Chapter Thirty

The rain seeped in through his boots. The cloak on his shoulders clapped against itself in a frantic rhythm as Gaeolin tore away from the city walls. He slipped, crashing into the stone roadway. Far behind, Inigo ran to catch up. He called out to his friend, still unsure of what had transpired. 

Gaeolin’s breath came sharply, despite lacking the need of air.  He could still taste her…the tang of iron, the warm pulsing of her veins. It was ecstasy then. Now, however, he wished he could vomit. The flavor burned, the tang acrid and revolting. He dug his fingers into the mud between the cobblestones, numb to the cold, ignorant to the dampness of his clothes. 

“Gaeolin?” Inigo knelt beside him. He reached out to put his hand on his shoulder. His friend shied away,  red eyes distant.

“She had no chance…” The patter of rain softened. “By the time she knew the danger she was in, she was enthralled.” He gazed in emptiness at his clenched fist. “The priestess of Arkay, fallen to one she was trained to destroy. And with her last breaths had thanked her killer, or tried to…” Inigo stayed quiet. As unwell as Gaeolin sounded, he doubted his words would have impact right now. His friend pushed himself onto his knees. He turned to face him. “And here you are, sitting beside a murderer. Loyal to a monster.”

“You are not quite the monster you view yourself to be.” Inigo looked at him with concern. “Though I have to ask, what led you to this? It is not like you.”

Gaeolin spoke in a whisper. “Maybe it’s not like who I used to be… It wasn’t a choice. It was instinct, survival. The thirst burnt my throat, her heart was so loud. I guess after forcing myself to ignore it for so long, my body took over.”

The silence on the road was tangible. Inigo said nothing, just staying by his friend as the rain ran off his hood. “Let us go.”

The pair abandoned the road, trudging through the aspen trunks to the south. They hugged the foot of the mountains in a vain attempt to hide from the elements. The winds wrapped around the stone spire, bending the trees as the storm gained intensity. The tattered cloak on Gaeolin’s shoulders kept snagging on low branches. He pulled it closer to his body. Inigo led the way this time, struggling to see the terrain before them. His ears perked as a sound rumbled off the rocks. Gaeolin, not watching where he was walking, crashed into his back. “What is it? Why did you sto-”

“Listen.” Inigo tensed. Another roar split through the sky, closer. Gaeolin cursed as the dragon appeared from above the clouds. Neither he, nor Inigo had strung their bows before leaving the city. With how fast their opponent approached they certainly didn’t have the time now. They drew their swords, Gaeolin taking in air for a shout. 

“Fus Ro Dah!” The trees bent beneath the force of his Thu’um. The drake however banked to the right, avoiding the challenge that had been cast at him. He swept down, glaring at Gaeolin before speaking.

“Zul Rot Horvutah!” The words beat Gaeolin to the ground, driving his knees into the unyielding stone as the wind was knocked from his chest. “Hi Piraak Suleyka Dovah, Fahliil? Nii los Tiid Hi Bonaar.” You think you have the strength to fight me, Elf? It is time you were humbled. The dragon’s breath was cold, turning the rain to shards of ice. Inigo drew a small knife from his boot, throwing it to catch in the webbing of the beast’s mouth. It snarled as it flapped away from them. The ground was now covered in spikes of ice. Gaeolin made to shout again, sword now in hand.

But as he searched for the words, he realized that something was wrong. His mouth moved, but the words never came. Inigo looked to him in panic. “My friend, what should we do?” Gaeolin tried to tell him to run. Apparently, it was more than Dovahzul he had lost.  With a frustrated grunt, he grabbed Inigo’s arm, dragging him through the trees as the dragon blew down on them with frozen might. 

The beast pursued them, skimming the tops of the trees with his wings. “Hi fen Mindoraan fin bah Do Iizyolviing!” You will know the wrath of Iizyolviing! He dove down, snapping at them with mere inches between their heels and his glacial fangs. Inigo didn’t need words to understand the point now. Run. Run or die.

