The room was split into regions of shadow and light. Large supports held up the ceiling, blocking light from the fires across the pit before them. Fees led the way with her torch outstretched. In her right hand, her axe was held firm. Her face turned to one of horror as she noticed the skeletons hanging from above. The cages swung in near silence. Only the occasional creak of uncoiled chains echoed off the stones.
“I do not wish to imagine the kinds of things that happened in this chamber.” Frea let her axe settle into the loop on her belt. “Who were these poor souls in these cages? What tortures did they suffer at Miraak’s hands? Was it in service to the dragons?” Her knuckles whitened as they tightened against the railing. “Or for his own purposes?”
Gaeolin preferred not to guess. “He seems to be a man of violence. More so than most, anyway.” He surveyed the room. “Something is wrong. This place is…” He stopped not sure how to describe the feeling. “Sick.”
Frea nodded. “Something is breaking down the barriers between our world, and another. The corruption of the Tree stone has driven the All-Maker and her spirits from here. It makes one feel out of place, disoriented.” She turned, looking to their right. “Look up there. Is there anything on that platform?”
Gaeolin tried to see over her shoulder, silently cursing the fact that most birds had the advantage of height over him. In the end, he moved over to the side. There was a broken throne, and maybe a chest behind it. The stairs had crumbled long ago, leaving no obvious way up to the area. “There might be something, but how to get there?”
“I shall look around. Maybe there is another way.”
Gaeolin stared at the rubble, the temptation to see what was in the chest driving him mad. He had a little rope in his bag. Maybe if the tossed it over the support beam, they could swing over. ‘I don’t have anything to act as a grapple.’ He thought. As he pondered, he caught sight of a few bits of stone piled up against the base of the pillar supporting the roof.
They were not the safest surface he’d climbed onto. Each step made him fear that the debris would turn over and crush him. But reckless curiosity had him. He made it to the top of the ruined stones, pressing his back against the pillar to catch his breath. Frea stood beneath, watching with no shortage of concern. “What on earth are you doing? I mean a safe way up. It is not worth your life.”
Gaeolin grinned. “You never know. There might be something valuable in that chest.”
“By the All Maker, you are insane.” She followed his movements, her breath catching every time his foot slipped. She let out a sigh of relief when he finally found his way onto the top of the support. “Okay, you got up there. Now what do you plan to do?”
Gaeolin rummaged in his bag. “Well my original plan was to tie a rope onto this pillar, but I don’t think I have one that is long enough.” He considered the distance. It was not that far in reality. He climbed higher up the incline of the support beam. “You may want to cover your ears.” He closed his eyes, feeling the power of his voice thrumming inside him. He started as if to take a step. “Wuld!” He felt the air rush past. Stagnant, yet suddenly alive as he soared over the divide. He let the power fade, but did not prepare as well as he should have. He fell forward as he slowed, hitting his shoulder against the throne. “Ah! I dtigh diabhail!” [1]
“Are you alright?”
He coughed through the pain. “Yes, I’ll be okay. Not so good with the landings yet.”
“What is up there? Was it worth the trouble?”
He stood, heading over to the chest with more than a few words muttered under his breath. “Let’s see…” He fumbled a bit with the lock on the chest. The pain and frustration was vindicated in the form of a large sack of silver Haralds, A pair of ancient elven daggers, and a scroll for Auroth to decipher later. “I think it was worth it. Hold on, I’ll be down in just a second.”
He slid to the lower level, taking the first few steps quickly to recover. Frea cracked a small smile at him. “If I may ask, how old are you Gaeolin? I have not met someone so youthful outside of the children of the village.”
Gaeolin chuckled. “Not as young as I act perhaps. I am 45, still pretty young for an elf. Faendal always told me I was a little childish at times.”
“The mind of a child is not a bad thing to have. There is something that is usually lost with age. Something that should be cared for and preserved.” A sound from across the pit caused her to draw her axe. Gaeolin swung his bow free, turning to face the disturbance. The Nord cast a spell from her hand, encasing herself in a shimmering armor.
A set of sarcophagi revealed a trio of draugr. The nearest bore a massive sword, an ornate helmet on its skull. Gaeolin let an arrow fly, his face in a snarl. It struck true, making the zombie reel back and clutch its shoulder. Frea leapt over the vines that sprawled over the floor, her axe cutting one of the beasts heads clean off. She let out a battle cry, bashing the last draugr off its feet. Gaeolin slung his bow across his back, drawing his blade. He cleft the crippled enemy in half, turning by instinct toward the sound of feet coming up the steps. Frea dove down to meet the cultists with no fear. He slashed at the first, but missed him. He brought his fist to her, bringing her to her knees. He might have finished her off had it not been for the elf.
Gaeolin ducked under a gout of flames, his sword tasting the cultists blood. The man fell back, knocking his fellows off their feet. Gaeolin jumped down to the next flight, meeting them before they could retreat. They backed against the corner of the stairwell. There was no way out.
“Slen Ag Nos.” Flames came with his words, rolling from his mouth like a flood of scorching fury. They wrapped around the cultists and began to close in. Their screams rang from the stones as their robes burst into flames. Gaeolin glared as their flesh bubbled and melted. After there was no more than ashes, he turned to help Frea.
“You are dragonborn?” She accepted his hand, looking behind him to the remains of their attackers. “While a powerful demonstration, I’m sure this will only drive them to kill you even sooner.”
