Chapter Eighty Four

“You shouldn’t pick a fight when you are outnumbered!” Inigo cleft the arm off of the draugr he fought, ending the last enemy in the room. The group had finally managed to run into the standard enemy that infested these crypts. Though if this tomb was the same size as most, it was an alarming drop in population from what they were accustomed to. Gaeolin brushed cobwebs from his shoulder, scanning the room to make sure that was the last threat.

“I’m not sure who wants us out more, the spiders or the Draugr.”

Faendal pulled an arrow out of one of their freshly dead foes. “I would say the Draugr. The spiders don’t want us gone. They want to save us for later meals.”

Auroth gave a grunt of agreement. “They’ll have to wake up earlier than that to eat me.” He opened an urn, peeking inside for anything of value. “I do wonder why the undead here are so weak. I’ve never seen such feeble draugr in all my dungeon delving years. This temple doesn’t seem any older than another like it. It’s very troubling.”

Inigo rolled his eyes. “And I still think the lot of you are fools for questioning this. Let the dead stay dead. It would give me no end of joy to avoid dealing with their horrific presence ever again.”

Gaeolin wasn’t listening. He kept hearing the chanting. It was coming from somewhere ahead, but he couldn’t get a clear idea of where. Aside from the chant, he could also hear what sounded like the foot falls of someone wearing leather booths. It didn’t sound like draugr, it was too even. Someone else was here. Maybe some of the bandits survived. “We need to keep moving. Come on, We must be getting close.”

The next hall led into what had once been a very large room. For what purpose it had been made, they could only guess. Now, there was a large chasm in the center, a small flow of water having eroded the floor over untold centuries. The pillars, though worn on their exteriors, had no trouble holding the ceiling firmly above them. There were some torches lighting this room. a spattering in the corner directly to the left of where they entered, with more across a rickety wooden bridge that spanned the small gorge in the center of the chamber. Gaeolin could see three people walking about the room.

The closest was a man with leather armor, though the gear seemed inadequate for the weather outside. He had a rather worn looking weapon on his hip. There was also a sorry excuse for a bow hanging across his back. Over the divide, there was another man, whose pacing seemed rather erratic compared to his comrade. There was something odd about his hood. Gaelin couldn’t make out what kind of material it was from such a distance.

Behind the second man stood a raised terrace. A woman stood up there, watching the men with the air of some sort of general observing her troops. At her side, there was a small spider. It clung to the hem of her dress, acting more like a pet than a monster. It crawled up her side to rest upon her shoulder. The woman stroked it, whispering at the hideous creature in an almost loving way.

“Patience, Tymnu. I’ll let you have one of them before long. We have to see if your brother is meeting with success first.” She looked at the closer of the two with a wicked grin. The man jerked a bit. It seemed like he was struggling to stay on his feet. Putting it out of his mind, Gaeolin made his way to the closer of the two bandits. He gently slid his sword into its sheath, drawing his knife instead. If he played his cards right, he might be able take him down without a fight. He just needed to be a little closer.

He took his time, each footstep was soft and timid as he closed the distance between himself and his target. The man ahead didn’t seem to notice. He leaned against a nearby pillar to adjust his bootstraps. Gaeolin approached from behind, rising to reach his neck. In a swift movement, he exposed the bandit’s neck and drew his blade across it. He clamped the man’s mouth shut.

The muffled spluttering barely registered to all but the most sensitive of ears. Unfortunately, the magician was apparently not hard of hearing.

“What was that? Tymnu, go and see. You may get to have a meal sooner than I expected.” The spider chattered before climbing down to the floor. It skittered toward them as if it had known the entire time where they had been hiding. Its body glowed with the same strange red glow as the creature they had faced earlier in the dungeon. Gaeolin knew they couldn’t wait for it to discover them. He replaced his knife, drawing his bow and signalling the others. He, Faendal, and Inigo all had arrows ready, sending them to rain down on the magical arachnid. Inigo’s arrow found the mark, pinning the beast to the floor. Auroth sent flames toward the witch. She swatted the spells away, returning her own blasts of lightning. The altmer brought up a ward to dispel them. While the mages were locked in battle, Gaeolin made his way to intercept the other man.

Something was horribly wrong with him. His skin was mottled, fluorescent orange shining through from his veins. His eyes were obscured by cataracts. From behind his head, Gaeolin could see what looked like another spider leg jutting out. The bandit swung at him with an axe. The blow might have hit if Gaeolin hadn’t leaned back in time.

