Chapter Fourteen

Gaeolin stared down at the sheets of ice he strode upon. Inigo followed, silent out of respect. The ice groaned ominously under their weight. Hjaalmarch wasn’t helping the bosmer’s mood at all. Dead grass, dead trees, no birds, cold water, chilling mists… 

In truth, Inigo wondered if there was any life here at all. He was answered by a pair of frostbite spiders, which he squashed with great enthusiasm. Gaeolin gave a weak smile, but nothing else. Inigo felt his own expression fall as a response. “Sorry… I was just excited. Silly spider…”

“Don’t be… It’s nice to see you so cheerful. It makes me feel better.” He drew his bow, looking out across the placid waters. “I’m just not myself yet.” He took a step forward, hearing the jingling of his coin purse. The sound made guilt flare in his heart. Despite failing to rescue the missing women, Raerek insisted on paying them. 

‘You couldn’t have done anything more than you had.’ He had said. ‘Agalfa’s mother is proud, and won’t accept no for an answer. Please take it. The closure is worth it to us.’

Now, they were each 150 Septims richer… But it still left a bad taste in his mouth. They crouched down, having heard something in the fog. A light breeze swept the mist away, revealing Solitude to the west of them. The city stood proud, the Blue Palace’s spire cutting into the sky. Gaeolin could also see the steeple of the Bard’s College, just a thin tower of stone from the frozen bog’s vantage. They waded across the shallows, teeth chattering in protest. Gaeolin turned to the east and hid behind a cluster of Deathbells. 

He watched a robed figure wander about a makeshift campsite. He wore black from his hood to his boots. The wind shifted, a familiar scent of decay wafting across the already festering water. As they watched, the mage cast his hand towards the fire. Magical tendrils wound from his fingers, seeping into the flesh of a dead bandit. She floated into the air, her body turning to stand upright as her unsteady legs hit the earth. Inigo hissed.

“Necromancers…” He spat, readying his bow. “I’ll take care of him.” He fired. His arrow struck, crumpling the summoner like a doll. His thrall, giving an unholy sigh, was rendered unto dust as the energies that fueled his spent muscles dispersed.

“Why in the name of Arkay would anyone want to make more zombies?” Inigo shuddered at the thought. He pulled his arrow out of the mage’s skull, tossing it to the ground when he noticed a chip in the head. 

“I mean, if you’re trying to excavate a tomb, free labor.” Gaeolin muttered in disgust. “I don’t like it either. All the more reason we should rid this place of their filth.” He rummaged through the wizard’s pack, finding a small gem. It pulsed with energy, glowing just so slightly beyond the realm of reflection. He pocketed the soul, begrudgingly willing to use it for later.

The entrance of the tomb recessed into the earth. The door was ajar, the interior lit by a torch just visible inside. Darkness closed in on them as soon as they reached the steps down. Despite his greatest efforts, Gaeolin could hear his footfalls echo against the walls. He moved slower to try and keep quiet. Inigo removed his boots, going barefoot and silent. Candle light shone from the far end of the chamber. The sound of a pick-axe shattered the calm. Gaeolin sneaked up to the base of a pillar, peeking around in time to see another dead bandit crumble to ash. 

“These thralls move slower than Argonians in a blizzard…” A necromancer grumbled, raising another corpse to replace the worker. 

A female responded. “Feel free to grab a pick and join them. I prefer not to sully myself with manual labor.” She took a few steps toward an archway to the side of the chamber. A moment later,  another of the unwilling workers crumbled to dust. 

“There goes another one…” They raised another corpse, this one apparently for the second time. “They seem less intelligent each time you raise them.” 

“As long as they can swing a pickaxe, they’re as smart as we need them to be.”

A clamoring came from down the corridor. The necromancers turned toward the sound. “You hear that? The others must have found something!” They tore off down the stairs, leaving the undead laborers to their toil. Inigo crept forward, bow ready,  eyes sharp. He watched as Gaeolin slowly drew his trusty dagger. 

The two stalked the undead workers. Their expressions were void of anything recognizable as emotion. Though, the female thrall seemed just a bit less unimpassioned. She hesitated more than the other. Almost as if the spell’s control over her was wavering. Inigo slid his sword across the second thrall’s throat, stepping back as it suffocated, flesh crumbling. Gaeolin took his target by the shoulder, easing his blade into her back. She gasped, turning to face him as she began to fade.

