Rock soon, we could exchange stories over a few drinks. I have many I could share.”

“I would enjoy that very much. However, we should try to focus on the task at hand for now.”

The pair continued through the cold passageways. Despite having spent the better part of an hour wandering the halls, they hadn’t run into anyone yet. Could the Madman’s note have been nothing more than inane rambling? Had they come to this place chasing a man’s imaginings? The thought made Faendal scowl, “Brelfik?” A shrill voice called out. Inigo and Faendal sank as low as they could. Ahead, a riekling scout rounded a bend. It had a spear out before it, obviously looking for the intruders it had heard. “Hagajawala!” The little beast poked at the space between some stacked barrels. After a moment, it seemed content to believe that it had been imagining the enemies. Faendal peeked from behind the large chunk of ice they had used for refuge.

“That was close.”

“Agreed.” Inigo whispered. “I don’t know much about these fellows, but from what I have seen I doubt they are few in number.”

“I would say that we should try and sneak past them…” he looked down the hall. The flickering of the creatures’ fires could be seen reflecting off the ice. “But I don’t think we would make it far without having to face them anyway. Be ready to shoot quickly.” Faendal tightened his grip on his bow. Inigo noticed at that moment that the weapon was not, in fact, Faendal’s.

“That is Gaeolin’s bow.”

The elf looked down at the weapon. “Yes, it is. I didn’t think he would mind if I borrowed it. It is far better than mine. I thought it might be a good idea to bring it along.”

Inigo shrugged. “You are probably right. I doubt Gaeolin would trust many others aside from the two of us with it. It is a rather dashing weapon. I think he made it himself. He would probably make you one as well. Perhaps it would be worth asking him once this mess has been dealt with.”

“It impresses me how strong it is, in spite of the thin limbs.” 

“Don’t forget about the string. It is quite snappy!” The khajiit laughed. “I still prefer my ebony bow though.”

They soon entered a large chamber. Small wooden walkways spanned the vast distance between themselves and what looked like the start of an ancient ruin that had been sealed in the ice. The scaffolds wound to and fro to connect a series of natural pillars sprouting from the floor below. Freezing water waited at the bottom. The pair silently agreed that getting soaked was not something they wanted to deal with. Faendal took aim, seeing a riekling atop the nearest of the pillars.

The sound of the string cut through the silence in the room like a clap of thunder. His target turned just in time for the steel to lodge into its skull. It fell forward, giving a splash in the water below. Across the divide, its brethren prepared their counter attack.

“Araloo! Araloo!” One of the rieklings cried out. It threw spears to its comrades. “Booneetay! Koowah!” The warriors ran over the bridges, stopping only to lob a spear at their opponents. Had the beasts not been attacking them, Inigo might have thought them funny little creatures. Things being as they were , he had no trouble justifying taking the monsters out. He gulped as one of the spears just barely missed his shoulder. He drew back his shot, letting the ebony point stick between the beady little eyes.

Faendal soon found himself having to resort to his dagger. The rieklings may be small, but they had numbers, and the advantage of knowing the surroundings. He drove his blade through the skull of the nearest, bashing the next with his bow before bringing the dagger to slice the small neck. As the body fell to the floor, Faendal stood to fire at their last foe.

The arrow flew true, its spinning metal head landing with deadly force into the body of its victim with finality. The beast clutched at the projectile, gasping a final phrase. “Uuruuu…”

“Danger dealt with.” Inigo plucked one of his arrows out of the reikling’s corpse. “Little fellows are nasty in a fight, I must admit.”

Faendal nodded. “I wonder how many other places in Solstheim they cause trouble. So far, there doesn’t seem to be any hard and fast rules as to where the rieklings make their homes.”

“Home is where you make it, my friend. It would seem they follow that truth in their way. come on, we should get a move on.” He took off in the lead, lighting a tar ch as the pair made the transition to the ruins. Their first impression of the place was that it had been completely ransacked. In all of his times traveling through Nordic ruins, Inigo had never seen one in such a sorry state. Every urn had been broken. The alcoves and tombs had all been scoured and pillaged. There was not a single untouched area that they could see. From what they could find, all evidence pointed to the tomb’s new inhabitants.

“I wonder why the rieklings have such a fascination with useless trinkets.” The Bosmer inspected one of the makeshift sculptures. “None of the items I have seen them gather are that valuable on their own.”

“Who knows? Maybe they just like the shapes, or how they shine. The fact that they can find anything in these gods forsaken tombs interesting is amazing to me. I am just glad that they seem to have taken care of the dead in advance. Keeps me from having to deal with that.”

They continued on, fighting off the beasts as they went. The little goblins were crafty. A few had even managed to surprise them by hiding in barrels to ambush them as they passed. There were telling signs of the Reikling’s occupation at every turn. Most took the form of thorough destruction. However, there were also ample demonstrations of a rather unique style of painting. The adventurers dared not speculate what the murals were made with, but they could not outright declare that they were not beautiful in a barbaric way. In ways, it resembled some of the drawings one might find in Valenwood. Moving forward, Faendal and Inigo took greater care. It was unlikely that such a heavily marked region would be left empty.

The hall turned to the right, opening onto the balcony overlooking a grand chamber. Two massive pillars held up the ceiling against the natural inclination to crumble. The wooden wall which had once kept the chamber obscured had not held up nearly as well through the centuries. Boards had fallen or rotted away, leaving only a few still in place. Inigo was grateful for these, as they stopped a riekling spear which would have otherwise caught him in the hip.

