Chapter Thirty Five: Part Two

Gaeolin picked up the parchment and rolled it into a tight scroll. Inigo searched a nearby table, tossing aside a few damaged books. “If they weren’t planning on visitors, why the books? And the cups, and decanter?” 

“Let’s ask him.” Auroth walked up to a throne. It was sitting just before an area where the roof had caved in. A draugr sat there, eyes dark after untold centuries of death. Inigo jumped when he saw the creature,  his hand gripping Dawnbreaker with more strength. The altmer cracked a grin at the reflex. “Don’t worry. He’s not moving again anytime soon.” He leaned in to inspect the corpse. “He’s been sitting here for so long, even the undeath of the dragon cult’s magics couldn’t hold him forever.” 

Gaeolin too, had his hand on the hilt of his blade. He scanned the room for traps, noticing the staff that Auroth overlooked near the draugr. It stood perfectly on its end through some manner of sorcery. He reached out, gingerly wrapping his fingers around the gold plated bough. The ornamenting at the staff’s end flickered to life as it reached out to draw on his magic. Flames burst to life, burning as candle fire in the miniature dragon maw. “Auroth,” Gaeolin offered the weapon, “it’s no hammer, but could you use this in its place?”

Auroth accepted it, testing it with a few swings. He eyed the dragon head for a moment. Without warning, he swung the staff around, bringing it to point toward the books on the table. A gout of fire consumed the ruined tomes with gusto. The light reflected off the ancient stonework. The spectacle ended as quickly as it began, garnering an approving nod from the mage. He adjusted the straps that had held his hammer while Gaeolin and Inigo approached the iron gate barring the way.

“It is even darker in there…” Inigo squinted, his pupils expanding to capture what little light there was. “I see an altar in the center of the room. There is something on it, between a few candle sticks.” He pressed his face into the bars with his ears pinned back. “There is a broken urn. Other than that, I don’t see anything clearly.”

Gaeolin pulled the chain, releasing the portcullis. It snapped upward with unexpected force, slamming open in mere seconds. Inigo massaged his chin, eyes watering. The wood elf winced. “Sorry, Inigo…”

The khajiit sent him a withering stare. “A warning would have been nice. I have more than enough scars, my friend. We need not add any more.”

“You’re the one who thought it was smart to mash your face into the bars.” Auroth prodded. He seemed to be enjoying the scene a bit more than most would deem appropriate. Gaeolin swept his cloak behind him, leading the way into the next chamber.

In the moments before Inigo’s torch tainted the room, the vampire felt he could finally view it in comfort. The altar stood before him with it’s cold candles. A lute was the central focus, surrounded by books and long destroyed rolls of parchment. The broken urn Inigo mentioned contained nothing, though bits of broken ceramic littered its bottom. Beyond the display stood a pair of heavy wooden doors. On either side, they were framed by braziers that stood inactive. 

Gaeolin looked at the lute. Of all the objects in the tomb thus far, it was the least affected by the long years of neglect. It’s finish was nearly perfect. There were a few places where the paint had split, but the wood seemed in good enough shape. The strings were covered in a thick layer of dust. He reached for the instrument wondering if it could still play. As he lifted it, his fingers grazed the strings, an errant note sounding from within the body.

A low rumble came from below. Auroth gripped the staff tighter, leaning on it for support as the power hidden in the ruins made itself know. “Careful!” He shot Gaeolin a dangerous expression. “Whatever that was, it did not appreciate that sound.” He picked up one of the books, wiping the dust from it’s cover. “Hmmm…”

“What is it?” Inigo craned his neck, attempting to read over the mage’s shoulder. 

“Actually, it might be wise to tune that thing. It would seem that the cultists used his music to bind him. The seals are tonal locks.”

Gaeolin looked a little embarrassed, “I’m not really sure if I’d be the best to play this.” He offered it to the khajiit. “Inigo?”