“Thank you…”

Inigo watched his friend with mounting concern. Gaeolin was transfixed by the ashes, sheathing his dagger. His hands shook. “I… I’ve never heard one say that before.” He fought the urge to puke. “I thought necromancers subjected their victims, keeping that kind of thought repressed.” 

Inigo took his shoulder. “Come on, we need to keep moving.” The elf followed, tearing his eyes from the remains.

Fires burned along the halls. At the bottom of the steps, the pair were met by a group of dead necromancers. Inigo was obviously trying hard not to lose his mind in the darkness. “I smell death and magic, but no horns so far.” He peeked inside an urn, pocketing a few silver coins he found. “I wonder how valuable it is. Maybe the Greybeards will let you keep it. We deserve a reward for suffering this place.”

Gaeolin thought to himself that a month or so at home would be consolation enough. He’d had about enough of fighting and loss for his taste. He still hadn’t finished reading The Blue Ribbon of Merit. He’d also tossed around the idea of staying in Solitude a while. Civilization sounded pleasant after so much danger. 

Dropping his guard at the thought of a warm bed, he misstepped, knocking an amphora to shatter on the floor. A draugr growled, moving quickly to him with it’s sword in a mighty swing. He heard Inigo cry out as he leapt aside, hoping to dodge the strike. It rang off the walls, sparks lighting the corridor as the beast roared.

“Qiilaan Us Dilon!” The draugr missed it’s second strike as Gaeolin rolled out of the way. He parried the next blow, stepping lightly behind the aggressor. Inigo shot the undead menace twice. It looked at him for a moment, ignoring the Khajiit in favor of Gaeolin.

The elf struck out with his blade. It cut through the decayed, dusty flesh. The creature fell to its knees. Gaeolin brought his weapon down on the gaunt face, watching the eyes fade. Another approached him from behind. He stabbed from beneath his right arm, impaling the demon in the chest. 

Inigo recovered his arrows from the corpse. “They did not die gracefully.” Gaeolin lowered himself, nearly sitting on the floor. “Are you sure we shouldn’t come back and do this some other time?”

The bosmer sent him a confused gaze. “What do you mean? Why would we leave when we’re already here?”

“Because your heart isn’t in it, and neither is your mind.” Inigo crouched next to him, scars on his face seeming to stand out more in the dim lighting of the crypt. “That draugr almost killed you. I just got you back… Don’t make me go through losing you again.”

 “You’re really that worried?”

His companion stood. “Of course I am. Now, are we staying or going?”

The elf rose, grabbing a torch from his pack. “We can’t leave without the horn. Give me a light?” Inigo took his flint, striking it on his knife. “I’ll stay focused now. Sorry… I’ve been dwelling on Svega and Agalfa too much.”

Inigo frowned. “I understand what it’s like to feel the failure. And honestly, I find your over abundance of compassion a source of inspiration. If I had any fault with you, it would be your problem with hoarding.”

Gaeolin was perplexed. “Hoarding?”

The cat took the elf’s knapsack, shaking the contents to the ground. There were five empty bottles, a fork, some crumpled notes, and… “How in the name of Sheogorath did you fit a wicker basket in here?”

Gaeolin scratched the back of his neck. “Well… Um… Alteration?” 

Inigo just blinked, tossing the now empty bag back. “Stop picking these things up. You’re weighing yourself down.”

“At least I don’t carry a bug in a jar.”

“He’s a friend!” Inigo snapped. “You don’t leave friends behind.” Conceding that he did in fact have a problem, Gaeolin held aloft his torch, leading them further into the dungeon. 

A gentle blue glow appeared ahead, the sounds of falling water echoing through the stonework. The carved stones gave way to an enormous natural cavern. The pair stared in awe of the mighty pine trees rising from the floor. Beyond the chasm stood great pillars, their decaying walkways partially intact. A steep ledge led down to the  next level. A bridge like formation came back to something that lay beneath their feet. Skeletons wandered about in regular patrols, dry joints creaking in a way that irritated the skin. Gaeolin nocked an arrow, Inigo following suit. They took out two guardians without effort. Gaeolin stood, regretting the action when a blood curdling screech filled the cavern. Two more rushed down a set of stairs to their left, one burning up before reaching the floor due to a set of flame traps. Inigo ran forward, using both his swords to bash the demon into a pile of bones.