“That is part of why I’m here. They’ve already tried to kill me.”
“It seems they underestimated you.” She put her arm around his neck for support. They returned to the top of the stairs, using a scavenged potion to heal Frea’s injuries. Gaeolin looked at her with concern. She was capable, yes. But could the two of them really face all that waited below alone?
“I think we need some help. Can you stand on your own?” She nodded. “Good. Stand back a bit. I’m going to try and summon a friend.” He held his sword at his side, bringing a hand to his lips. Cool, blue flames danced between his fingers, a pulsing filling the air. His hair twitched at the breeze the magic caused. He closed his eyes. “Inigo, is gá dom do chabhair.” [2] The flames flared, Gaeolin’s face wrinkling in effort as he felt a sudden resistance to the spell. He could feel Inigo’s mind, distant and distorted. Something was wrong. He forced more energy into the spell. Finally, he heard his friend from afar.
“I am sorry, my friend. We will have to get through this on our own.”
The fire died. Gaeolin shuddered as the drain on him hit with full force. He staggered as sweat rolled down his face. “What… ?”
Frea steadied him. “Whatever you were trying to do, I would not recommend doing so again. Magic is in ways more dangerous than the sword or the axe. The former can kill you much easier, and with less warning.”
“It’s never failed before.” He stared at the wall ahead. Fear crept upon him like icy water. “Inigo has always come to help me.”
“With all the darkness here, I am not surprised that your summoning did not work. Powerful forces are barring you. Do not despair. We will find a way through this.” Gaeolin nodded, though perhaps more in an attempt to believe the woman. “Come, we must find whatever has been hidden here. Stay quiet from now on. We should try to avoid fighting if possible.”
The farther they went, the more unsettling the surroundings became. Miraak had many Draugr in addition to the living cult members. After a while, the pair had nearly tired themselves out. Gaeolin and Frea sighed with audible frustration as they came to another trap. It was a hallway, the entire length marked by pendulum blades. She slumped to the ground, her axe setting in her lap. “I am not going down there. It would be foolish to attempt it. You have a much better chance than I to make it through these traps.”
“Hardly…” Gaeolin cringed at the thought of traversing the passage. I am no acrobat, despite my combat skills. There isn’t a lot of room to try and skirt around these blades.”
“Surely you must have some idea of how to defeat this trap.”
The Bosmer glanced at the weapons. They swung wide, nearly touching each wall. They swung in perfect unison. As one reached the left of the corridor, the other reached the right. Gaeolin hated the idea that came to him, but saw no other way. He watched, waiting for the perfect moment. “Wuld!”
He felt the wind streak by as he shot through the first three blades. He tried to push the momentum farther, only just making it past the fourth. He skidded as he stopped. He fell back, his feet sliding from under him. He was nearly past the last blade when it caught his shoulder.Blood splashed across the floor as he cried. Frea stood, unsure how to get to him to help.
Gaeolin looked down, snarling at the pain. He crawled forward toward the lever. The silver switch was all he saw. He groaned as he pulled himself to stand. He leaned, throwing the lever to the off position before collapsing.
The pendulums locked, allowing Frea to run to his side. “By the All Maker! Hold on, I will heal your wound.” She rubbed her hands together, breathing into them. She muttered a chant, the light of restoration spilling out into the tomb. “You could probably have made it passed if you had crawled along the wall. Why did you feel the need to try and impress like that?”
Gaeolin coughed. “I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I suppose I was just distracted…”
“These wounds are deep. We should rest here for a while. I have some potions that would make the healing easier.” She made to dig in her bag. Gaeolin grabbed her hand, stopping her.
“We can’t.”
She looked at him, worry etched onto the surface of her curiosity. “Don’t be a fool. You have lost a lot of blood as it is.”
“Just give me the potion. I can make it. I’ve lived and died through worse.”
“Chun grá Kyne!”[3] He clutched at the cut, regretting the force of his words. “I’m so close to answers… So close to finding the one who started all of this.” His head lay back against the wall. “He is counting on me.”
She crouched down, unstopping a vial. “Very well. Drink this. It should dull the pain at the least, and stop the bleeding.” She helped him up. “I hope your friend knows how loyal you are. Not many these days would be so reckless to help others.”
They continued on, Gaeolin limping at first. He begrudgingly allowed Frea to carry him down a rather battered flight of stairs. She must have mistaken his complaints for apologies. “You are rather light, at least compared to the game I normally have to bring to the village. I would rather carry you than let you fall to your death.”
It took several minutes of convincing for her to put him back on his own feet. He staggered a few times, but regained his balance quickly. The air grew closer. Gaeolin felt as if he could hear whispers from below. They touched his ears, making him shiver. He felt a dread set in that he had not felt in decades. He smelled the scent of rotting leaves, though he knew the scent was merely a memory. It was of a place his parents told him never to go. And evil he was made to fear.
“Be ready.” He whispered. He drew his blade, making sure to keep the quiet unbroken. The hall opened to light ahead. When they reached it, his fears were made greater.
The cage that covered the bridge held many skeletons, their bodies impaled on the iron. These people had been built into the temple, solidifying the thoughts that Miraak was more of a monster than the priests that slew him.
“These poor souls…” Frea tightened her grip on her axe.
“Come on.” Gaeolin forged ahead. “Let’s give them justice.”
Translated Lines:
1 . Damn it!
2 . Inigo, I need your help.
3 . For the love of Kyne!
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