Chapter Eighty Three

The sky was beginning to brighten with the first light of dawn when the party reached the higher levels of the pass. Gaeolin, having given in to weakness, had let Inigo and Auroth sleep longer than they had originally planned, It was hard to deny the khajiit when he had asked so nicely, in his half sleep clouded voice.

The extra rest may have cost them the chance to surprise their quarry. Thin wisps of smoke could be seen rising from beyond the ridge. It was undoubtedly the rieklings beginning their daily meals. To make matters worse, the wind had shifted in the night. From the direction it was moving, there was a chance that any scent they might have on them could alert any animals that the creatures had to serve as guards. Gaeolin had insisted that they all ready their weapons before they came any closer to the encampment.

All was quiet, save for the crunching of the aged snow beneath their feet. Gaeolin cursed that there had not been weather in the night. If it were fresh, they might have been able to move in with more silence. He tread as carefully as he could. Something made him nervous. He could sense that this might not go as smooth as they were hoping. He hunched down, trying to stay out of sight of the stick built tower ahead. He had just cleared the cover of the cliff beside them when their cover was blown.

A riekling jumped from a nearby shrub, calling out in a shrill, squeaking voice that rode the wind to rival a hawk’s cry. He drew back his bow, sticking an arrow in its throat to quell the alarm. But it was far too late. A horn sounded up the slope, more of the beasts emerging from their huts with spears in hand. One rode a bristleback boar, the tusks of the pig sharpened as an enhancement of an already deadly bodypart. The chief sat up in the saddle, gesturing to them with a message that they needed no translation to understand.

Auroth readied his magic, flames rolling in his hands as he leapt up onto the riekling fortifications. Faendal followed him, an elegant flip landing him atop the opposite end of the walkway. He sent arrows on the heels of the bolts of fire. One of the rieklings caught fire, chattering wickedly as it beat at the flames. Gaeolin made his way beneath the catwalk, also sending arrows to help his friends in their efforts. Inigo had his own bow out, though he was having trouble getting a good shot between his companions. He laughed out loud at the display they were giving the poor creatures. “This hardly seems a fair fight, my friends. We are a force to be reckoned with!”

Auroth sent a last ball of fire, hitting the boar full in the face with the burning projectile. The riekling on it’s back tumbled forward, landing at Gaeolin’s feet. The Bosmer drew his sword, dispatching the beast with a swift jab in the heart. He looked down at it, almost instantly feeling like these things couldn’t really have been that much of a menace so far from civilization. It was hard to argue that they were very violent people, though. Most of the structures were adorned with some form of skeletal remains or another, not so different from the wood elves in that sense. If they had been in Valenwood, technically these little things could be considered as decent followers of the green pact. He soon saw that they had a bad habit for attacking traders. Once they looked in the small huts, things could be found that the rieklings would never have come into possession another way other than highway robbery.

An East Empire Company amulet, several filled soul gems, alchemical equipment… He shook his head, wishing the beasts had left well enough alone and lived their own way.

“I wonder what this is here.” Inigo had his attention focused on what seemed to be the wreckage of a ship. But it was unlike any ship Gaeolin had ever seen before. From what could be seen above the snow and ice, there were elements of Dwemer construction involved. The main hull was still made from wood, however. Auroth made his way to the wreckage to inspect for himself.

“I’ve only ever heard of these. I think this is the remains of a Dwemer airship.”

“Airship?” Faendal sent a skeptical glance between the rotting wood and the Altmer. “You don’t seriously mean to say that this thing was capable of flying?”

The High Elf shrugged. “Maybe not at the moment, but in the past, definitely. The dwarves were masters of strange sciences. What other Mer would solve with magic or enchantment, they had to find some more tangible means of accomplishing. Were it not for some of the terrible things they were responsible for, I might even consider respecting their choices in cases of study.”

Gaeolin wondered why any reasonable person would want to fly in the first place. Life on the ground suited him just fine. “Do you think it would be worth taking a look inside?”

Auroth gave a shrug. “There might be some valuable things left. But if it is as old as I think, I doubt that there will be much. It’s up to you.”

Curiosity had the better of him. Gaeolin adjusted his sword in his hand, pushing open the door.

The interior was amazingly warm. Steam hissed from small holes in the pipes as a result of countless centuries of corrosion. As was normally the case with the Dwemer, the machinery was still functional, at least in part. As his friend had suggested, it looked as if others had scavenged the place long before their arrival. There were broken urns and shattered crates all over the floor. He was going to give it all up for lost, until he saw an undisturbed chest in the back of the room. There was water up to the halfway point of the container. There must be a leak of some kind, since the room ought to have been completely filled from ice melt by this point.