“No thanks, I mainly use them for target practice. Maybe Auroth could play for us.”

“No…”

Gaeolin ran his hands across the neck of the lute. Clearly, he wasn’t going to have much choice in this. He hadn’t touched an instrument in years. “Fine. Give me a minute to tune it.”

He found a seat, gently strumming to hear the state of the strings. Auroth watched as he fiddled with the keys at the head. Something in the bosmer’s face seemed off to him. He sat beside him. “You look like you’ve done this before.”

Gaeolin moved on to the next string. “I used to play the lute back home. I wasn’t very good when I was a child. I picked it back up in Cyrodiil in my twenties, made decent tips playing in the Tiber Septim Hotel. The last time I played was for Countess Carvain, of Bruma.” He looked across the room in remembrance. “That was… Nine years ago? I can’t really remember.” He went back to his work. “Among my other curses, memory seems to be another commodity I am not afforded.”

“After all you’ve been through, it doesn’t really surprise me.” Auroth slouched with his new staff holding the majority of his weight. “I don’t think I ever asked. Who was your father?” 

Gaeolin stopped his work. “He was no one of consequence. Just a tanner, sometimes a fisherman. He wanted to avoid the warrior lifestyle. My grandfather had been the fighter of our family. Father always seemed to view him as a fool. But that’s a long story.” He took the bard’s notes from his friend, using the distraction of the music to avoid being led further into the conversation.

Emptiness was a strange sensation. Comparing it to darkness, or a lack of color seemed inadequate. There was a cold to it. The silence permeated the soul. It was in this way that Gaeolin felt the terror of the tomb. Despite the torch burning in his hand, he and his friends all felt uneasy. Inigo clung to Dawnbreaker, her light spilling across the stones of the hall. 

“I’m glad the tremors have stopped,” Auroth whispered, “but I think the quiet is much worse. What lies ahead?”

Gaeolin couldn’t disagree. When he played the portion of music to open the door, pieces of loose ceiling had rained down on them. The lute hung on his back, the strings covered by a bit of soft cloth to dampen them. The instrument seemed to have an adverse influence over the ruins. He stepped over a bit of broken pottery before responding. 

“I’m not sure what to expect. This place isn’t like any other tomb I’ve seen. We should be…” He stopped, listening in the silent halls. His ears keened into the void. He’d heard a voice. Harsh, cold, almost not there at all. 

‘Bovul daar golt.’ Flee this place. The words chilled the party, Inigo’s fur standing on end. ‘Fin Zeymah do Nahlot fen ofan ni aaz.’ The Brotherhood of Silence will show no mercy.

“I don’t need a translation to know that’s not a welcoming committee.” Inigo gripped the sword tighter. “Let’s get moving. I do not want to wait around for them to get to us.” 

The three made their way to a large chamber. There were arches of stone, stretching high toward the roof of the cave that the cult had built the tomb into. Gaeolin marveled at the amount of effort they’d put into interring their enemy. There was a dome structure ahead, the flickering of candles illuminating the entrance. 

‘Kos gut nol het.’ Stay away from here. The whispers came again, this time with a more demanding tone. Gaeolin drew his sword, careful to keep the steel from speaking it’s standard ringing as it left the sheath. Auroth followed closely with his staff ready. Inigo stood with his back against the wall, watching behind them as they entered the structure. 

There was a stairwell in the center, spiraling down deeper than the eyes could see. A faint glimmer of light marked what was either the bottom, or some manner of lighting that burned in the shaft. All around the stairs stood draugr. The dead held a silent vigil, arms crossed in the fashion typical of the Atmorans that had first settled here. Gaeolin waved his friends toward the descent without a sound. Auroth made it first, his boots impressively mute despite their steel composition. Next it was Inigo. He might have made it, if not for his tail upsetting a sword near the door. 