The wood elf managed to slip underneath his enemy’s arm, turning to try and attack him from behind. He stopped in horror at the sight in front of him. It had indeed been a spider leg he saw. What he had not seen was the fact that the monster had embedded its fangs into the man’s spine. Whatever the beast had for venom was responsible for the ominous glow in the bandit’s blood. Gaeolin managed to pull himself out of these thoughts, instead focusing on avoiding the man’s attacks. The spider had enhanced his reflexes and speed. It was more challenging to keep out of range then he might have expected.

Suddenly, the Bandit stiffened. His face contorted in pain. A bit of foam escaped from his lips. A narrow blade peeked through his chest. Faedal stood behind him, his sword digging through his body. “Should have been watching the rest of us as well.”

The spider released itself from its dying host. The palps wriggled in rage as it tried to decide who it should move to. Faendal being the closer of the two seemed to be the reasonable choice. Before it could go far, it was knocked off of its former puppet’s shoulder by Inigo’s arrow. It flew through the air to land on a grate covering a massive drain. Through its struggling, it fell through the iron bars to plummet to an unknown depth.

Auroth had managed to close the gap between himself and the magician. She sent more spells his way, seeming like she had no idea what else to do but keep up the onslaught.

“A little help, fellas?” The high elf grumbled. It was clear that he was beginning to feel the effect of expending so much magic. The archers all brought up their bows, releasing a deadly rain of iron, steel, and ebony shards. They all hit at once, knocking the wind from their target with ease. She looked down at her chest. The shafts inspired a smirk before she fell forward to the stones below.

“While I applaud her interest in spiders,” Inigo mused, “I can’t say that I like what she’s done to them.” He knelt down, inspecting the wounds on the back of the bandit’s neck. “Do you think it was in complete control of his mind? Or was it just using him like a vehicle?”

Auroth considered the question for a moment. “It reminds me of how the Dunmer would manipulate the nervous system of the Silt Striders. They would expose the spinal column directly behind the head to allow the pilot to coax the creature to respond to commands. I’m almost certain we are looking at an expansion on that line of work.” He grimaced. “Though it is pretty gruesome. I don’t think even a Telvanni would do something like this.”

Inigo sent a puzzled look. “I thought you said Neloth was nefarious. Maybe there are others with his questionable ethics.”

Auroth shrugged. “Either way, I’m just glad we put a stop to it.”

Faendal watched Gaeolin closely. His lover was pacing, looking from one direction to another. He wore a look of frustration. “Still not sure where to go?”

“We can really only go one way. Something doesn’t feel right to me. It hasn’t since we started exploring this place. I can hear the wall. I know it is here. But there is something else. It feels more sinister. I can’t help but feel like we are being manipulated.” He stared at the woman’s body. There was a book peeking from inside her bag. He knelt down to retrieve it. It was a leather bound notebook. Opening to the first page, he began to read her findings. Though halfway through, it seemed she had begun to question her brother and his loyalty to their project. But which of those was her brother? Neither were dark elves, but perhaps they were not siblings by blood. Wrapping the cover around to close the journal, he stowed it in his pack. “Keep on your guard. She wasn’t alone in this, and he might still be around.”

Up the stairs, the room again reduced into a narrow hallway. The walls were choked by cobwebs once again, inspiring the thought that they must be nearing the location of the sorceress’ lab. The stonework gave way to natural tunnels. this far beneath the ground it was warm enough that these caves were still damp. Gaeolin had to adjust his posture to avoid creating any excess noise. The dirt and stones beneath them were very loose. Auroth slipped a bit at the back of the line. They could see a light at the end of the tunnel. It had the same flicker of torch light that they had seen back in the room before. Once inside, the group could see the extent of the witch’s madness.

The cavern was large, a makeshift scaffolding leading up to a high ledge. Off to the right, there was a massive cage. It was filled with a wide array of alchemical equipment, as well as some other machines that even Auroth couldn’t recognize. The room was definitely not empty. There were three of the pale spiders scuttling along the floor. Inigo made no attempt to sneak up on them. He rushed in with Dawnbreaker swinging free. He cut down their first two, using only his boot to crush the last. He wore a look of total glee. “Hehe! Silly spiders.”

Inside the cell lay a body. It was a male dark elf, his robes making it clear that he too must have been a magician. At the very least, he must have been the brother the witch had been doubting. This man also had a journal. Gaeolin found it sitting next to one of the strange machines sitting on the workbench. From his quick skim of the text, they had both been experimenting on the spiders. He must have seen the dangerous turn his sister’s work was taking. He had tried to stop her, but ended up locking himself into the lab. “It looks 11 ke all of these instruments are how they created these monsters. They used gems to grant them magical properties.”

Inigo seeded positively delighted by this information, think of the spiders I could reise for my farm with this! Having a variety would be fantastic for business.”

Faendal raised an eyebrow. “You plan to farm spiders? For what?”

