Chapter Thirty Six

Auroth and Inigo sat on the steps, waiting for Gaeolin to return. He and Lunerio had gone to a different room to work, the spirit wishing to have as comfortable a rehearsal for him as possible. Every so often, Inigo would perk up, having heard a glimmer of lute song echo down from the hall. “I still wish we could be with him.”

“It’s important that he’s not distracted.” Auroth stretched out, laying back on the stones to crack his spine. “And in any case, Gaeolin seems to have trouble performing in front of people vocally. By his own admission, he only ever played instrumental work before.” 

“Honestly, I never knew he played. Although, during our travels I feel like musical ability isn’t high on the priority list.” 

Auroth allowed a grin. “No, perhaps not. He seems the type to me though. Kind of reserved, doesn’t really talk that much.” He picked up his staff before standing. “Apparently, depending on who you tell you’ll end up dead.” He walked to what remained of the dragon priest. “I can’t believe the mask survived all this.” He stooped to pick it up. He was about to turn it over to inspect the inside when age finally gave in.

The mask crumbled at the slightest of touches, chunks raining down onto the stone steps. Whatever enchantment had been laid upon it was nowhere to be felt. Inigo followed some of the falling fragments with his gaze. “Well, I hope we weren’t going to need that…”

“Not likely.” Auroth tossed the half he held onto the ashes. “The Sonaak Qahluft, Masks of the priests, have mostly ceremonial value. I know of only a few that would be particularly useful.” 

Inigo rolled to his feet. “I wonder if we will run into any more of them?”

“I would count on it.” He looked at inigo with a serious expression. “If we all stay together after this.” 

There was silence for a time, both unsure what else to say. Inigo flexed his hands as he thought of Gaeolin’s ultimatum. Part of him wanted to be angry. If Gaeolin had truly seen how much the past hurt him, why did he think suggesting they part would help? It seemed callus to him.

But at the same time, he had felt the pain his friend had been going through. Gaeolin had honestly felt that he was only traveling with him as a matter of repentance, nothing more. If it came to a question of if he valued Gaeolin’s friendship, the answer was yes. He couldn’t ask for anyone better. But it was more than that. He could feel that now. Gaeolin viewed him as family, a brother. The longing for family was great in the wood elf’s heart. More than Inigo would have guessed from their conversations. His thoughts were disrupted by footsteps from the hall. Gaeolin returned, the lute in his hand while Lunerio spoke to him.

“You play beautifully. Do you always sell yourself short?” The ghost patted him on the shoulder, causing Gaeolin to shudder. They might both be dead, but there was a distinct difference. Lunerio had the strange tang of aetherius in his touch. 

“My finger work is stiff. I’m passable at best.”

“All set?” Inigo asked, gathering his equipment from the steps. Gaeolin wore the look of one rushed.

“As prepared as I can get.” He turned to Auroth. “Do you think you guys can lure Iizyolviing down long enough for me to start?”

Auroth considered the question. “Yes, but not for long. Just as we have taken time to rest, he’s had even more to recover from our last fight. I’m not sure what we could do to get him to land long enough for you to do whatever it is you need to.”

Inigo injected an idea. “Maybe we could lure him by hiding between the mountain and the word wall. He would have to get at least down onto the top of it to attack us there. If you could protect us with a ward, we might just last long enough for this to work.”

Gaeolin did not seem convinced. “Betting awfully hard on his overconfidence, aren’t we?”

Lunerio’s spirit flickered as he moved. “Not as much as you may think. He might be a little more cautious, but keep in mind, he is not going to expect my song. As far as he is concerned, you are not a true threat to him. If you were, you would not have run.” He inspected the cultist’s corpses that littered the chamber. “Dragons are creatures of honor, despite their cruelty. To run from a fight is looked on as the ultimate weakness. It is yielding to your opponent as the greater. He won’t take you as seriously after retreating.”

Auroth scoffed. “That’s a terrible lapse in judgment.”

“But probably our best hope for winning.” Inigo looked to the bard. “Something I have been wondering though, how did you end up in here?”

Lunerio sighed. “It would take a long time to tell the tale. The short version is, the Dragon Cult didn’t want a power like mine to spread. Morokei, at that time their leader, summoned all the priests to Bromjunaar to decide how to deal with the threat.”

“Bromjunaar?” Gaeolin frowned.

“Labyrinthian,” Auroth began, “or rather the city around the temple. It was the capital of Skyrim back then.”

“I may have taken down a dragon,” Lunerio spoke, “but fourteen Thu’ums is more than I could stand after the battle.”

Gaeolin couldn’t imagine having to face that kind of power alone. A new respect for the skald grew in him. “Come on, we need to end this.” He turned to the ghost. “Your death won’t be in vain.”

