Chapter Twenty One

The day shone with a deceptively warm sun, light clawing at Gaeolin’s eyes as it reflected off of the snow covered hills. The carriage ride from Ivarstead had been long, rough, and painful. Aside from a splinter in the ass, he also had to suffer a cringe worthy duet of ‘Ragnar the Red’ between Inigo and their driver… Many times… Inigo followed behind, humming the accursed tune to himself happily. The drink at the Four Shields in Dragonbridge had helped somewhat. 

The ruins of the mysterious temple appeared before them. It looked like any other Nordic ruin they had seen before, though perhaps less prominent. A large statue rose from a terrace high above. Inigo whistled at the sight. “And what have we here? A shrine?”

Gaeolin was unable to answer, as the voice from before again blasted in his mind. “Look at my temple, lying in ruins! So much for the constancy of mortals, their crafts and their hearts. If they love me not, how can my love reach them?” He scowled at the throbbing in his own temple. Three ales and a deaf person screaming in his head was not turning out to be a great day.

“I don’t know for sure. But I just want this all to be done with. She’s not being very…” He stopped, a new feeling urging him further up the hill. He could hear it. The whisper of voices echoing on the winds wafted down with a flurry of drifting snow. He approached the carved wall, packed snow filling the claw like writings. The words shimmered as he read them. The ice melted under the heat of the awakening power.

‘Het nok Fjolmod Bein-Su wo pook ol pogaas nau gol ol ok kopraan dreh nu ko golt.’ Here lies Fjolmod Foul-Air who stank as much on earth as his body now does in the ground.

Gaeolin had to stop himself from losing track of the point. He made a mental note to share the translation with Inigo, who he was sure would appreciate it. ‘Su’ held his attention for the moment. It was air, though violent and swift. It danced in a deadly way that cut even mountains to their knees in time. He could feel the hum of power spread to his arms as he thought of it. 

“What did it say?” Inigo asked. Gaeolin turned to him, completely serious. 

“It says he stinks…”

Inigo looked from him to the monument, then back with a laugh. “Really? Guess he didn’t pick a good friend to write his epitaph!”

“I would say not.”

“I wonder, what would mine say?” The cat mused.

“Here lies Inigo, bane of spiders. He died at the hand of his mortal enemy… The chicken warrior of Riverwood.”

Inigo grinned. “And yours my friend; Here lies Gaeolin Stormcrown. Mighty Dragonborn, whose wisecracks were second only to the crack on his skull by his companion’s hilt.”

Gaeolin shook his head, chuckling more than he had in a month. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” They climbed to the altar, the statue towering above them. It was a woman, her arms raised as if to hold the rising sun. Her robes blended into folded wings. The age of the idol was clearly great, cracks running along the once smooth stonework. He could hear the gem in his pack humming as he approached. He took it in his hands, squinting at the subtle light that shone from it. He inspected the shrine, noticing a receptacle at the base of the statue. Gently, he lowered the stone into the cradle. He leapt back as a pillar of light erupted from the stone. His voice broke in a cry as he was hurled up into the air, drug by a force unseen. The light of the beam blinded him. He shut his eyes, waiting for the end. 

Floating… Weightless… He opened his eyes slowly, feeling a cold breeze tickle his neck. He looked out upon Hjaalmarch and Haafingar, sprawling some two hundred feet below. His legs kicked against the air he was suspended in. He looked to the east, noticing a large orb of light making its way to him. It spoke, its words warming him, but causing him to shiver all the same.

 “It is time for my splendor to return to Skyrim. But the token of my truth lies buried in the ruins of my once great temple, now tainted by a profane darkness skittering within.”

Gaeolin found his voice, addressing the entity. “Who are you?”

He sensed scorn, though amused scorn. “I am so unheard of as to be forgotten? I am Meridia, the Lady of Energies, the Glister Witch. Patron to Umaril the Unfeathered, Mistress of the Colored Rooms.”

He felt his heart shudder in fear. “You’re a Deadric Prince?”

“Yes,” her tone was one of superiority, “and I have called on you, mortal to cleanse my temple. The Necromancer, Malkoran, defiles my shrine with his vile corruptions, trapping lost souls left in the wake of this war to do his bidding.” She spat these words, fury radiating from her. “Worse still, he uses the power stored within my own token to fuel his foul deeds. I have brought you here to be my champion. You will enter my temple, retrieve my artifact, and destroy the defiler.”