Inigo looked somewhat offended by the skepticism of his friend. “I could raise them for og to sell to alchemists. Spider silk is used for a great many styles of light armor and clothing. And when harvested correctly, the venom has obvious applications for agents and adventurers.”

Auroth gave a ncd. “All good points. I have to point out that you won’t be able to squash them if you expect to make a profit though.”

Gaeolin shook his head. “Come on, we can’t carry this stuff, Inigo. Sorry. But if you want us to take their notes, I suppose they would be safer with you than anybody else. Let’s head back. I still want to find that word wall.”

The group backtracked through a few rooms, finding a door that had been covered over by cobwebs. The opening led them to a long, rickety spiral staircase. The wood was making some troubling noises. Faendal in particular seened put off by their surroundings. He clung to the wall as close as he could, allowing Auroth and Inigo to pass him with how slowly he progressed. Gaeolin fell back to help him.

“You never have liked being underground, have you?”

“I’m a ‘wood elf’, not a deep elf. If I had been meant to crawl around inside a mountain, I would have been born a Dwemer.”

“That would have been unfortunate. I would never have known you if that were the case.”

Faendal chuckled. “Then be grateful, and don’t make fun of my phobias.”

After a few more minutes, they came upon what had to be the correct room. Gaeolin could feel the beginnings of a headache in response to the amount of power coming from inside. He held his head for a moment. Auroth too, seemed to be having some trouble. He turned to them, a look of concern. “There is more in here than a word wall.”

“What is it?” Gaeolin felt his misgivings growing at the uncertainty his friend wore on his features.

“I don’t think all of the undead are… actually dead. I can sense a terrible power. I would not be surprised if it was a dragon priest.” He hesitated. “I can also sense something that seemed like Mora’s realm.”

Gaeolin felt his heart clench. The last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment was a daedric prince. However, he couldn’t ignore the need to train. “We should be very cautious. If you need to take any potions, or other preparations, we can take a moment to do so.”

Auroth dug in his pack. While he looked for his potions, Inigo took the time to test his bow string. Faendal moved his sword closer to the front of his waist. When they were all ready, Gaeolin pushed in the door.

The chamber was miraculously lit by roaring fire. The word wall stood tall directly across from the door down into a deeper level of the room. Just atop the raised platform it was built onto rested a sarcophagus. It bore intricate carvings and long lines of dragon script all around its edges.

The four of them entered the room with caution. There was no telling what would happen. Auroth searched the extreler as best he could from their location , knowing that the source of the daedric magic had to be closer than the coffin. He saw it as soon as they began to descend into the chamber. On a pedestal recessed into the floor above was one of Hermaus Mora’s black books, The same pulsing energy he had come to loathe radiating from it.

He didn’t have a great deal of time to consider the tome, the sound of the lid of the sarcophagus grinding free drawing their attention. Gaeolin readied his blade, Inigo and Faendal staying high on the stairs to provide fire from a place of cover. Auroth readied his magic, hands wrapped in fire as the priest rose from the casket.

‘Who dares enter my tomb?’ He wore a mask, as all of his brethren Gaeolin had seen before. But this one seemed different. It had smoother lines, a more sleek appearance. The lich locked his gaze on Gaeolin. ‘Dragonborn, like that fool Miraak before you, you have commited a dire transgression. I can see that you have been touched by the vile one as well. I will not let you take knowledge from his library of falsehoods.’ He held his hands wide, & pale cyan energy winding inward from his hands. In the tendrils’ wake was left a midnight black shine. Auroth recognized the magic, knowing this battle was going to be more trouble than they had bargained for.

Gaeolin rushed forward, striking against the priest’s chest. His sword let out a sharp clang as it struck the layer of enchanted ebony that encased the foe. A dry chuckle slipped from under the mask. ‘You’ll have to try a little harder than that, young elf.’

“Gaeolin, get back!” Auroth brought his hammer above his head, a large ball of flames forming around the head of the weapon. The priest didn’t sit idle while the spell was being cast. He brought up a ward, the bright silver light causing the archers above to shield their eyes.

‘I failed in my duty before, and was named Dukaan for my dishonor. I failed to stop young Miraak from venturing into that evil realm. I will not allow you to dishonor me with a repeat of this failure!’ He raised a bony hand, directing his palm to Auroth. His fingers slowly closed into a pointed hand. Auroth felt the room going colder. His steel plate armor began to frost over, his breath hanging in the air before him. He growled at the priest.

