Chapter Thirty Five: Part One

The morning greeted them with a more mild temperature than the day before. Gaeolin would have loved the start of it were it not for his condition. He walked up the slope, almost losing his balance on a loose stone. Auroth stood to the side of him scowling at the landscape. Inigo followed at the rear of the party, humming to himself in spite of the collectively fragile nerves.

They all knew what was coming. The very clouds surrounding the mountains seemed to be tensing at their approach. Gaeolin hoped that a combination of having crept off in the night to find a fresh meal and the overcast weather higher up the mountain would help their fight go easier. “Where is the path you were talking about?” He called to Auroth.

“Just a little way up into the foothills. This area has changed a lot in the past thirty years.” He looked up at the barren cliffs. “I remember there being more trees.”

Inigo stepped over a stump. “Maybe we are too far to the east. The land north of the Borgas Cliffs have a lot more wooded area. Should we head that way?”

“No, I know it’s around here. You could see Dragonsreach really well from the path.”

Gaeolin turned his head, looking back at the palace in question. He wondered how Lydia was holding up. He hadn’t been back to the city in quite a while. But even as he thought of his housecarl, his mind turned instead to a place he would rather be.

He thought of Lakeview, and of Faendal and Ma’isha. The last time he had seen his daughter had been months ago. Or so it seemed… He longed to return to them soon. Maybe he could finally see that damned cow Faendal had been insisting they buy. The hint of a smile crossed his face before he turned his attention back to the climb before them.

The company passed by boulders of increasing size. A fallen tree marked what may have been one of the mighty pines Auroth recalled. The Altmer stopped, looking around at the tundra grasses. “Wait a minute…”

“You’re lost, aren’t you?” Gaeolin raised an eyebrow, his expression one of mischief.

“Not lost…” Auroth protested. “Just… Turned around.”

“‘I know a shortcut’ he says. ‘We’ll be there in no time.”

“Do you realize how long it’s been since I wasn’t surrounded by aspens and body odor?” Auroth snipped. He turned to continue the debate, only to be met by a grin.

“I know. It’s fine. Let’s drift back to the west a bit. The crags look like they may be hiding our trail from us.” Gaeolin led them toward the rock formation, not seeing how his behavior had surprised both of his comrades.

“Should I be concerned?” Auroth looked to Inigo in confusion. 

“I wouldn’t be.” The khajiit followed their leader with his eyes. “He might actually be getting comfortable with you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far…” Auroth found the thought of Gaeolin trusting him a little far fetched. 

“Don’t look down on such a positive change of heart.” Inigo looked ahead. “It is good to see him taking even the smallest steps on the road to forgiveness.”

The higher they climbed, the more close the air became. Gaeolin led the way past a small grove of pine trees. Despite having an outward appearance of calm, he felt dread closing in around him as they drew nearer to the mountain. Some instinct was telling him to turn around. The trees were silent. Snow drifted gently to the ground as they entered a steep walled area between the two peaks.

There was most definitely a path now, one that widened as they walked into what must once have been a well travelled road. The conifers began to grow dense, the mountain blotting out the sun as the party moved deeper into the pass. Auroth nodded to himself, gripping the strap that held his hammer to his back.

“Keep your eyes open.” He spoke in little more than a whisper. “Frost trolls are very common in this pass. They come up from labyrinthian to hunt deer.” The road turned downward to pass through a stone arch of colossal proportions. The stonework was battered from the elemental wear of the centuries. Gaeolin pondered what it might have looked like back when it marked the fringes of a great city. To the right, a much smaller path led up towards Skyborn Altar.

“Let’s stop here for now.” Gaeolin swung his bag to the ground. “We should rest ourselves before we go the final leg up to the summit.”

“Good idea!” Inigo found a spot with as little snow as possible, settling down into a crossed legged stance. He produced a wedge of cheese from his bag, eating ravenously before the others could even sit. Gaeolin shook his head, Auroth sending a look of mild irritation. 

“Well, I guess we have no choice at this point.” He looked up at the peak. “I’d rather not give him any more warning than we already have.”

Gaeolin wondered what he meant by that. “No fire, I think. What do you mean by that? We haven’t been giving away our position.”

The High Elf gave no expression. “Not to our standards, maybe. But we aren’t talking about the common dragon either. This is a legendary drake. He’s already been defeated in his lair. To think him foolish enough to allow that defeat to be repeated is in itself foolhardy. He will have prepared. We must take caution as we approach the summit.” 

