Chapter Twenty Two

The Winking Skeever was fairly calm when they arrived. Sorex swept while Inigo once again tried to interrogate Gaeolin about Falk’s letter. This had been the topic since they had left Dragon Bridge that morning. Despite a recurring pattern of ‘I don’t know’ and ‘we’ll find out later’, the Khajiit pressed on. 

“I don’t see how this concerns us anymore. We already cleared out the cave, and if there were anything else to say on the matter why wouldn’t he put it in the letter?”

“How many versions of I don’t know do you need to hear?” Gaeolin pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “He said it was urgent. That’s enough for me. I’m sure we’ll find out once we see him.” He accepted the tankard from the barkeeper. There was a time that he could say he only drank socially… That time was before he’d met Inigo. 

The streets of Solitude we’re quite busy compared to the Tavern. The marketplace buzzed with activity, children running through the streets playing tag weaving their way through the shoppers. The sound of a blacksmith’s hammer rang down from a terrace above. Certainly, whatever was concerning the Steward was not yet common knowledge.

When they entered the Blue Palace, Falk sat waiting near the top of the steps. He seemed surprised to see them, abandoning his uneaten bread to greet them. “The courier must have found you. I should have paid him double for the quick delivery.”

“We were in the neighborhood.” Gaeolin responded. “Your message seemed urgent. You mentioned Wolf Skull cave?”

“Yes, old friend.” He looked about the room. “I’m afraid it’s not good news. When you broke up the binding, Potema escaped. We’ve encountered some of her minions. You must go to Styrr, our priest of Arkay.”

“Great…” Inigo muttered. “More undead to deal with.”

“I know we’re asking a lot of you. You’ve already done us a service by disrupting the binding. But please, go to him, and see what we need to do next.”

Gaeolin nodded. “We will go to him at once.”

The courtyard of the palace wore long shadows, a chill wind blowing down from the west. The air bombarded them, the stone buildings w\and walls funneling the blast. The elf shivered, drawing his cloak about himself. Inigo eyed the Bard’s College for a moment, grinning as he spoke. “It reminds me a little of Cyrodiil here, a thin veneer of civility barely masking the dirty doings beneath. It is nice looking though.”

“Agreed,” Gaeolin chattered, “especially in that court. I swear, the wizard there hates everyone. She seems like she’s constantly ready to strike out at us.”

“I don’t know, she may only be doing her duty. I’m sure Elisif has her share of enemies, not the least of which are Stormcloak sympathisers out for her head. Her mage is there to weed out deception and protect her queen. I feel like that job would make anyone have a poor opinion of visitors.” 

The pair turned off of the high road. The hall of the dead stood just east of Castle Dour’s walls. Nightshade clung around its foundation, the smell making Inigo sneeze. He grabbed a rag from his pack, trying desperately to salvage his dignity before they met the priest. Inside, the hall seemed just as morbid as they had expected. Skulls of many types hung from the walls. On a pillar just ahead, there were even three human skulls on display. Gaeolin felt put off at the gruesome scene. Styrr appeared from a door across the room. His robes drug at his feet, a yellow cowl nearly hiding his face.

“You must be the one Falk spoke so highly of. Welcome! What can I do for you?” He eagerly shook Gaeolin’s hand. The bosmer actually had to brace himself, as the old man had quite a bit more strength than his appearance gave away. He smelled of herbs, and what Gaeolin could only guess was some sort of preservative used for embalming. 

“Falk sent us to ask you about Potema.” Inigo made his voice heard. He still seemed a bit unnerved.

Styrr nodded. “Ah, Potema. Former queen of Solitude and one of the most dangerous necromancers in recorded history.” He warmed himself by the fire. “She was responsible for the Empire’s near collapse almost five hundred years ago. I believe I have a book about her.”

“Yes, but what does it mean now?” Gaeolin asked. “What is she doing? Where is she?”

“Summoned in spirit form is not raised from the dead. She’ll need help before she can return to the living. For the moment, the wolf queen has retreated to a place filled with dead eager to serve her. She has gone to her old catacombs.” Inigo gulped down his rising fear. “A few days ago, one of her servants busted through a wall into the Temple of Divines. What we need you to do, is go into the catacombs themselves.”