“Do I have a choice?” Gaeolin asked, regretting his choice of tone. But the daedra seemed unaffected by it.

“You may pass up greatness if you choose. A single candle can banish the darkness of the entire void. If not you, then someone else. My beacon is sure to attract a worthy soul. But if you are wise, you will heed my bidding.” From the light appeared the figure of a woman, though her features were drowned by the halo about her. “It has been long since my token was used in your realm. The Planemeld was two ages and some years ago in your time. Heroes called on my blade to destroy Molag Bal’s Anchors and their guardians. I was revered then, though loathed by the Prince of Domination and his ilk.” She held up her hands, an image of a sword glimmering before his eyes. “Mortals call it Dawnbreaker, for it was forged in a holy light that breaks upon my foes, burning away corruption and false life. You will enter my shrine, destroy Malkoran, and retrieve this mighty blade.” She lowered her arms, the vision fading. “Go now. Malkoran has forced the doors shut, but this is MY temple, and it responds to my decree! I will send down a ray of light. Guide this light through my temple, and its doors will open.”

He felt himself fall, his scream echoing as he descended. Just before the stone, he slowed, coming to rest gently on his feet. Inigo ran to him, catching him as he staggered.

“Now is not the time to try flying, my friend!”

“Duly noted…” He muttered, regaining his balance. “We need to kill a necromancer, feeling up to it?”

Inigo cringed. “I guess… I hate zombies…”

“If our employer is true to her word, it’ll be worth it. Come on, let’s check it out.” They descended the steps, wrapping around the side of the ruin. Gaeolin swung his bow to his hand, easing open the iron door. The pair gagged, eyes watering at the air within.

Death hung like a mist. The smell of rotting corpses overpowering everything else. One body lay just before them. It ‘used’ to be an Imperial Legionnaire. His chest was a hole with black, putrid slime caked onto his cuirass. His face was only half decomposed, eyes gone, his flesh still slightly resembled what one might see a vulture indulge in. Gaeolin noticed a coin purse on his hip, still full of septims.

“If it’s all the same,” he began, “let’s just leave their gold with them…” He felt sick. 

“Agreed.” Inigo croaked, trying desperately not to look at the corpse. Gaeolin took the lead. The pair came upon a vast room, a great hole in the ceiling letting the daylight shine into the murk. A concentrated beam refracted from a prism high on the wall. It bummed with magic, burning away at the malicious fog in the ruins near it. It cut through the dark, stopping only when broken by a pedestal in the center of the chamber. Having drawn his bow halfway, Gaeolin relaxed, lowering the weapon to inspect the plinth. 

The stand had a hole in the center.  Another gem, not unlike the beacon that had brought them here, rested just beyond the influence of the beam. Gaeolin leaned his bow against the pedestal, raising a hand to test the gem.

“Don’t touch it!” Inigo whispered. “You have no idea what that will do.”

“It has to be important. It’s her temple, I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to reflect the light.”

“Do you remember what happened the last time one of us just assumed something?”

“Yeah,” Gaeolin quipped, “I had to pay Hulda because you couldn’t.”

Inigo tucked an ear back. “They were just sitting on the table… I thought they were free.” 

“Nothing at the Bannered Mare is free.  Not even Mikael’s bad advice… Sweet rolls are definitely not free.” Ignoring the mumbled protest, Gaeolin reached into the hole. His fingers found a set of carved hands holding the gem in place. He tested it, pulling up with all his might. 

The fixture gave, slowly rising out of the stand. There was a thud as something settled into the cavity left behind. The faces of the gem came alive with light, sending a beam to another like it mounted on the far wall. The doors sprung open to reveal the next portion of the temple.

The farther they went, the more bodies were strewn about. Candles flickered, casting an ominous atmosphere. Gaeolin thought to himself that there was surprisingly little resistance to their passage. Just as they entered the next chamber, the guardians of their contract made themselves known.

The first thing that gave them away were their eyes. Burning like coals through the black smoke that enveloped them, they shone from the skulls of half skeletal bodies. The shades had no legs. Instead, they glided about the room. Inigo hissed, obviously less than pleased. 