Gaeolin knew he was right. Iizyolviing was not a fool. There were  likely wards placed along the path to the altar, maybe something more dangerous than the traps and enchantments he and Inigo had faced before. Dragon magic was harder to define, and certainly more potent than any wizard’s spells. In truth, he was sure that part of his unease was due to the power rolling down with the fog.

“We should take this time to plan then. How do we expect to sneak up on him?”

“We can’t.” Auroth was quick to shoot this thought down. “The only way up to the monument is a set of steps. They are probably going to be slippery, and worn from centuries of wear. We would be wise to cling to the mountain as much as possible.”

Inigo swallowed his mouthful of cheese before interjecting an idea of his own. “He is a frost dragon,” he looked to Auroth, “doesn’t that mean he would be vulnerable to fire?”

The Altmer rolled a piece of elves ear in his fingers as he thought. “Maybe, but even if he is somewhat susceptible to fire, I doubt it would be enough of a weakness for us to take advantage of. No, I think our best bet is to strike as accurately and with as many arrows and ranged spells as we can. He may be a general, but he’ll bleed just the same as the rest of them.”

Gaeolin thought to himself for a moment. “You can shout as well, right?”

The Altmer nodded. “I know a few. Nothing very strong.”

“Strength isn’t necessarily as important as shock value. If you shouted at him while he was distracted by us, it may throw him off and give us an opening.”

Inigo cradled his bow as he strung it. “How many arrows do you have, Gaeolin? I have maybe twenty.”

The Bosmer looked into his own quiver. “Thirty-Five here. We have to make sure every shot counts.”

The day was passing slower than the group would have liked. The entire area felt like it was stagnant. Only the rolling of the sudden cloud cover marked the movement of time. It was completely overcast when they finally resumed their upward trek. As they climbed, it began to snow. Soon, they were leaving footprints behind in the ever deepening drifts. For a while, Gaeolin began to doubt the existence of the stairs. The remnants of an ancient stone archway put an end to their doubts.

To the two of them that the cold still had any influence over, it was beginning to become unbearable. Inigo’s fur was ruffled onto it’s ends, his body shivering as the wind ripped into his undercoat. Auroth had his cloak drawn as tightly about himself as he could without hiding his face. He cursed the bare arms, for which his armor did nothing to protect. Only undeath spared Gaeolin the shame of shivering. His pale skin only just stood out against the ice covered land. He led the group onward, through the now frozen trees to the first of the steps.

The cliff fell sharply as they reached the first landing. Gaeolin stared in wonder over the edge at Labyrinthian below. Inigo stood behind him with a look of hesitation. “Do not get too close, my friend. Do you forget what happened to me when we first journeyed to the Greybeards?”

“I remember how hard we laughed afterwards.” Gaeolin backed away from the ledge in spite of his words. It was a long way to the city below.

After only a few steps farther, the air changed. The party fell deathly quiet as the top came into view. The wind was gone, leaving just the sound of the snow beneath their feet. A tightness came to Gaeolin’s chest. Anxiety cared not for the lack of beating, clenching his dead heart just as firm. He stepped cautiously onto the terrace.

“Ful fin fahliil bo Dovah us.” The voice echoed off of the mountain, causing snow to slide off of the crags and outcroppings. The three of them readied their weapons, searching for the dragon as he spoke. “Grik pahlok. Hi nahlot zu’u. Hin sahlo nid qalos het.” A cold breeze began to swirl about them. Gaeolin made his way further onto the platform overlooking the city. “Wo los hi, Fahliil?”

Gaeolin could make out most of what had been said, but when it came to a response, he had no idea what he would be able to say. He forsook Dovahzul, responding in common as loud as he could. “I am Gaeolin of Woodhearth, and I have come to take back what you have stolen from me!”

Iizyolviing laughed, the loose stones clattering from their perches above. “Dii! What a defiant little one you are. It has been long since I have heard and tasted such a bold, foolish mer.” The sky grew darker, snow starting to bite at their faces as their less than pleasant host continued. “And look at this… Kaaz, and one of your kinsmen to die with you. Tell me, Gaeolin… DO you know who I am?”

Gaeolin turned, his bow in hand. “You are Iizyolviing.”