It hit the floor with a clamoring that stabbed through the mountain’s caverns like a lance through leather. The ruins shook, dust falling from loose points in the stones. Around them the draugr woke. Gaeolin shuddered at their eyes. Dry lids snapped open to reveal empty sockets, the eyes themselves having rotted long ago. Now though, the eerie blue light swelled in their place as the ancient magics manifested. The bones groaned as all five of the zombies stepped from their sarcophagi in unison. Auroth waved his hand around the room, a thin barrier developing around the party. The draugr stared at them, all raising their right hands toward them. Decayed mouths chanted, energy flowing to the adventurers like foul vapor.

“Kendov, hi los naav. Nu mindok un mul. Voth fin suleyk do un zul, mu gahrot hin rot. Zeymah ko Nahlot, mu dein faal lovaas, arhk nii Drog wo krent faal lok.” Warriors, you were warned. Now know our might. With the power of our voice, we steal your words. Brothers in Silence, we guard the song, and its master who shattered the sky. As if taking breath, the draugr expanded their chests. Gaeolin tried to warn his friends. But it was too late, the shout battering them from all sides. “Zul Rot Horvutah!” A wall of force knocked the air from them. Auroth staggered, nearly falling down the shaft as he attempted to find balance again. Inigo cried out, but his voice would not come. The three all looked at each other in alarm. The time for concern was not now. 

Auroth brought his staff to bear, a jet of flames spreading to the two draugr in front of him. Gaeolin swung his blade wide, removing the legs of one of their attackers. Inigo twirled Dawnbreaker with a finesse that befit his boasts. In only moments, they had cleared the room. Gaeolin sent the Altmer a tired look. Auroth nodded in agreement, kicking one of the corpses for emphasis. Inigo pawed at his throat. His fear was tangible, eyes wide at the loss of his ability to speak. He flailed about, trying to make up some method of communication. To the elves though, the sight was little more than a sad amusement. Gaeolin gestured for them to follow him. With a swish of his cloak, he began the trip down the stairs into the dungeon.

 The steps were dangerous. Water damage made each movement a risk of falling. Auroth held his hand out in front of him, his skills in alteration reinforcing the wooden structure. The air drew closer. The light at the base of the stairs was faint, fighting the dampness that such depth held. Gaeolin let out a breath when his feet finally reached stone again. He looked up to his friends, suddenly overcome with comfort knowing that they were here. Inigo, on the other hand, looked less than reassured. Auroth was harder to read. His face looked the same as always, stoic beyond measure. A hall led to the north. Or…. Was it north? He could no longer remember. At this point, cardinal direction was a bit unimportant. He readied himself, following the dark corridor.

They were met by three more of the Brotherhood of Silence in the next chamber. Auroth sent flames across the floor, a cone of pure light leaping from his palm toward the undead. Gaeolin hid behind the doorway to avoid getting caught in the blast by accident. The draugr shrieked as the holy light burned away at their dusty bodies. Inigo stabbed one in the chest, Meridia’s weapon flashing before bursting with blue flames. The wave of fire rendered the remains little more than dust. When he was sure the coast was clear, the Bosmer emerged from hiding. Inigo inspected his sword with awe, sending a facial apology to Gaeolin. 

Auroth beckoned toward a stair leading further down. It didn’t go far though, leveling into a curved hall that travelled off to the left. Gaeolin peered into the dark hall in hopes of seeing something. Even he couldn’t make out anything beyond a few feet. In his mind, it seemed a better idea to check on this level before venturing deeper. It wouldn’t end well if more of the cultists came down behind them. He tried to explain this without words, pointing to the door on the other end of the room. 

Auroth tilted his head, shaking it and pointing once more to the passage he prefered. Inigo stood between them with one ear back. With a somewhat pitiful expression, he pointed over his shoulder to the door from which they had come. He gave a meek grin. Frustrated, Auroth closed his eyes and brought his hands together. Through one’s imagination, one might have heard electric humming as yellow light emanated between his fingers, though at this moment it made no sound thanks to the strange shout that had muffled all sound between the three warriors. 