“You know, I’m with you on all this…” Gaeolin kicked a rib cage that rolled before them. “I really wish the dead would stay dead.”

“Yes, well unfortunately this is just the way things are.” Inigo looked ahead, pointing out a large dais in front of a row of stone benches. “What could all this be?”

Gaeolin buried an arrow in the skull of a skeleton sitting upon the throne. “Actually dead for once. I’m not sure. I’ve heard people say that these barrows were once cities. Maybe this was some kind of grand hall, or palace.”

“How many centuries ago?” Inigo’s tail twitched as he examined the cave. “Erosion like this doesn’t happen in a few thousand years. The ancient Nords had strange city planning practices.” Even while Inigo spoke, Gaeolin could hear the faint sound of whispers nearby. He could recognize some of the words, occasional phrases in the dragon tongue now rung easily in his mind. He made his way to the edge. 

A word wall lay nestled near a small pond. He could feel it pulling at him, begging him to inspect. He drew his sword, winding down along a path cut into the cliff face. As he and Inigo passed behind the wall, he could almost feel the energy within the stone pulsing in the air. He felt his heart rate quicken as the words came into view. 

Nonvul Bron dahmaan daar rot fin Fodiiz Bormah –

Nii los heyv do Enook mun wah lahney voth ahkrin ahrk zin leh rok Feim vodahmin kotin vulom.

‘Noble Nords remember these words of the Hoar Father-

It is the duty of each man to live with courage and honor lest he fade, forgotten into the darkness.’

Feim… It wound into his heart like a twinge of pain. The meaning more broad than he could have expected for a single word. It meant not only to fade from sight, but the heart, mind, and world. It spoke of forgetting, in ways of dying. He couldn’t be sure what to make of it.

‘Wah Feim los ni Mahfaeraak aan Dur.’ Once again,a voice spoke from within, though it was not his own 

“Not forever a curse?”

Inigo eyed him, debating his friend’s health for the second time that day. “Everything okay?”

Gaeolin snapped out of his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“The horn we are after had better be worth it. This place is unpleasant.”

Gaeolin looked around, inclined to agree. “I don’t like it here either. Stay sharp.”

“Okay, my friend. We will protect each other. Let us go. The sooner we find the horn, the sooner we can get out of here.”  

Gaeolin took up the lead, heading back up to the dais they had seen earlier. Stepping forward, he nearly jumped when the stone nearby began to hum and cast ruby rays across the dark room. 

“Maybe you should back away…” Inigo cautioned. The elf wasn’t prepared to argue. He stepped back, the magic of the stone going dormant. As the light faded, a portcullis slid closed on the far wall. He looked from the gate, to the stone.

He stepped nearer, watching with an amused expression as the nearest portcullis again rose to allow passage. “Neat…” 

“Except the part where it closes so quickly, yes. Any plans to get past this?” Inigo tossed a stone past the other two, looking down trodden when his idea didn’t work. “So we can’t just drop more of your extra crap in front of them…” 

“Hey! It’s not crap…”

“Denial…” Inigo smirked. He clicked his claws, looking excited. “I know! Mr. Dragonfly!” He rushed to the next stone, carefully rolling the insect’s jar into position. 

The jar ground to a stop. The dragonfly within it fluttered about. Nothing happened, the look on Inigo’s face even more crestfallen than before.

Gaeolin picked up the jar, handing it back to his friend. “Maybe they only recognize humanoid life.” Inigo muttered that he found the sorcerers very rude to exclude Mr. Dragonfly. “Wait here. I want to try something.”

Gaeolin walked back to the center of the bridge. He lined himself up, taking off at a sprint towards the gates. The stones thrummed as he passed, corresponding gates opening ahead. The elf kept running, hearing before seeing the magic fade. He felt it too… His face throbbed along with his chest as he ate iron. He lay on the floor for a while,  waiting for the room to stop moving. Inigo knelt beside him.