“Bah! I am so much more than simply that name as you speak it!” The sound of wings echoed above them. “I am the burning frost, the cold death that only winter brings. I am the terror of Keizaal.” Through the clouds he broke, swooping over them before they could react. His maw opened in a terrible roar as he came to land on the monument that marked his death. “Zu’u los Iizyolviing! Zu’u fen krii hi, Dovahkiin! Ahrk hin fahdon!” I am Iizyolviing! I will kill you, Dovahkiin! And your friends! Frost cascaded down upon them as the dragon exhaled across the mountaintop ruins. Auroth brought his weapon down like a staff, a half hemisphere of flame shielding them from the brunt of the ice. 

“Stinking lizard!” Inigo shouted back, sending an arrow whirring through the air. It glanced off the beasts scales, clattering to the platform and leaving little more than a scuff. Auroth sent up a flurry of fireballs, the magic making a bit more of an impact. Gaeolin aimed with care, holding his breath as he targeted Iizyolviing’s eye. He loosed the shot, his arrow just missing it’s mark. 

The wood elf drew his breath in, mustering his soul. “Yol!” But the word was strained, his voice failing him as he spoke. Only a puff of steam came from his lips, inspiring the dragon to laugh.

“Dreh hi ni koraav? Hin suleyk los vod. Zu’u thu’um los mul!” Do you not see? Your power is gone. My voice is greater! Iizyolviing beat his wings, staggering them under the force of his winds. Gaeolin drew back another shot. His mind filled with an almost alien rage. He knew not from where it came, but it filled him to the core.

“Praannok hi nid, hin rot los nil!” Death taught you nothing, your words are empty! Gaeolin snarled these words, making Inigo and Auroth turn to him in alarm. They didn’t need to know what he said to understand that the words were not in the least bit respectful.

“Oblaan! Hi fen ni tinvaak tum wah Dovah!” Die! You will not speak down to me! He raised his wings, creating an imposing stance. An even stronger wave of frost battered against the flames the Altmer had summoned. Auroth’s face twisted as he struggled to maintain the barrier. Gaeolin and Inigo each fired several shots, each one ricocheting off of the creature’s armor. “You fools waste your effort.” The dragon looked at them as if amused. 

“Gaeolin…” Auroth began shaking. His hammer was glowing red, as if the steel were being heated in a forge. “I can’t hold this spell much longer.” The flames were growing thin, the shell in which the group fought shrinking in diameter every second. Gaeolin searched for cover. If they were out in the open when the ward failed, they would surely die. 

“There!” He pointed toward the right side of the Word Wall. There was a slight crevice in the mountainside. They made for it, Auroth holding his hammer up as he backed toward the cave. Iizyolviing landed, crawling toward them with icy mist dripping from his jaws.

“Now you hide like rats?” He coiled back, his maw opening with ferocity. “Iiz Slen Nus!” A massive wave of ice rumbled toward them, finally defeating the ward. Auroth fell back, landing on the rocks with a gasp of pain. Inigo and Gaeolin grabbed him by the shoulders, dragging with all their might as the dragon closed in. 

Tossing Auroth into the crag, Gaeolin turned, firing a single arrow into the beast’s eye. Iizyolviing howled in agony, beating the side of the mountain with his tail as the warriors fled into the cave. Even as they rushed down the natural corridor they heard him shouting in their wake. “Ruz dir! Nok wah Lunerio dreh fah hin sosaal!” Die then! Lie with Lunerio as punishment for your actions!

They didn’t stop until they could no longer see the light from the cave entrance. Auroth collapsed to the chill floor of the passage, his breaths labored. Inigo dug in his bag for a potion while Gaeolin pulled off a glove. 

“Auroth! Can you speak?” He held his hand over the elf’s forehead. A soft light spread from his palm, washing the Altmer’s pale skin with warmth. His eyes were distant as he responded.

“I’ll live. He was… too powerful for me to hold back.” 

Inigo handed Gaeolin the phial, ears back in worry. “We owe you our lives. I have never seen magic so strong.”

Auroth coughed as the elixr passed his lips. “My hammer?” He croaked, fingers twitching for the haft of the weapon.

Gaeolin looked around them. His heart sank as his search yielded no results. “I’m sorry… I think we left it outside near the altar.”

