“You made it out alive, at least.” Delphine offered Gaeolin and Auroth a bottle of ale. Auroth took it, turning it up as she continued. “Your gear is safe in my room, just as I promised.” Gaeolin rushed over to the chest, peeking in to see that his amulet, gloves, and other gear were indeed safe. She also had Auroth’s armor oiled and polished while they had been away. “Did you learn anything useful?”
Auroth wiped his mouth, answering for his friend. “They seem to be looking for you, and have Gaeolin under their eye as well. But, they are just as confused as you about the dragons.”
“Really?” Delphine didn’t look convinced. “That seems hard to believe. Are you sure about that?”
Gaeolin turned to her, his face hard with irritation. “No, we risked our lives, and got two other men killed, just to come back here and mislead you. Why did you send us if you weren’t going to think we were telling the truth?”
She took on an apologetic demeanor. “I know, I know… I’m sorry. I was just so sure it was them. If not the Thalmor, then who? Or what?”
Auroth took the dossiers from Gaeolin, handing them to Delphine. “They were trying to learn the whereabouts of another Blades agent. A man they called, ‘Esbern’.”
She looked up in shock, her eyes lighting at the name. “Esbern? He’s alive? I thought the Thalmor must have got to him years ago! That crazy old man… Figures the Thalmor would be looking for him, if they want information on the dragons.”
“Why would they want an old man?” Auroth asked.
Delphine smirked. “You mean aside from wanting to kill every last Blade in existence? Esbern was one of the Blades archivists, before the Thalmor smashed us during the Great War. He knew everything about the Blades Dragon Lore. Obsessed about it, really. None of us took him seriously. I suppose he wasn’t as crazy as we all thought.”
“They seem to think he might be hiding somewhere in Riften.” Gaeolin hopped to sit on the table. He knew she would want to set out immediately. But he was tired, ready to return home for a few days.
“Probably hiding out in the Ratway. That’s where I would go to hide.” She tapped her chin in thought. “Go to Riften. Speak with a man named Brynjolf. He’s… well connected. He might be able to point you in the right direction.”
“We will, but first I want to stop off at home. The road has not been gentle on us.”
She nodded. “Just don’t wait too long. There have been dangerous looking folk traveling the roads lately. Just earlier today, Alvor was questioned by some terrifying looking men headed to the Southwest.”
Gaeolin and Auroth turned to her. The Bosmer’s eyes were wide with worry. “What did they look like? How long ago did they pass through?” He jumped from the table, starting to gather his gear.
“There were six of them, wearing strange brown robes.” She leapt out of Auroth’s way, looking alarmed at how quickly the pair of them were readying themselves. “Alvor didn’t answer any of their questions. Do you know who they were after?”
Gaeolin stopped at the base of the stairs. “Yes… Me.”
From the road to Falkreath, they could see the smoke. Gaeolin tripped once, nearly landing face first into a briar patch. Auroth huffed behind him, keeping good pace despite the run from the village.
Gaeolin heard the sound of swords clashing ahead. He nocked an arrow, hopping over a fallen tree before skidding to a stop in the valley entrance. He saw The cultists ahead, Inigo bravely fending them off with Dawnbreaker. The Khajiit cut one down, backing away from the other two. “You should have brought more friends, if you wanted a fair fight!” He growled, parrying their blows easily. Gaeolin drew back his arrow, his rage spilling over into the missile with a flash of blue power.
“An sioc!” [1] The arrow crackled with crystalline energy, soaring through the air to burst in a shower of ice upon the cultists. Inigo turned to face him, his ears perking up at the sight. He was pulled back to the battle by a near miss from the cultist. He lunged to the side, impaling the enemy in one deft stroke. Auroth ran into the fray, his hammer swinging wide to take down the last two. Gaeolin ran forward, sliding to the ground to examine a corpse near the stable. It had an arrow sticking out of its chest, just like three more of it’s companions closer to the house. The way the arrows were fletched told Gaeolin that they had been Faendal’s. Auroth steadied Inigo.
“Are you okay, Inigo? What happened here?”