The trip back through the mountain’s halls was not as stressful, the guardians now little more than dried husks. Inigo took the time to pilfer a few coins he found, but Gaeolin didn’t spare the time. His expression was one of total focus. Auroth too, seemed intimidated by the forthcoming fight. He was muttering to himself, making a mental strategy. All the while the bard hovered alongside them. He said nothing, his feet making no sound as they strode the plane he could no longer affect by touch. 

When at last they reached the first room, Lunerio stopped. He waited by the pedestal for them. “I can go no farther.”

Gaeolin turned back, moving closer to him. “But… Why not? You’re free of the binding.”

“To the staff, perhaps. But the spells on this tomb hold my spirit here. They cursed my worldly influence to be contained. I can’t really be free until their spell is broken. It wasn’t just Lovaasfeyn. The whole cult bound me. Even Miraak, disillusioned as he was, was drawn here to take part.”

Inigo and Gaeolin looked at each other in surprise. “You know of Miraak?”

Lunerio nodded. “But not a great deal. None of his brethren seemed to trust him. In any case,” his expression fell, sadness threatening to overwhelm the party, “all that remains for me is a request.”

“A-anything…” Gaeolin stammered.

The bard looked down to the dais. “Tell my story… Don’t let me be forgotten.”

Gaeolin stepped closer, reaching out to the ghost’s shoulder. His fingers dipped beneath the surface of the aura a bit, but he held his hand from going further. “I promise, we will.”

Lunerio blinked, nodding his thanks. “Go. May you always have a song in your hearts.” He stepped back, the blue glow fading as he returned to aetherius. Inigo looked as though he were going to cry.

“Farewell, my friend.”

Gaeolin turned from the scene, filled with a newfound determination. He removed the lute from his back as he passed into the caves that led to the mountain top.

*********************************

A light snow blanketed the stones of the altar. The winds had gone, leaving only lethargic movements in the clouds. The vapors did not stay calm, Iizyolviing bursting through them as he circled the peak in rage.

The arrogance! For them to dare challenge him, and then flee beyond his grasp was the most insulting act he could endure. He let loose a great roar, a flock of birds fleeing his ire, as was right. He banked left, coming around to scan the accursed blemish on his roost. The fact that anyone had commemorated that Sonaan who had, through trickery, managed to defeat him was disgusting. He considered smashing the monument for the fourth time. But nid, it was not worth the effort.

He was met with surprise when the platform came into view. There were two figures atop the altar. The yuvon Fahliil and the Kaaz. Their comrade had perhaps perished in the bard’s tomb. He gave a snarling laugh as he swooped in to reunite them.

“Still you dare to face my glory?” He exhaled a gout of ice toward them. “It is right that you seek the honor of dying by my claws.” 

Auroth cast flames at the drake, not really trying too hard to deal damage. It was more an attempt to enrage their foe. Inigo was more direct with his attacks. A few of his arrows struck into Iizyolviing’s wing, making him growl and come about. “Take that, smelly dragon!”

The nerve! Iizyolviing let loose a shout to the impudent cat. “Faas Ru Maar!” Inigo rolled just in time to avoid the thu’um. He aimed, planting a shot in the dragon’s nostril. With a roar, he careened toward them, forsaking the skies to destroy them on the ground. “You pests will die! Cowards! You can’t hide from me!” The pair of them squeezed into the space behind the wall. Iizyolviing rammed his snout into the gap, unable to reach them with his teeth. He let out a furious snarl, sending frost from his jaws. Auroth threw his hand out, a ward shining as it deflected the magic. “Face your end with dignity, Nikriin joor!” Inigo, somehow sensing the insult, placed an arrow in his eye in retaliation.

“Take that, Izzy!” The khajiit cackled as the drake reared back in pain. He flailed on the ground for a moment, shaking his head before returning to his vain attempts to capture them. He was so preoccupied that he barely noticed the sound of a lute rising behind him. He paused, a look of faint recognition washing his face as the sounds wove into a long forgotten melody. He turned, jaw agape as his eye found Gaeolin.

Gaeolin was surrounded by a golden glow. His fingers tickled the strings to a steady tempo, his eyes closed as he played. While the dragon was distracted, Auroth planted his staff in the earth. A green wave sprung toward Iizyolviing to coat him in the spell. The dragon’s eye was all that moved, the paralysis a shock to him. Inigo watched as Auroth quivered. The high elf strained against the mighty beast, willing the spell to hold long enough. But all looked to Gaeolin. The sound of his high, clear voice piercing the sky like a bell.

 “A wicked heart does not feel remorse
When his victim’s laments reach his ears,
He strikes with no mercy, as an ice leaden storm
Over rivers of fresh frozen tears

But hark, hear my words!
May your tyranny end
My sword and my song ringing clear!

With frost as my patron
Hear these words, Iizyolviing,
As I tell you, your ending is near,”

A slight breeze stirred as the lute sang out its song. Gaeolin swayed with the music, the light about him brightening as it swelled. From the light formed Lunerio. He stood beside Gaeolin as the elf sang. The ghost sang along, his words in common rather than Dov. With the progressing of the verses, Iizyolviing began to snort and growl.