With no warning, the light shot out from Auroth in all directions, coating both Inigo and Gaeolin. The light was blinding for but a brief moment, then itself was muted until there was a thin outline of light surrounding the trio. Suddenly, the voices came. ‘Damned wizard, this is no time to experiment! Could’ve given us a warning…’

’I just wish this stupid quest was over!’ 

‘Going to have some chilled dragon pie tonight…’

The voices stopped as suddenly as they came, and all three were uncomfortably aware that the voices were not being spoken, but in their heads. ‘Auroth,’ Gaeolin thought, staring at the wizard, ‘please tell me you didn’t just connect our minds.’

The High Elf sighed silently with a shrug. ‘We needed to communicate. I must apologize. And please…keep your focus. Our minds are connected, but unlike a one-on-one discussion, there are three minds connected, and for that to be possible, the doors of our minds are wide open.’

‘What in Oblivion does that mean? Is this safe?’ Gaeolin demanded.

‘Dragon pie, oh my oh my, it’s a tasty dish you should really tryyy! Dragon pie-’ Both elves turned to look at Inigo, eyes wide  like a child caught stealing a sweetroll. ‘Is…is that why we should stay focused?’ 

Gaeolin brought a hand to his face, mostly to hide the smile brought on by Inigo’s song. The khajiit really did have a way of making things brighter. ‘All right…we’ve established communication, Auroth. Now, we need to make a decision.’

‘I think going deeper is a better option at the moment.’ He looked down the steps. ‘The power of this place is strong, but the source is down there. I know it. Our best bet of ending this is to find it.’ 

Gaeolin turned the thought over. ‘Maybe so, but I don’t like the idea of leaving potential threats behind me.’

‘A new habit?’ Inigo mused. Gaeolin turned to him, feeling a shock like ice water. Inigo wore a horrified look. Auroth seemed a bit uncomfortable. 

The overwhelming sense of guilt that Inigo felt was not excluded from the shared consciousness. Gaeolin thought he might be sick in response to it. It tightened his chest, churned his stomach. Even in death, the emotions were almost too much for him to bear. ‘Inigo… How can you still…?’

The cat pulled back his ears. ‘It’s not as simple as accepting your forgiveness, my friend. And now more than ever I know that you have. But I can’t just act like it did not happen.’

Auroth broke the moment, raising his staff as a pair of draugr entered the room. ‘Look out! Behind you!’

His flames passed between them, lighting the preserved corpses with little hesitation. Gaeolin rushed to the door they had come through, lobbing the head off a third creature as he entered. The skull rolled for a few feet, eyes going dark again. He turned to his friends as they joined him. ‘There are no more doors in here. We should keep moving. After you, Auroth.’

‘Sure, make me go first…’ He complied, summoning a light to hover before him. ‘Some hero.’

‘You could try and filter your thoughts to keep down the cynicism.’ Gaeolin retorted.

‘I would have said it aloud anyway.’ He smirked. Gaeolin had to admit that while crass, he found it refreshing to detect humor from the man. He hung back as they delved deeper into the ruins, ending up side by side with Inigo.

‘So, I have to know.’ The Bosmer stopped, looking Inigo in the eye. ‘Are you with me because we’re friends, or because you feel like you owe it to me?’ The whole party stopped. Another wave of discomfort hit them from Auroth. Inigo’s mind had a strange color to it now. It was equal parts surprise, hurt, and confusion. He seemed unsure how to respond. ‘Yes, it happened. I can admit that. I know what you did. As Ada, don’t you realize that I’ve now seen you do it? You couldn’t deny it if you wanted now.’ Even slipping into fractures of bosmeris didn’t cloud his meaning. Inigo could almost taste the conflict in his friend’s head. ‘I don’t want your servitude. I don’t hold you to some life debt. I want you as a friend, Inigo. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t care about your past vices, or what you did in withdrawal from them. You’re one of the truest souls I’ve met. You have my back through everything. The fact that you basically held your throat to my sword when I found you again told me enough about your character I needed to make my choice.’ He blinked, suddenly aware of how upset the situation had made him. ‘We have to get past this. It happened. Now what will happen next? Are we going to continue as family? Or should we part after this?’ 