There were five of them, each one in a different part of the room. Four were on raised platforms or other balconies. The last had been tending to a fire with some sort of meat charring above it. However, as soon as its fellows began hurdling their spears, he hopped over to the nearby Bristleback. With a chattering cry the chief rode his mount toward the base of the stairs. Faendal began by aiming for each of the spear throwers. His first shot missed by a foot, his arms starting to feel weak from how much heavier Gasolin’s bow was strung. Inigo abandoned range in favor of drawing his trusty Ebony sword.

“He he! You clipped a whisker!” He taunted, dodging the spear with the grace of a well practiced warrior. “You should have thought about this decision though. Now my friend and I will have to destroy you.”

Calling on reserves of strength he had not known were his, Faendal managed to bring back the bow string five more times. He killed the farthest of his foes first with a shot through its abdomen. The next was undone by an arrow that burst a hole straight through the neck. With the last two shots, the Bosmer landed his shots right between the eyes of his enemies. He lowered his bow arm, watching Inigo dispatch the boar with a deft stab into the beast’s heart. The pair panted, sinking to sit upon the steps and recover.

“I didn’t expect these things to put up so much of a fight.” Faendal held a cramp in his arm. “I think it may be a good idea to rest here awhile before we move on.”

Inigo nodded. “We should keep it brief, though. We might not have seen any undead here, but these tombs do not have such a great track record in my experience. Stay alert.” The pair made use of the reikling’s fire, setting what looked like an ancient dwarven bowl on the flames to heat water for a quick vegetable stew. Faendal busied himself with cooking, feeling his stomach protesting the emptiness.

He raised a spoon of the sorry meal to his lips. The blandness made him cringe. “Do you have any salt? I can also add some of the dried meat if you like. It won’t be easy to chew.”

Inigo waved the comment away. “There is no need to go to so much trouble, my friend. Here, will this be enough?” He held out a small pouch. There wasn’t much in it, but it might give their soup the suggestion of flavor. Faendal took it with his thanks.

“I probably should have bought some supplies from the Skaal before we came out here. This has been a pretty bad rush job.”

“Your haste in this matter is understandable. Do not fret about it. Trust me, I promise this will taste far better than my last attempt at cooking.”

The elf smiled. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you are making it out to be.”

“I nearly set the woods on fire.” He grinned, not even looking embarrassed about it. “It worked out in my best interest though. Gaeolin can do some amazing things with fresh game and modest seasonings.”

Faendal looked at the bow that set beside him. How was Gaeolin holding up? Had the infection settled down at all in the time they had been gone? “He owes us some of that cooking if we find something that helps him here. I’ll make sure he doesn’t try and get out of it.”

They ate their meal in silence from that point on. Even though the vegetables had not cooked as long as they should have, both felt slightly better off for the break. Making their way back to the pillars, the men faced their next obstacle. There was a switch on a pedestal in front of them. Behind this stood a large iron portcullis. Neither of them tried to touch the device. Both knew, and had experienced the clever traps that the ancient Nords usually rigged their tombs with. Inigo noticed the short statues that flanked the gate ahead of them. “Great! I love solving puzzles in zombie crypts. It makes my anxiety so much easier to deal with.”

Faendal looked up on the walls for the combination. He sighed when he found the second symbol missing. It was also missing from the pile of rubble beneath the damaged wall section. “I am pretty sure our little friends absconded with the missing piece…”

Inigo seethed. “Tiny devils! They just had to make things difficult for us.” The wood elf shook his head. “I doubt they could have taken it very far. It might be close. Look around their hovels. One of them might have decided it was a nice bit for their hoard.” He left Inigo to search the structures on the ground floor. He decided to check the upper level where all of the spear throwers had been. The little huss came almost to his waist. He thought to himself that it was odd that the rieklings seemed to enjoy keeping the height of their homes so close to their own. Even they would have been unable to do more than sit inside the structures. He passed the second home, seeing what they were looking for only a short distance away. It was the broken wall ornament, a whale carving standing out in a brilliant white which had clearly been polished with care by the last creature to touch it.

“I found it Inigo!” He called down the stairs. Picking up his things, he began turning the statues to their set positions. A few moments later, they were walking through the arch. They were met by a word wall, though any meaning it had was lost on them. “I’ve always thought that these were intimidating.”

“Even more so if found by people like Gaeolin. The power they hold cannot be denied. I often wonder if the knowledge is not more of a curse though. At least Gaeolin seems to keep it in check. We should remember that this is here. He will likely want to revisit this place to learn its secrets.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Personally, I think I’ve had my fill of secrets after all we’ve been through.” He led the way, opening a door that stood to the right side of the room. As he made to pass through the door, he noticed that the reiklings had placed artwork there as well. The images were… disturbing… 

Several rieklings were attacking one another, all scrambling to claim something that looked like a mass of squiggly lines. In the center of this mass was a single, black eye. The back of his neck began to prickle as he proceeded into the room.

The book was waiting for them. A pale blue green mist hung around the floor, chilling them to the bone. Inigo put his ears back as he recalled his last journey into Hermaus Mora’s realm. “Well, I promised you I wouldn’t let you go alone.” He placed his hand on the elf’s shoulder. “This is me keeping my word. I am as ready as I can be, my friend. Go ahead and read from the book. Let us hope it will help us find what we need.”

Faendal took a deep breath, turning to the first page.

As the great ships of men crawled the waves to their destinies, there were, after long years, a number of tales lost in the mists of morning. Even after the forgetting though, wisps of story find ways to receptive ears as even the deepest of secrets never truly dies. When fires burn and the night grows soft in-

Before either of them could react, the tentacles leapt from the spine of the book, dragging the pair of them back to the library. The tome snapped shut, glowing as if pleased to have new wills to try and break for its master.