“Not your best plan, Gaeolin.” He helped him sit up. “I wouldn’t recommend a retry. I thought you’d cracked your skull.” 

The bosmer shook his head,  staggering as he stood. “Actually, I want to try again.” 

“Yup, you killed your brain…”

“No! I got it. I need to shout.” He rushed back to the starting position. He tore off passing the first stone, then the next… “Wuld!”

He felt the ruins slide past at an alarming rate. His legs felt weightless as power surged through them. A trail of magic fanned behind him, the red mixing with it’s blue to create a violet fog. He felt the energy tapering as he passed the second gate.  He hit the floor sliding just beneath the iron teeth as the obstruction regained its place.

He lay there winded as the portculli rose, locking open to permit passage. Inigo ran up to him, offering his hand. 

“I get it… You’re the Dragonborn.” He smiled. “Smooth, very smooth. Let’s get moving.” 

Up a flight of stairs,  through another door, they came upon a new set of traps. There were tiles ahead. Each raised slightly higher than the floor. Inigo hadn’t noticed, singed a whisker as flames burst from the floor. “Fire… Not so good for the fur.” 

Gaeolin took the lead, carefully choosing the off colored tiles. The trap continued, covering the entirety of the corridor and lower portion of the next chamber. Spider webs cling to the edges of the ceiling and the walls. A large hole was above a raised platform. They hopped onto the steps, happy to at last be on safe ground. 

It proved more dangerous than they thought. Inigo let out a gleeful squeak as the frostbite spiders dropped from their nest. He ran forward, piercing the eyes of the first he reached. With his off hand, he cut the pincer off of the largest. Gaeolin shot the third in the thorax. It crumbled into a lifeless heap while the blood of its brethren pooled in the cracks of the stone.

Inigo panted, grinning from ear to ear. “Yay!” 

Gaeolin put his bow away. “Sometimes I worry about you…” 

“And I think you should try squashing them… You’d like it.” He stomped a carcass to emphasise. “See? Hear how satisfying that is?” 

The elf shook his head, returning to the task they had come here to complete. “There must be a door somewhere…” He hesitated, finally reaching into a mass of silk covering the wall. He felt stone, moving his hand along the surface with a grimace. He pulled back, quite sure he’d touched a body for a moment. He tore the threads down, seeing a wooden door. 

It led to a large chamber with a high ceiling. There was a narrow path across the hall, the rest of the room was filled with  water.  Gaeolin had his sword ready. Urgen Windcaller’s tomb stood before them, lit by a multitude of candles. 

The pair jumped as great stone statues began to rise from the water. Inigo soon lost fear, exclaiming at the sight. “Wow! Look at this, Mr. Dragonfly.”

The sarcophagus was the most ornate that Gaeolin had ever seen. Four carved Dragon heads adorned the corners, the ancient Dragon script wrapping around the edges in a long forgotten epitaph. In the center of the lid was a hand, meant to hold the horn.

A hand that was empty…

Gaeolin put his sword away. Behind him, Inigo searched the floor. The elf found a note, resting in the granite fingers.

‘Dragonborn, I need to speak with you. Urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I’ll meet you.

         A friend.’

Gaeolin lowered his hand, suddenly exhausted. “What the fuck…”

Inigo seemed enraged. “Stupid tomb, full of stupid zombies, and no stupid horn at the end of it all… What a waste of time.” He kicked a draugr for effect. “That was rather anticlimactic. If we are done wasting time, let us get out of this place.” Gaeolin nodded, heading to the door behind the tomb.

They found a chest overflowing with gems and silver coins. There was also a pair of gauntlets, magic shimmering on their metal plates. As neither of them wore plate armor, they decided to sell them at their next opportunity. A secret passage led them back to the hall in which the necromages met their fates. 

Reaching the entrance hall, Gaeolin sat. He could go no farther. His legs and arms cried out for relief. Inigo looked back, “What’s wrong?”

Gaeolin lay down on the cold stone. “I’m sleeping.”

“Do you have to do that here? Now?” The elf ignored him, wrapping his cloak tightly about himself. The silence was welcome,  allowing him to drift into dreams with his trusted companion watching over him.