“Yol Kaal du!” His shout sounded like a clap of thunder in the small room. The Dukaan’s dried hand burst into a deep purple flame. The lich screamed in agony as the fire destroyed his hand in moments. The others took this moment to press the attack. Faendal fired the fastest, his bowstring singing a deadly tune as the iron arrows peppered against the armor of their enemy. Inigo was slower, but took the time to be more precise with the shots. All of his ebony arrows landed in gaps at the joining points of the armor. The priest reeled as he was impaled by the same metal he had sought to use as his defence. Gaeolin brought his sword around to lunge at the lich with all of his weight. As the distance grew shorter, he readied his own voice.

“Oblaan ko yolos.” He spoke no louder than he would have to any of his companions if they were relaxing at an inn. The air grew still, then burst with horrifying power. A dome of fire swirled around gaeolin and the lich, making the room flare with heat and light. The screeching of the dragon priest was not unlike the squealing of metal as it was ripped asunder. His body began to disintegrate under the force of Gaeolin’s fire. The sword slowly plunged deeper into his chest as the Bosmer glared into the eyeholes of the mask. As he looked on, Auroth had a difficult time imagining how terrible it would be to exist at the receiving end of that expression. Dukaan’s mask fell away, what little there was left of his face twisting in a last ounce of speech.

‘Very well, if you want this knowledge so badly, allow me to get some-one who can help you find what you seek.’ With the 1ast motion his hand would ever make, Dukaan unleashed a spell. An orb of violent green energy formed near the word wall. From inside this mass emerged a seeker. But this one was unlike any they had seen before. It looked older, the scaly hide having more scarring than the others they had faced. It wore a large, rusty chain about what seemed to be its neck. (At least where a neck might be found on such a strange beast)off of this chain hung heavy, hard covered books with locks keeping them shut. It let out a guttural roar, sending a wave of pale green magic over the room. Gaeolin felt his sword slip from his grasp. He scrambled to try and reach his bow but was forced to roll away from another wave of magic.

Faendal didn’t allow the creature an opportunity to press its advantage. He fired arrows in a steady stream to keep the beast distracted. Inigo let three more shots free before leaping down and drawing his sword. He forced his way between the seeker and his friend, his face chiseled in fury. “Why not pick on somebody who actually has a weapon in their hand?” He struck out, catching the monster in the arm with the holy blade. It screamed out, sending a bolt of magic to strike the Khajiit to the floor as well. However, the time Inigo had bought was enough to allow Gaeolin to draw his own sword and circle behind their foe. He drove the steel through the back of it’s head with all of his weight. The blood on the metal ran a muddy green. The seeker’s flesh began to melt, slipping down to the stones in a thick string as it began to die. The chains fell with a wet clang, the books becoming soaked by the remains of their former keeper.

Auroth approached them, again overcome with the urge to vomit at the sight of the monster’s dead form. “Why are these things so disgusting?”

“I am sure they are pretty in the eyes of their creator.” Inigo said. “But I am inclined to agree with you. Very unpleasant to deal with.”

Gaeolin stared at the word wall. The angular dragon script was nearly black with shadow as the fires flickered. He could feel the power radiating from the lines of text, willing himself to take in the knowledge.

“Qethsegol yahrukiv Vukgrum, fin Zahkrii ko fin Ven Sovrahzun. Wen moro lost maltiid nuz ko rahrukt unlaad.’ (This stone commemorates Vulgrum, the Sword in the Wind Mercenary. Whose glory was short, but in memory unending.)

‘Vez’… The wind that carried wings to great heights, that eroded the very mountains, and drove ships across the sea. He could feel the strength of the wind fill his mind. It could be so destructive if used toward that end. As the last of the power began to fade, he wondered if it could also be used with less devastating results.

Faendal disturbed the moment of introspection. He looked back at the door they had come through. “I don’t think we should stay here much longer.”

“What about the book?” Inigo pointed to the tome behind them. “We probably shouldn’t leave it here.”

They gathered around the book. Auroth didn’t seem all too concerned with abandoning it in the tomb. “I honestly don’t think it is a good idea to deal with these books anymore than we have to. We should just leave it and move on.

But Gaeolin had already put his hands on the cover, lifting it to view the first page. The others stepped back as the room seemed to grow darker.

‘Act l, Scene 1

(Enter Filemina, with broken sceptre) Filemina–

Woe betide my fate-wrecked heart, which gives no tender shine to he, Who gave up his favors to gods, and brought his blood-struck mind to me.’

The book wrapped it’s slimy tendrils around the Bosmer’s neck, almost loving in it’s gentleness. As the world began to fade around him, the level of calm he felt also gave rise to concern in Gaeolin’s mind. Why was he so much more comfortable with this? His feet settled on cold stone, his eyes focusing on the dark hall ahead of him. He drew his sword, more scared than he had been before of this cursed library.