Chapter Sixty Three

The wind ripped across the landscape, dead plants and ashes blasting eastward. A lone figure traversed the wastes, his head covered by a brown hood. All but his eyes lay behind a linen mask. He might have been shouting, impossible to hear over the howling wind. A moment later, a shell of magic surrounded him, the sand and soot breaking around the ward like water on stone. He slowed, taking a map from his bag. 

“Can’t find my own ass in this weather…” Auroth muttered, fighting the fluttering map. He had been walking for a half an hour when this mess had started. He hoped that Gaeolin had found some shelter, knowing that there had been even less cover to the north. He searched the horizon, hoping that something would stand out that he could use as a landmark.

A long, low sound cut through the wind. He turned toward it, his mask flapping under his chin as the wind battered his features. It couldn’t be what he thought.  They were too far from Morrowind for it to be true. The call repeated, inspiring him to begin in that direction. With a bit of effort, he pulled his feet out of the mound of ashes that had covered them in the brief lapse in movement. 

He waded through the ash with the mask firm against his face. The call was getting closer, a large shadow all he could see through the suspended dust. He tripped over a buried root, cursing the ash as the wind slowed. The calming of the air revealed the source of the sound, causing the Altmer’s mouth to go wide.

A Silt Strider stood before him, it’s mighty mandibles moving slowly as it let out another of its mournful tones. ‘Amazing’ he thought, ‘They were thought wiped out in the eruption of Red Mountain.’ Beyond the creature could be seen his true destination. A small group of fungal towers, lanterns hanging from curving tendrils of the structure. As he drew near, the wind died away completely, revealing a dunmer mage. He had a book propped open in his hand, his other gesturing over the ash at his feet. He looked up, tensing at the approaching Altmer.

“I don’t think you belong here. Does Master Neloth know about you?” 

Auroth lowered his hood, pulling the mask off his face. “Not yet, but I have not traveled this far to be turned away by an apprentice.”  He tried to wipe the dirt from his face, admitting defeat after meeting no success. “Go and tell your master that Elmond Lirician wishes to speak with him.”

The man did not seem willing to comply. “Master Neloth does not tolerate interruptions to his work.” 

“And I do not tolerate being kept from my goals. I will ask you nicely one more time.”Auroth raised a hand, a point of emerald light on the end of the two fingers he held up. “Would you please take me to your master?” The Dunmer maintained his place, a ball of flames forming in his hand. Auroth sighed, “So be it.” In an instant, his fingers drew a large rune in the air. He brought his hands together, the circle of magic shining bright enough to cast shadows of the towers. The apprentice staggered, shielding his eyes from the light. From the circle leapt a spriggan. Her hair fell across the ground, wrapping the apprentice tightly. The Dunmer struggled in vain against the vines, his eyes wide at the power Auroth demonstrated. The circle burned bright, ash and soil being drawn inward to form a small stone in the air. As the stone grew, the apprentice noticed that he was being pulled closer to it. He squirmed, shouting out as the pull intensified. “Master Neloth!”

“Enough!” A blast of energy battered Auroth, making his magic circle shatter into thousands of stray fragments of light.  The orb he had been making crumbled, and the ash beneath their feet was ripped away with the spell. Auroth gasped, his power drained. He grabbed his hammer, turning to the tower. The dust settled to reveal the caster.

It was a Dunmer, his face wrinkled beyond anything Auroth had seen. His eyes were stern, his robes dusty, and his scowl unmatched. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the master wizard he sought. He planted his hammer in the ground, dropping to his knee in a gesture of submission. “Wizard Neloth?”

The Telvanni looked at him with an unmoving expression. “That’s master Neloth to you, Altmer. My house may have fallen from its former glory, but my title remains.” He turned to his apprentice. “Talvas, explain your failure.”

“Master… I tried to keep him away.”

“And yet here he stands. Had I not intervened, you would have been killed by him. Despite his advantage in offensive power, you should have learned enough illusion and restoration by now to trap him in a ward or misdirection charm. You should learn from this, and apply yourself more thoroughly in the future. You are dismissed.” The apprentice sulked as he made for the tower, his master returning to their guest. “It has been many years since I have seen magic like that. Are you perhaps, one of the Psijic Order? For what reason have you interrupted me?”