“My friend! This way, there’s a cave up here!” Gaeolin scrambled up the slope, slipping on the wet stones as he went. The possibility of doubting his companion never crossed his mind. If anyone were to guide him through the Rift, he’d trust Inigo over any other. The pair rushed up a path toward a door into the mountainside. A waterfall thundered down beside them as they tore open the rotting wood, casting themselves into the dark as Iizyolviing’s ice closed the cavern behind them. 

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The cave was warm, mushrooms grew at Gaeolin’s feet as they delved into the blackness. Dripping echoed off of the stones. Inigo peered into the passage, struggling even with his natural night vision. “Are you hurt?” He asked, looking at his friend. Gaeolin shook his head. He tried to speak, his voice nothing more than a soft gasp. He still couldn’t muster any words, common or Dov. “Stay close, we might as well rest here for the night. Do not worry. I’m sure you’ll regain your voice before long. Though I think this is one to ask Arngeir about. We’ve never seen a shout this humbling before.”

Gaeolin could only think as they walked the damp halls of the cave. He was shaken. The words had ripped something from him. His soul felt even more weak than before. ‘First my life, then my control, now my voice… What else can I lose?’ He kicked a stone, the clattering making Inigo jump slightly. He shot him a tired glare. Gaeolin grimaced, giving a little wave in apology. ‘Great, piss him off when you can’t say sorry. Good one…’ 

“Try to be careful. We don’t know if we are alone in here.” No sooner did he say this, than they saw a dim light farther along the tunnel. “Stay low, I’ll lea- Hey!” He hissed, watching in irritation as Gaeolin rushed forward, silent as the dead. The bosmer seemed to fade slightly, his figure blending in with the shadows of the cave. He stepped with unrivalled softness. He leapt over the hanging bone chimes that met him at the entrance to the larger cavern. 

A small fire burned in the center of the cave. Around it lay a pair of men, their snores reverberating against the stone. Gaeolin crept closer, his cloak slithering over the ground. He paused, gathering it into his belt to silence it. They stank enough to curl the nose. He eyed the nearest, his blonde hair the only thing protruding from his bedroll. Closer to the far wall slept a bulkier man. His hair was jet black and matted from over wearing of a helmet. Gaeolin noticed a bald patch on his crown to support this. Deciding this man posed a greater threat, he waved his hand over him. 

A subtle shimmer fell from his palm, sinking into the furs and their occupant. Leaning down, Gaeolin sank his teeth into his neck. The nord opened his eyes, but couldn’t move as his blood was drained. Gaeolin drank greedily, taking deep draughts as his prey slipped into unwilling sleep. He stood, looking down on the corpse after his feast ended. He eyed the other, unsure if he could drain another. Instead he drew his dagger. Sinking to kneel beside the resting outlaw, he gently pulled back the furs. He gripped the young man’s head, sliding his blade across his throat before he could react. As the bandit convulsed, Gaeolin held a bottle against the surging wound. The glass captured some of the warm spray, filling three quarters before the blood slowed to a low pulse. Soon, the young warrior was still, going cold with his dead comrade. Inigo hung back near the mouth of the cavern, the scene making him uncomfortable. He was about to speak, when a sound pierced the silence. From what had been a hidden door shone a bright golden light. It struck Gaeolin, making him cry out in pain. He held his hands up against it as he fell back and over a pile of wood. Inigo drew his sword, brandishing it at the light. “Who’s there? I demand you stop attacking my friend!”

The power faded, revealing a figure shrouded at the edge of the fire’s light. “Friend? To call a vampire a friend is a new one.” He stepped forward, his hammer shining as the last tendrils of the spell vanished. His face was scarred, his eyes dark and intent. “How are you sure you aren’t a convenient last resort? He’ll feed if he must, on you or others.”

Gaeolin panted, his hand blistered and stinging. Inigo crouched in front of him. “I asked, who are you?”

“Auroth…” He lowered his hammer, but held his hand ready with faint magic. “Lower your weapon, Khajiit. I can free you from this beast.”