“Aal hin Thu’um kiin wah feim,”
“May your voice start to fade,”

“Ahrk hin viing funt wah bo,”
“And your wings fail to fly,”

“Hin zii krah ol iiz meyz oblaan,”
“Your soul cold as ice come to die,”

“Naal dii rot, vod nol laas,”
“By my words, pass from life,”

“Hin rii vod nol vus,”
“Your spirit gone from Nirn,”

“Lingrah ni wah bolaav joor faas.”
“No longer to grant mortals fear.”

With the last notes, Auroth felt the resistance to his spell lessen. He let go of the power, watching in awe as the wyrm collapsed to the stone. “Is…is that it?” Inigo asked cautiously. 

“I don’t think so,” the High Elf answered. 

Iizyolviing was indeed not done, but he was considerably less driven as he thundered back to his feet shakily. “Hiin grahmindol los boziik, joor! I was not expecting…Lunerio’s bein Suleyk to be used against me. You are not to be underestimated…”

Gaeolin frowned, his grip on the lute tightening. He found it pulled from his grip so suddenly that he nearly drew on Lunerio, now brandishing the instrument. “Easy. Save it for Iizolviing. Don’t despair! His armor and his tenacity have weakened! He can be killed now!”

“Luft hin daan ahrk dir!” Face your doom and die! Iizyolviig roared, his wings beating weakly, then gathering strength. Gaeolin drew his sword as he stepped forth, ready to meet the beast in combat, but he had forgotten a rather important bit of information: he had not come alone. The sky lit up as something descended at an alarming rate. The dragon noticed this too late as a meteorite struck him on the head, the explosion rocking the air and returning the dragon to the ground. 

“That’s enough flying for one day, lizard. Stay on the ground where you belong.” Auroth approached, his fire staff abandoned. During the song, he had taken the time to retrieve his hammer. He wielded it easily, twirling it deftly in hand and feeling quite grateful for an opportunity to strike Iizyolviing with it. 

“Why didn’t you do that before?!” Inigo demanded as he came to stand beside his new companion, nocking an arrow and aiming it at his foe’s wings.

“It takes quite a bit of concentration to bring one of those down, and much better aim. He was sitting quite still, so excuse me for seeing an opportunity to-”

“Dinok!!” Iizyolviig shouted, full of wrath as he turned his head to Auroth. “Los nii hin dez!” Death!! It is your fate! The dragon inhaled and began to spew frost, when a sudden impact under his chin caused his mouth to close, the deadly cold spurting out of the wyrm’s nose. Auroth turned, swinging with all his might. His hammer caught Iizyolviig’s jaw, dislodging a tooth. The dragon let out a scream of rage and reared up and out of the hammer’s reach, when several arrows lodged their way into the beast’s wing pits. The arrows were not deflected as before, the tips edging into the skin.

Iizyolviig reared further back, the attacks coming too quickly to react properly. He fell onto his back and scrambled back to his legs. He swung his wings blindly, toppling a nearby stone tower. The tower collapsed on the dragon, inciting further humiliation. The dragon hissed at the results of his own flailing. Had he really been reduced to this? This…humiliating state? He would not die like this, embarrassed, grounded, and defeated! He set his eyes on the one responsible for this, the Wood Elf, and charged. 

Gaeolin responded in kind. Sword drawn, he deftly avoided a spurt of frost, much reduced thanks to the song, and also in thanks to his own vampiric resistance to cold. The two met. Gaeolin slashed at the dragon, his blade breaking through rough scales and spilling blood. The Bosmer took the time to parry the beast’s bite, and hacked at Iizyolviig’s teeth. The dragon flinched at blows Gaeolin couldn’t see, and knew that his companions were helping. He didn’t care. He only saw steam, steam rising from the dragon’s wounds, and from the blood on his blade. Finally, the inevitable happened. Iizyolviig slowly collapsed at Gaeolin’s feet.

“So…” The dragon gave a low chuckle. “It ends like this again? The cold over once I was Thur, is to be my end. Well fought, Qahnaarin.” He let his head fall. The eye grew dark, a thin layer of ice forming over the lens. Gaeolin, in a strange moment of instinct, bowed his head to the old dovah. Even as he died, Iizyolviing’s body began to burn. Tendrils of power crept from him, wrapping Gaeolin in the familiar glow. Auroth watched as his friend absorbed the energy. The flesh abandoned the bones, leaving them bare to the elements. As the power faded, Gaeolin turned to the carved stone. The epitaph was clear. He felt the power of frost wash over him as he read.

‘Pah weird sonaan Lunerio, wen yuvon lovaas meyz fo het ko vulon.’

‘All praise bard Lunerio, whose golden music became frost here in the night.’