“I do not know, but I am glad you two arrived so quickly.” He panted, his hand going to a bleeding cut on his arm. “I saw the smoke as I arrived. I was worried that it was the Thalmor, taking revenge for your skillful infiltration of their Embassy.” He spat at the cultist. “But I knew the moment I saw them that these were those loony cultists we had seen before.”
Gaeolin was not listening. He saw the door, hanging open with blood leading up the steps. He threw down his bow, wrenching it open to find a horrific scene. One cultist lay on the floor, his chest bleeding across the hardwood. A sword which had once been hanging on a rack nearby was coated in more, but the splatter told the Bosmer that it had not been set down gently. He called out to the home, his dagger in hand. “Ma’isha! Faendal! Cá bhfuil tú?!” [2]
He kicked in the next door, not caring for the damage done to the wood. The splinters scattered over the hall. He heard a thud behind a set of barrels. He could hear a whimpering sob. He sheathed his weapon, peeking behind the containers. Ma’isha was huddled there, her face buried in her skirt as she curled into a tight ball. He climbed over, pulling her into a hug. She jumped at first, scared senseless at his touch. “Get away!”
“Ma’isha, it’s me. Are you okay?” He looked her over, seeing no wounds.
“Papa!” She clamped her arms around him, crying into his shoulder as Auroth and Inigo burst in. Gaeolin held up a hand, telling them to stand down. Ma’isha looked to them, her eyes frightened still.
“What happened, sweetheart?” Gaeolin soothed her. She clung to him, her tiny heart beating at breakneck pace.
“We were outside. I was helping Faendal feed the chickens. He was carrying a bag of feed to me when he grabbed my hand. He dragged me to the door, telling me to get inside. To hide… He had his bow. He looked scared.” She put her ears back. “I heard him from inside talking to someone. He told them to go away. Next I heard him shooting. There was magic, and fire! I ran and hid back here, but they followed him into the house. I heard him shouting, and something falling in the front room. I was going to go help, but I heard him shouting more. I got scared. It sounded like they hurt him, Papa. After it got quiet, I came out, but there was a body there. I think they took him…” She went quiet, nuzzling into him. “I’m scared…”
Gaeolin was frozen, his mind blank. Slowly, his arms wrapped tighter around his daughter. Inigo moved one of the barrels, trying to get to the girl. He thought she must have been hurt. But what he saw was far more terrible.
Gaeolin’s face was one of pure rage. His brow was angled, tears running down his face as his body shook. He stood, bringing his daughter to stand. He turned to Inigo. “Help her pack her things. Not too much, but she isn’t safe here. We will take her to Whiterun. Lydia and the guard will keep her safe.”
Inigo nodded, but looked frightened by his friend’s expression. Gaeolin turned to Auroth. “Follow me.” Auroth dared not object. He went with the Bosmer into the first room. Gaeolin closed the door, bolting it. He stared down at the corpse of the cultist. “Raise him.”
Auroth looked to him in dismay. “I am not a necro-”
“Dúirt mé é a ardú!” [3] He trembled with fury. “I need to know how they got here, and where they took him.” Auroth looked extremely uncomfortable. “Please.”
The Altmer ground his teeth, holding his hand over the corpse. The candles of the room flickered, the shadows growing longer as the spell began. An evil, purple mist descended from his fingers. It pulsed as it swirled down to soak into the body. The corpse took in a ragged breath, rising into the air. He settled onto his feet with a groan. Gaeolin moved to stand in front of him.
“Where did you take him?” He drew his sword. “Where did you take Faendal of Riverwood?”
The cultist’s mouth sagged as it tried to speak. “He is… taken.”
“Where?!” Gaeolin glared, his hand starting to flicker with a holy light. “How can I get to him?”
“Northern Maiden… Out of Windhelm. My master… will reach you through him…”
Gaeolin glared, his arm raising the sword. He grabbed the hilt with his free hand, the golden light spreading along the blade as he cut off the cultist’s head. The body crumbled to ash as the room brightened to its former level. He sheathed his weapon, turning back to the main hall. Auroth said nothing at first, unsure how to talk to his friend. “So, where are we going? Did you learn anything from that sick display?”
Gaeolin turned. “Windhelm, and then Solstheim. We leave as soon as Ma’isha is ready.”
Translated Lines:
1 ) Die in frost!
2 ) Where are you?!
3 ) I said raise him!
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