Auroth nodded that he understood, slowly easing into a sitting position. “How deep is this cave? I can feel a draft from farther in.”

“Well, if you can stand, we could go in and see.” 

Inigo struck a flint against his knife, lighting a torch. “It is likely to be darker farther in. Let us see where this leads friends.” He looked back, hearing the fury of their foe through the stone tunnel. “We won’t be leaving that way soon.” Gaeolin helped Auroth to his feet, guiding him down the passage with his arm over his shoulders. 

The source of the airflow turned out to be a hole in the ceiling, small amounts of snow filtering down and settling on the ground. Inigo led the way, squeezing past a boulder jutting from the wall. The path led them downward into the heart of the mountain. 

Dust fell on their heads as the mountain shook beneath the rage of the dragon. Inigo pinned back his ears, grumbling as he brushed the pebbles from his fur. “He is a very noisy neighbor.”

“Feel free to go out and ask him to quiet down for us.” Auroth winced, laughing at his own joke. “Shouldn’t do that… Hurts too much.”

“Did you get hit?” Gaeolin asked.

“No, but such a sudden and violent drain to my magikca took its toll. I’m just lucky this old body still had enough strength for that kind of exertion.” 

Gaeolin frowned. “I never knew magic could affect anyone like that.” 

Auroth nodded. “Magic isn’t an infinite, end-all-be-all solution to any given problem. It’s a different means of accomplishing a goal, but you still need energy, either through mystic power, or physical energy.” He tested his weight, standing on his own. “Most mages prefer to train their minds and bodies for many years, giving them greater access to the aetherial plane, and thus, magikca. I was less than diligent when it came to my training, choosing to branch out and learn with the hammer.”

“Do you regret the choice?”

Auroth cocked an eyebrow. “If it hadn’t been for my physical strength, we would have already lost.”

“I think saying your power was inferior would be unfair.” Inigo interjected. “You held off the attacks of a legendary dragon far longer than any mage I have seen. Aren’t wards concentration cast spells? You must be quite the wizard to have lasted as long as you did.”

Auroth seemed unwilling to weigh in on the matter. Although he seemed rather tired. After passing under yet another fissure, Inigo noticed something ahead. “Look my friends! There are ruins beyond this tunnel.”

Indeed, the light of the torch began to reflect off of carved stonework. The three of them emerged into a nordic hall, bits of wood lying around the entrance as if it had once been sealed. Gaeolin drew his sword, feeling a strange emotion take hold of him as they delved into the hidden temple. 

The hall led them to an open room, a cold fireplace standing across from them as they entered. Inigo’s torch did not reach far, though a pedestal could be seen.

“Let’s see if we can’t get a fire going.” Gaeolin searched near the fireplace for kindling. Inigo tossed one of his torches into the grate for good measure. Auroth sat on one of the benches, exhausted. 

“So,” the Altmer said, “this is where they buried you, Lunerio?” Inigo and Gaeolin turned to him, both looking confused and concerned. “Didn’t you hear good ol’ Izzy as we ran in? This is the bard’s tomb. He seemed to be quite unhappy with us being in here.”

“Perhaps there is another way out that would allow us to escape.” Inigo offered. 

“I doubt it.” Auroth looked toward the darker side of the room as the fireplace began to glow. “Something about this place feels different than most tombs. There’s a malice to these walls.” He looked into the flames. “It’s old magic. I haven’t felt a binding power this strong in a long time.”

Gaeolin tossed a handful of ruined books into the grate, sitting next to his friends. “But what were they trying to do? Keep people out, or something in?”

They all turned. There was a quiet sound, almost musical in the stillness. Gaeolin stood, drawing his bow as he went to investigate. An ancient sheet of parchment sat on a nearby pedestal. 

‘To whomever dares to venture here,

Here lies Lunerio, ‘warrior hero’ of the Stonehills. Bound in death to these halls as penance for his crimes.

By the order of Morokei the Obedient, this killer of our lord Iizyolviing, will pay for his murderous ways with his very soul. The brotherhood of the silent will guard him from those who would ease his punishment. 

Where the songs he sang will not reach, Lunerio will stay. The blasphemous tongue stilled in death.’

His companions stood with him. Auroth read over his shoulder, his face a bit more lively. “I stand corrected. This isn’t a tomb.” He looked ahead to a large portcullis barring the way beyond them. “It’s a prison.”