The lock turned out to be so weak that it broke in two when he began to try and pick it. The wood had warped, making the opening of the chest harder than it would have been even with the iron clasp working. Resorting to using his trench knife as a pry bar was the only way to get inside it. What was held in the box was quite underwhelming. A dissolving scroll cast a horrible stench into the stale air. Next to this was a rancid jar of some unknown potion, as well as a shattered gem and a very rusty dagger. Gaeolin closed it in disgust before returning to his companions.

“Nothing,” he complained, “I suppose I should have known as much.”

Inigo shook his head. “It is better to look and be certain, my friend. How many of the ancient ruins have we found great treasure inside? If we had only presumed that there was nothing worth while in them, we might not be as financially comfortable as we are today.”

Auroth nodded his agreement. “At any rate, it’s not as if we aren’t going to be getting enough money as a reward for clearing out the beasts.”

Gaeolin was going to respond, but froze. Something made the hairs on his neck stand up. He could sense something on the wind, coming down from the north.

His soul began to stir in response to the sensation. He turned to face the valley below. He couldn’t see anything clearly. He knew it was there. He could almost hear the words, even from so far away. “Auroth, do you know of any ruins down there?”

“I’m not all that familiar with Solstheim, or the Nordic peoples who lived here. I meant to ask Neloth about some of these things, but he was far too interested in the books.”

Inigo put an ear back, his face almost pleading. “Do you really think it is worth our time to start looking in zombie ridden crypts? We know how we need to proceed. I for one am against anything involving more undead.”

Faendal looked at Gaeolin, wondering what it was that made him so alert all of the sudden. Something about his demeanor was different. “Céard atá ort? (What is the matter?)“

Gaeolin did not look at him. “I can hear them. Just softer than the wind. The Dragon cult came to Solstheim to stop Miraak. If there is any way I can find and use some of their power against him, it will improve our chances. And,” he looked to his lover, “I have to train my voice at any opportunity. Knowledge of the Dovahzul will help me not only now, but when I have to face Alduin as well.”

“Don’t you think we should at least go back and collect the reward for this job before we go and start anything this dangerous?” Inigo injected. He was clearly not going to give in to the plan without arguing his case to the farthest extent possible.

“We are already so close. Why go all the way back now?”

Inigo sighed in defeat. “Very well. If you insist on subjecting Mr. Dragonfly and myself to these horrors, the least we can do is face them with dignity.”

“It doesn’t look like there is an easy way down from here.” Auroth scanned the cliffs below. “My recommendation would be that we head toward that more gradual slope to the west. At least that way, there may be better footholds.” Gaeolin nodded in agreement, setting off to take the lead.

Night was almost completely upon them as they finally settled into the base of the valley. The high mountains around them funneled the air, causing the already chilled air to be ever more harsh on their skin. Their breath froze ahead of them to be carried off on the wind. The air itself seemed to be angry at them for disturbing the gully. Auroth was quick to note that it seemed to be sweeping around the mountain ahead in a tight arc. It resembled the Skaal ward that Gaeolin had told him about. Maybe their ancient ancestors had developed the power to protect the tomb.

The greyed stone of the barrow stood in stark contrast to the snow that had drifted against the mountain. Gaeolin thought to himself that it was amazing how consistent the Nordic architecture proved to be. Skrim was hundreds of miles away across the sea, and yet he felt as if this place could just as easily be nestled in the foothills of the Jerall mountains in the south of Falkreath. He placed his hand on the black Iron door, pushing to enter the antichamber.

To their surprise, there was a warm fire already burning inside. Also to their surprise, was a wounded bandit. The man was lying on his back. The floor was coated with a large amount of blood, the man shivering with the chill that precedes the touch of death. Gaeolin came to kneel beside him. The Bandit shied away, seeing Faendal go for a second door. It was barred by a very heavy plank.

“No! Please, don’t let them out!” He gasped. Gaeolin held his hand up for Faendal to stop.

“Don’t let who out?”

The man coughed past the cold. “There’s someone in there. They are doing something with the spiders… Please… They killed my friends. Well, the lucky ones at least.”

“What do you mean? Please, we can help you.” He reached in his bag for a potion. The bandit gave a last ragged breath, then fell still. He was dead.

Gaeolin replaced the bottle. Looking over his shoulder, he raised an eyebrow to his friends. “Did he say spiders did this?”

“Oh, I really, really hope so.” Inigo grinned. Auroth stepped away from the Khajiit, looking at him with mild concern.

“Yes, but more to the point,” Auroth continued, “he implied that someone had done something to them. It sounds like some kind of experiment. And if the spiders aren’t the ultimate end goal for the experiment, this could be very bad for the citizens of the island. We should probably do something about this.”

Inigo looked positively beside himself with excitement.