For a moment there was silence, both in the tomb, and their minds. Inigo didn’t have a response, Gaeolin had nothing more to add. Auroth turned to continue with a lapse in mental control. ‘Well, that was awkward…’ As they came to the end of the hall, they knew they had come to the main burial chamber. They gripped their weapons at the sight before them. 

Dozens of coffins lined the walls. The room was high walled, a vaulted ceiling above echoing even the smallest sound. On the wall in front of them hung a skeleton. It was fastened by large, heavy chains. Large spikes were hammered through the chest where the lungs used to be. Around the jaw was wrapped an iron band, affixed by about fourteen nails. Below the ghastly display lay an ornate sarcophagus like none of them had ever seen. Gaeolin moved as soft as he could, making for the dias it rested upon. ‘Why would they honor him with such an elaborate burial? He killed their god.’

‘I don’t think that is his…’ Auroth glared at the skeleton, for the first time looking afraid. ‘Come back down. We need to stay together.’

Gaeolin was about to oblige when it started. The coffins around the room began to open. Draugr climbed out, all wielding shining silver blades. They looked typical of the ancient nord design, but unlike their common counterparts, these shone with a malevolent power. The cultists walked as if in a ritual, slow and deliberate. The three warriors didn’t waste time attacking. Auroth burned eight of them in a wide arc of flames, his free hand crumbling a bit of the ceiling to fall on four more. They were crushed in an instant, allowing him to turn and strike another with the staff. Inigo danced with Dawnbreaker in silent elegance, the golden light streaming alone in the blade’s wake. He drew his off hand sword, the basket hilt smashing the teeth from one of his foes. Gaeolin had his bow, the string’s twang non-existent as the arrows hit their marks. One of the zombies nearly got him, but in an act of instinct, he stabbed it in the eyes with his next arrow, knocking it in time to down another who had come behind Auroth.

They were down to the last cultist, his sword the only sound as it hit Inigo’s. Auroth brought the staff down hard against it’s head. Knocked off balance, the corpse hit the floor. Gaeolin dropped his bow, drawing his knife to skewer the undead in the heart. In its last moments, the draugr spoke, guttural and harsh. “Lovaasfeyn, alok ahrk al nust wo hind wah vo hin krongrah.” Lovaasteyn, arise and destroy those who wish to unmake your victory.

The tomb shook with a terrible force as pale blue light rose from the fallen cultists. Gaeolin turned as tendrils of the power flew through the air to impact the gilded sarcophagus. More came from above, seeping through the ceiling from the other denizens they had dispatched. All the while, the rumbling grew louder. Auroth took up a defensive stance, rod aimed at the coffin. ‘Get behind me, now!’ He watched as the lid flew open. Gaeolin held his breath. Inigo was fixed in pure terror.

A thin, fragile hand crested over the side of the sarcophagus. The arm was wrapped in what had once been a lavish robe. The body sat up with its back to them, a hood adorning the skull. It rose to standing with the unfurling of a great cloak. The hem of it had golden embroidery in the dragon script, the words too small to be read at a safe distance. To Gaeolin’s dismay, it began to levitate out of its coffin before turning to them. Instead of a skull, he saw an angry mask. It looked like moonstone, though it must have been older than imagination could discern. It wore a white patina, mainly on the left side. The lich held a silver staff in its hand while speaking. 