“Aren’t you more equipped to deal with the undead than we are? You are a priest of Arkay.” Gaeolin suggested. Years of study in restoration magic should mean something when battling the dead.

“I’m old, child. A priest I am, but the power against us here is too great for someone with a beard so long. Potema is as close to a master of death as has been seen in nearly two centuries, second only to Manimarco himself.”

“So what are we to do then? I for one, only know a little about restoration. I can mend small wounds, but nothing major.” Gaeolin was beginning to wish he’d spent more time learning the healing arts. It would have saved them a lot on potions over the past few months. 

“The catacombs will need to be cleansed of her minions. As to Potema herself, find what is left of her body, likely a skeleton. Remove it from the catacombs and bring it back to be sanctified by Arkay. Here,” he handed Gaeolin a dusty tome, “perhaps this will aid you with her minions. Restoration is all about heart. Ones purity determines its effectiveness just as much as ones learning. And I find that great need can be a wonderful amplifier of potency.”

Gaeolin dusted off the cover. The healer’s eagle was embossed in the leather, wings spread in flight. The pages hummed with power. He placed it in his bag to read later. “Thank you. What more do I need to know about Potema? Anything that will give us an edge?”

“Unfortunately no. A curious figure. Unrepentantly evil and nasty of course, but also astonishingly brilliant, and obviously quite a necromancer at her end. Always sought the Imperial throne. Ironically, if she were alive today, she would be the only living member of the Septim bloodline. By all rights, she would now be Empress.”

“At least there’s something we can be grateful for…” Inigo murmured. 

“Thank you, Styrr.” Gaeolin bowed to the man. “We’ll return when we’ve got the remains.” They made their way out, climbing up toward the Temple in silence. The first stars began to shine through the curtain of dusk. A raggedy man mumbled to himself as they passed. Inigo could have sworn he’d heard something about a hip bone. The temple was dimly lit, a priest and priestess going about their rounds as they entered. Gaeolin sat in one of the pews, opening the spell book as Inigo sat a way off. His head was bowed, his ears back and eyes shut. 

Gaeolin, despite trying to focus on the book, couldn’t help but hear his friend’s prayer drift across the aisle. “Gods forgive me for what I have done. Give me the strength to repay my debts in this life.” The words caused him to look up from his reading. Inigo held his pose, not looking up, nor cracking an eye. It made his heart pang in guilt. All this time… After all they had been through…

Did Inigo still feel unforgiven?

He’d been so concerned over all that was going on. Alduin, the loss of Algafa and Svega, training with the Greybeards. He hadn’t ever stopped to question how Inigo felt through it all. Had he forgiven him? In his heart, Gaeolin knew he could never hold the past against his friend. Inigo had saved him time and time again. They had laughed, sang, wept together over so much since they had been reunited in Riften. So long had it been, he could barely feel the scar on his back.

But still… Maybe it was harder for Inigo to forgive himself. Hell, until recently, he thought Gaeolin was dead. Then suddenly, the dead man was walking, standing outside the cell door with dirt on his face, and a sword in his hand. If their roles had been reversed, Gaeolin would have thought death had come for him too. Standing, the elf made his way to him.

“Inigo.”

He looked up from his meditation. “Yes, my friend?” He smiled, fangs peeking out from under his whiskery lips. Gaeolin questioned, but then saw in his companion’s eyes that the hurt was still there.

“When you’re ready to go, I am. And when we get back, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

The Khajiit looked puzzled. “Okay? Come on legs, we are on the move again.” He stood, picking up his bow. “Why not talk now? I enjoy conversation.”

“No,” Gaeolin cut off the thought, “it deserves more time. But before we go…” He took hold of Dawnbreaker, feeling the gold leafing in the scabbard. “I want you to use this. After all I’ve put you through, I can’t think of a more deserving wielder.”

Inigo was stiff as the sword fell into his hands. He looked at it with his mouth hanging. He drew the blade free by an inch, it’s magical light shimmering out from the exposed gold. “Gaeolin, I… I can’t.”

“Sure you can. My sword has silver forged into it. It’s more than enough for me. You deserve it.”