Auroth rose, resting his hands on the Longhammer. “I am not, master Neloth. I have come to seek your wisdom on behalf of my companion, Gaeolin of Woodhearth.”

The Telvanni sneered. “Well now, this is a rarity. I have never seen a High Elf that was in the service of a Bosmeri Clansman. How your people must shun you.”

Auroth ground his teeth. “I am not his serf. He and I are traveling companions, warriors of equal standing.”

“Which to most of your kind is just as shameful.” A look of recognition crossed his face. “Ah, but I have seen you! You, your Bosmer friend, and a Khajiit were at the Earth Stone outside Raven Rock just the other day. You are here to ask me about the strange curse that surrounds the stones, are you not?”

“We do.”

Neloth shook his head. “My advice is unchanged. I have little to offer you beyond that there are ruins of an ancient temple to Miraak near the center of the island. You should take your friends and explore it if you want to learn more of this mystery.”

Auroth walked closer. “Gaeolin has already set off for the temple. I am here because I know you know more about this than you told us near the shrine.” He smirked. “I served the Thalmor. I know deceit when it is used.”

Neloth returned the smirk. “Well, your little display has more than earned you a few questions. Come inside if you will. Let us see what knowledge I can share. What was your name?”

He debated using his given name. Surely they were far enough from the reach of the Thalmor here. “Elmond. Elmond Lirician.”

Neloth nodded. “And so part of the mystery is solved. I have heard of your deeds in the Great war, young man. To cast such a grand illusion spell was no simple task. Since none of your comrades could spot the deception, it would seem you were wasted among them. Come, let us talk over tea.”

The inside of the tower was cramped. At least, where they entered was. Neloth stepped into the ascending light, his robe fluttering as he sailed to the top. Auroth followed, landing harder than he intended after reaching the end of the ascent. It was obvious that the tower was used mainly as a laboratory. Books, soul gems, alchemical reagents, and scrolls littered every surface. There was incense burning, but all Auroth could smell was the fungal stench of the mushroom that was the structure. Neloth found a seat, motioning for him to sit on a small stool nearby. Feeling a bit foolish, the Altmer sank into a crossed legged position.

“So, you are looking for Miraak? A long dead Dragon Priest, gone rouge and beset by the very dragons he once served.”

“The dragons turned on him?” Auroth asked. His host set a small, wooden cup before him, the herbs in the water giving off a less than pleasant aroma.

“Most accounts say it was the other way around, in fact,” the wizard leaned back. “Miraak supposedly had grand ambitions to overthrow the Cult, taking over Solstheim, and indeed Skyrim itself as his own. As the first recorded Dragonborn, his powers were unlike anything the dragons had seen before.”

“What about Saint Alessia? Was she not Dragonborn?”

“Alessia did not have the same abilities that most associate with dragon blood these days. Her power was that to dream, and with the naming of the dream, forged a Covenant with the Aka-tusk.” He closed his eyes. “but that is a conversation for another time, and not remotely near our topic.”

Auroth sat in silence. He thought of the events of the past few months, confused as to how this was even happening. “What I don’t understand is how a dead man could be the cause of this.”

“Oh, there was never any proof that he was killed.” Neloth drank his tea, the wind picking back up outside. “All that was known was that the dragons nearly leveled his temple, enraged by his defiance. No one knows what happened to him, but no remains were ever found. In fact, I am inclined to believe that he somehow escaped the fate that history claims he met. Though I am not one to speculate without evidence to support my thoughts.”

“It would be hard to find evidence from so long ago,” Auroth mused, “we are talking about the Merethic Era, correct?”

“Indeed. Though you may be surprised. The ancient Nords were meticulous when preserving their histories. Their tombs are in themselves great repositories. I know several versions of the tale, some more believable than others.”

“Which do you believe?”

Neloth grinned. “Whichever is true. I am confident that very soon, we will all know.”