“Shades… I thought we were done with these sorts of things.”

“Not likely… Know any special tricks with these?”

“Bring a priest  of Arkay?” Inigo offered.

Gaeolin nocked an arrow, aiming for the nearest monster. It roared, turning to face them with wrath. Inigo lunged forward with a mighty cry. His ebony sword tore through the cursed mist. Gaeolin fired again,  this time causing the blackened bones to crumble. They fell into a pile of dust, a scream piercing the air. 

The sound made the pair grow still. From deep within the tomb, a loud rumble was heard. Tendrils of eerie, purple energy wound from the cracks in the floor, seeping into nearby corpses. Gaeolin abandoned his bow, feeling that a sword would be of more use.

The body of a Stormcloak soldier twitched,  causing them to turn and face it. Inigo and his friend watched in horror as the evil sorcery took effect. The man’s chest burst,  another of the shades clawing its way out of his abdomen. Blood dropped from the bones as it crawled on the floor, the droplets boiling on impact. The steam from them swirled up, filling and lifting the reanimated rib cage to hover upright. The beast cracked and creaked, pulling the hammer from its former host’s hand. 

It rushed Gaeolin, bellowing as it slashed with the spiked weapon. He dodged, jabbing into the cloud of smoke in futility. Inigo drew his off-hand blade, slashing against the skeleton with desperate speed. As they fought, two more of the abominations came to join in. Gaeolin parried the strike from one of the new swords, his voice swelling against them. “Fus ro dah!”

The shout carried the vapors from their skeletal bonds, the bones falling to the floor without the magical support. The shades tried to scuttle along on their hands, but were smashed apart by the companions blades in short order. Inigo was shaking, glancing from one corpse to the next. Gaeolin couldn’t blame him. What had just happened was unsettling. 

“I’ve never seen necromancy like that before.” The elf grabbed his bow and swung it back onto his shoulder. “Malkoran definitely doesn’t fit in with the rest of the crowd.”

Inigo made his way to stand with his friend at his back. “I keep telling myself that zombies can’t get any worse… Please, stop me next time. I think it is making them try harder.”

Onward they pressed, Inigo watching their rear as the path of light wound through the dark. A few more shades appeared but fell again to a combination of Gaeolin’s Thu’um, and Inigo’s swords. When they reached the terrace overlooking the road to Solitude, the pair were nearly spent.

“Here,” Inigo held out a waterskin, “I’m sure you need a drink by now.”

“Thank you…” Gaeolin croaked. The water soothed his throat. His chest felt weak, his head throbbed as if he hadn’t been getting air. “I think we should rest a while. It hurts to talk… “ Inigo refused the water, instead taking a swig of their bottle of Tamika 399. “Be careful with that. It’s over two hundred and thirty years old.”

“That’s the main attraction…” Inigo muttered. “Don’t say a word. If I’m going to get through this, I need some extra courage.” 

Gaeolin made no attempt to hinder his companion. “I know. These are the most unsettling undead I’ve seen.” He looked across to where the statue stood. The beacon still projected into the now dimming sky. “You know, I’ve been thinking. How did this Malkoran manage to corrupt a Daedric artifact? He would have to be immensely powerful.” 

“Not really helping my nerves, Gaeolin…”

“Anyway, I just feel like there must be something we’re missing.” He turned to face his friend. “I’m sorry I drug you into this. It’s worse than I thought it would be…”

Inigo looked at him in confusion. “You know I would never have let you come alone anyway. I may not like it, but I will always fight beside you, whatever we face.” He looked out across the vista. “Besides, if I hadn’t come along, I may never have seen a view like this…” They both stayed on the balcony for a few minutes more, taking in the sight before entering the ruins again.

At last, after three more gemstones and several more shades. The pair found themselves at a final locked door. Hundreds of candles littered the dais where the final prism awaited. Gaeolin positioned it, seeing the doors open wide. Black vapor rolled up the steps beyond like a flood. They could hear a voice shouting amid the rumble and crackle of conflicting magics.