Faendal held his stomach as it let out a growl. “As grim as it sounds, I don’t think I can go any farther without a light meal. I know eating near a fresh corpse is likely not everyone’s first choice.”

Auroth shrugged. “As long as the meal doesn’t consist of the fresh corpse, you won’t hear me complain. But let’s not make this a long rest.”

After a short session of cheese and bread, the four of them made their way past the locked door. If there were spiders in the tomb, they had not seen fit to reveal themselves yet. However, there were webs on almost every surface. Inigo clutched his sword, his breathing reflecting his impatience to begin the arachnid massacre.

Apart from the spider webs, the only other thing of note was the occasional bandit corpse. Oddly, for a Nordic tomb, they had yet to encounter any Draugr. Auroth was diligent in scrying the rooms as they passed through them. They would find a few, but they appeared to be so old that whatever magic kept them animate had long since given out. One of the bodies even fell into a pile of dust when Auroth tested it with the haft of his hammer. Inigo, who had been close behind, began coughing as the dried remains filtered into his lungs.

“Gah! My mouth was open! That was disgusting!”

“Sorry.” Auroth grunted. He dusted off his armor, examining the next coffin with less invasive tactics. “These draugr are completely devoid of the usual spells that I see on their Skyrim counterparts. I wonder what went wrong.”

“Is it unusual for the tombs to lose their regenerative magic?” Gaeolin chimed.

“I’ve never seen an example of it before. At least not to this extent.”

“Oh no. How awful that the undead are no longer undead. Whatever shall we do?” Inigo had a mocking tone to his voice. “Personally, I see this as an answered prayer. I do not see the point in questioning such a boon.

“You might want to rethink that. I ask you this,” Auroth cocked an eyebrow for effect. “If these Draugr lost their life force, was it an accident? And if it was not, who was capable of it, and why did they?”

The logic of the questions began to settle in. “I see… This is an uncomfortable thought.”

Gaeolin nodded. It seemed hard to believe that magic so old could just stop working. “We should keep moving. I don’t like this.” He reached out with his mind, hoping to detect something that might be a remnant of the Dragon cult. He could feel the power deeper within the ruin. But the feeling of so much extra emptiness was unnerving. He resumed his place in the lead, wondering if he should have brought them here at all. Whatever was happening was dangerous.

The web coverage increased the farther they walked. As the group sneaked forward, it seemed as if the floor had never been anything but spider silk. The silence was causing the four men to grow more and more restless. Without the zombies, there wasn’t even the shuffling of dead feet on the stones. Gaeolin held up his hand to stop his comrades. He could see a strange light radiating from the left hand corner nearest the door ahead. Peeking out around the corner, he felt his neck tense at the sight.

A great, pulsating sack was writhing on the floor, webs woven all around it. There was a red glow to it, and he noticed that the room itself felt warmer. Tending to this formation was a large, white spider. It had long, spindly legs that more than doubled the circurrence of its form. The mandibles were sharp and wicked. It had a flat abdomen, the innards slightly visible through the translucent exoskeleton. Gaeolin could practically feel Inigo’s need to smash the beast with gusto. Forcing his friend to hold his enthusiasm a bit longer, he insisted they observe the creature for a while longer.

It seemed to not have any inclination to venture too far from the pod. It was as if the creature was guarding it. The Bosmer nodded to his friends, motioning them to follow him into the room carefully. He kept his eye on the spider, his bow at the ready. From the looks of the spider, it might have been blinded by however long it had lived in the darkness of the tomb before the bandits had moved in. However, whether by sight or sound, it had detected them. It assumed an aggressive posture, the front legs raised up toward them as if im a challenge. Inigo was quick to accept.

“Itsy bitsy spider, I stab you in the mouth!” He made true his threat, plunging Dawnbreaker in between the chelicerae. The beast let out a pained wail before succumbing to the damage. “Hehe! That was fun.”

“I really do worry about you sometimes.” Auroth muttered. Faendal just shook his head. After all of the cat’s stories he had heard, he was no longer surprised by the strange fixation on spider hunting. Gaeolin was not paying them any attention. He found himself more caught up in what was happening behind the dead spider in the corner.

The pod was palsing ever more violently. It swelled and throbbed, threatening to burst open at any second. Gaeolin decided it was better to take a chance and open the sack on his terms. Letting loose an arrow, it soared across the room to burst the silky memerane.

A small fire spilled out, followed closely by another spider. This one was very different from the one that Inigo had killed. It was wreathed in flames, eyes glistening in their light. It caught sight of them and leapt. As it sailed toward them, Auroth threw up a ward. The monster struck the field, exploding with enough force to knock all four of them off their feet.

Inigo struggled to his feet, eyes wide. “I am… less thrilled by this one.”