“Mindin fodiizsepraan, dii qoth nos?” After ages of death, my tomb is attacked? It faced Gaeolin down as if sensing something about him. “Dovahkiin, arhk voth aan!” And by a Dragonborn! It waved a hand toward him, causing him to gasp in pain as his mind was invaded. ‘Ah, but you are small. Pitiful, even by the standards of dragonborn throughout time. Tell me, Gaeolin,’ the wood elf was lifted from the floor, brought face to face with the priest, ‘why have you come to my halls?’

Panting, Gaeolin’s body fell under a spell of fatigue he had thought himself free of in death. Lovaasfeyn probed his mind, his consciousness cold and painful. He tried to shut him out. 

‘Don’t try to hide from me!’ The lich clamped his fingers on the air, making Gaeolin scream in silence. ‘Ah! My master lives!’ He turned to the skeleton on the wall behind him. ‘And you seek Lunerio’s power? Fools!’ He laughed, throwing Gaeolin to the floor with a painful thud. “Hi fen mindoraan aus!” You will understand suffering!

Auroth threw a ball of flames at the dragon priest, his staff spraying a steady stream at the withered bones. Inigo ran to Gaeolin firing arrows as fast as he could. ‘Gaeolin! Gaeolin! Not like this!’

‘I’m fine… Just glad I can’t bruise…’ He rolled to his feet, snatching his bow in the process. He let loose a volley of three missiles, all hitting Lovaasfeyn in the chest.

“Krii Lun Aus!” The shout battered Gaeolin, nearly toppling him again. The lich let out another cold cackle. ‘What is a Dovah without his thu’um?’

‘What is a sorcerer without his staff?!’ Inigo’s thought blared across the group as his arrow leapt from his bow. It spun through the air, hitting the priest’s weapon in the crystal at it’s top.

It shattered, coaxing a screech from it’s wielder as tendrils of white light burst forth from the now destroyed focus. Aurth stopped attacking, distracted by what was happening. He stared as the light condensed, taking the form of a man. It ran to Gaeolin, pulling him to his feet.

“Now! Shout now!” He turned to the others. “Don’t just stand there fools! Kill him!”

Gaeolin threw back his head. “Yol Toor Shul!” The flames blazed through the room, lighting Lovaasfeyn in an inferno. “Sonaak krii!” Die, Dragon priest! Gaeolin aimed, his arrow soaring to skewer the mask in the brow. Auroth sent a ray of light from his hand, and Inigo threw Dawnbreaker with all his might.

All attacks struck at once. The arrow flew true, the light burst his dry flesh, and Dawnbreaker stuck perfectly in his heart. Black flames rolled from within Lovaasfeyn’s body, consuming him as he screamed. “Alduin thuri! Aas nau dii funt!” Alduin, my lord! Have mercy on my failures! His mask fell, his body rendered as ash in the air with a roar of fire. The head gear clattered to Gaeolin’s feet, a crack forming at the top. 

“It’s done…” The apparition spoke, his face tired, despite eternal youth. “You’ve freed me. Thank you.”

“Lunerio?” Auroth asked, looking at the remains of the staff. “He soul trapped you?”

“Not in the way you understand it, no.” The bard turned to Gaeolin. “He shouted my soul from me, bound it to the staff. Had I not been spent by my battle with the dragon, I would not have been taken so easily.” He smirked. “I’m a bard, not a farm hand.”

Gaeolin smiled. “We know… That’s why we need your help.”

Lunerio’s face fell. “He’s returned then?” He sighed at the response. “Then I suppose you’ll need the song.”

Inigo frowned. “Why not simply perform it yourself? You did well the first time.”

“I don’t have the strength. My soul has been spent after thousands of years. It would take more than I have to defeat him again.” He looked to Gaeolin. “But you… You could do it. I can feel it.”

Gaeolin felt his nerves mounting. “But… I’m not a bard…”

Lunerio laughed. “Yes… you are, lad. I know. I’ve seen your skills through the priest.” He held out his hand. “Give me the lute. I’ll show you what you need to learn.”