“What?! It’s impossible! Futility, Meridia! Your blade will serve the cause. Deadra or not, you can’t undo the will of the Masters.” Gaeolin could now see Malkoran. He wore jet black robes, gold embroidery at it’s hems. Near him stood the sword, sheathed in a stone pedestal. Black clouds swirled around the blade. They fought against the beam of light, choking it out before it could touch the hilt. Gaeolin made to enter the room, accidentally kicking a bit of shattered urn. The shades that occupied the chamber turned with their master. He seemed surprised at first, but sent a wall of icy power through his minions. “So you weren’t working alone? I thought so. Kill him.”

“Fus ro dah!” Gaeolin’s voice threw corpses and bones, knocking the necromancer off his feet, bringing his guards to the floor. Two of the four crumbled to nothingness, leaving he and Inigo only two more, and the summoner to contend with. 

Inigo slashed and hacked, bringing down his charge with ease. Gaeolin severed the skull of the last shade from its spine and charged Malkoran. The mage cast frost at him, causing the elf to shiver. He swung his sword and masterfully slit the breton’s throat. Malkoran clutched at the wound, looking at his blood stained hand. Inigo and his friend watched him as he once again unnerved them. 

He laughed.

“Fools…” He spoke, blood spewing from his jugular. “To think my queen hadn’t thought I may die in the course of my work.” The blood began to steam, his skin splitting. His eyes flashed red as his skeleton ripped free of his flesh. The laughter took on a demonic croak. Flames rolled in his left hand. The Lich threw the fire at Gaeolin, only missing by a fraction of a second. Inigo rushed up the steps, eyes sealed as he swung against the monster with all his might. Gaeolin leapt onto the higher ground, spinning around in a flurry. 

Both weapons met the creature simultaneously. Malkoran screeched in alarm as his ribs gave way. Unseen by him, the ray of light that had been struggling before had finally met the sword. A wave of blue flames burst from it, burning the smoke from the air, and his bones. HIs screams made the adventurers cower. He cried out as the minerals that made up his form were rendered to dust. “No… I’ve… Failed you…”

He was gone. Throughout the hall, Meridia’s voice boomed. “It is done. The defiler is Defeated. Take Dawnbreaker from its pedestal.”

“Take it, my friend.” Inigo urged. He eyed the shining hilt covetously. “Well worth the effort in my book.”

Gaeolin sheathed his sword, walking to the side of the stand. He took the pommel in his hand, drawing the blade out slowly. Warm, brilliant rays of light shone from the golden heart of the sword. The cross guard radiated with power, making his heart rush. As they admired it, the orb flashed brighter than ever, blinding them as the walls fell away.

Gaeolin found himself once more floating above the temple. The hours had passed faster than he had thought. In the distance, he could see the sky lightening with the colors of sunrise. Meridia appeared before him, her light dazzling. “Malkoran is vanquished. Skyrim’s dead shall remain at rest. This is as it should be.” She smiled at him. “This is because of you. A new day is dawning, and you shall be its herald. Take the mighty Dawnbreaker and with it purge corruption from the dark corners of the world. Wield it in my name, so that my influence may grow.”

He considered denying her for a moment. She was, after all, a Deadra. According to history, trust wasn’t something one afforded them. But on the other hand, if her only mandate was the destruction of the undead, was it really such a bad thing to serve her? He returned her gaze. “I will wield this mighty blade in your name, Lady of Dawn.”

She faded. “May the light of certitude guide your efforts.”

He landed at the foot of the statue, Inigo waiting for him on the steps. “Shall we return to Dragonbridge and celebrate? I don’t know about you, but I need a few drinks and a warm meal after all that.”

Gaeolin nodded, inspecting the scabbard that held Dawnbreaker. “Yeah, I think that would be perfect.”  

They reached the Four Shields, boasting of their accomplishments to all who would listen. Gaeolin was listening to Inigo recounting the tale to a young woman (though taking note of the many embellishments) when a man approached him.

“Gaeolin of Woodhearth?” He asked.

“Yes, I am. Who’s asking?” He accepted a sealed note from the messenger. 

“I have a letter for you from Falk Firebeard at the Blue Palace. You have friends in high places!” He excused himself, going to the Bartender for a drink. Gaeolin broke the wax, reading the contents of the letter. Inigo wandered to him, holding a mug of ale for him. 

“What is it?” He asked, seeing his companions’ expression falter. Gaeolin looked up from the note.

“We need to leave early tomorrow. Falk Firebeard wants to see us. I think we’ll be needing to use our new sword sooner than we thought…”