Inigo was speechless. He looked to his friend, his jaw trembling. “But…”

“No. Take it.” Gaeolin pushed the sword against his chest. He watched as his friend nodded, not having the words to thank him. The look of joy on his face as he belted the blade around his waist was better than he could ever have imagined. Down some stairs, and through a locked gate they walked. A hole stood in the wall at the end of a corridor. Cobwebs choked the hall, the now freed bricks and bits of mortar littering the floor. Gaeolin drew his sword, readying himself for the dark. 

The stone was wet. Moss hung from the ceiling. The smell of rot and neglect battered their senses. No one had set foot here for a long, long time. He led the way, watching the partially caved in areas for shifting debris. He saw a faint glow ahead. It came from a stone carving in the wall. The archway next to it was barred, blocking progress.

Inigo was about to comment, when they heard a voice echo from the halls. “You’ve arrived at last. The hero who prevented me from being bound returns to my fold.” Potema’s laugh chilled the bone. It was soft, gentle, deadly… “I have much to thank you for little one. Despite killing Malkoran, I still owe you a great deal. What better reward than to raise you as my champion? With Dawnbreaker in hand, you shall serve me soon enough.”

Gaeolin felt the pull of magic at his heart. It was as if a part of him were being ripped from his body. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest as the bars slid into the floor. Inigo ran to him, grabbing his shoulder to pull him up. 

“Gaeolin, are you alright?”

“I think so…” He rubbed his heart, which was now racing at an alarming pace. “She… She’s trying to soul trap me…”

Inigo gripped the holy sword tighter. “She’ll have to do better than that to get you, my friend.” Gaeolin put his sword away, choosing his bow for the time being. After that he felt oddly weak. They snuck forward through the halls. The elf spotted a draugr in it’s alcove, dispatching the beast before it awoke. There were boxes and chests scattered all about, making them wonder if this area were always catacombs, or once an elaborate estate long forgotten. 

“Look around for some scrolls or potions, anything that might help us farther in.” Gaeolin ordered. “I’ll check the next room.” Inigo seemed opposed to the idea of splitting up, but obeyed, cracking open a case nearby. Gaeolin swung his bow onto his back, carefully making his way into the next area. Nothing seemed to be moving. He was about to the stairs when something caught his attention.

The sound of feet stepping lightly up the wooden stairs ahead. He would have drawn his sword, but something held him back. His mind felt foggy, his balance going slightly off. It felt strangely warm to him. His vision blurred, though he could still see enough to make out the woman walking toward him. 

“What is this? A man…” She walked closer, a strange mist rolling across the floor. It’s been so long since I’ve had the pleasure of masculine company.” She reached out to him. Her fingers touched his neck, icy cold against his skin. Gaeolin felt his head spinning, His heart was racing. He could barely breathe as she closed in to kiss his neck. As her lips drew near, fangs grew from her jaws.

“Gaeolin!” Inigo fired an arrow, grazing her cheek with an ebony tip. She screeched, her upper teeth scratched Gaeolin, causing him to bleed. He snapped out of his haze, readying his blade. The vampire hissed as she cast shards of ice toward them. A draugr ran up to assist her. Gaeolin swung around, cleaving the creature’s leg. It toppled over the banister to the floor below, landing with a sickening crunch. Inigo rushed at the vampire, swinging swords wildly. She began to drain his life, making him more and more sluggish as the seconds passed. While she was distracted, Gaeolin lunged forward, sinking his blade into her heart. She gasped, her ancient flesh crumbling to dust before them. Inigo sheathed his weapons. “You are injured…”

Gaeolin felt his blood running down his neck. He held his hand near the cut, channeling a spell. The light bloomed from his palm, knitting his skin back together. “She must have been down here for a while. She had me like clay in her hands.”

“Blood starved vampires are like that, I’m afraid.” Inigo retrieved a potion out of his pack. “Drink this. We don’t need to take any chances.”

Gaeolin unstopped the potion, drinking it without hesitation. It stung at his throat, making him cough as it passed. “Ugh… Right then, shall we continue?” 

“Yes, let us go.” Inigo smirked. “But try to keep your attractions confined to the living from now on. I don’t want you falling for a cold hearted, undead bloodsucker.” 

The farther they ventured into the catacombs, the more unsettled Gaeolin began to feel. The air grew stale, the minions fighting them with more and more ferocity as they went. They were descending a set of steps when Potema again spoke to them. “Malkoran was weak. Meridia’s token should have been utterly corrupted. The power I could have gained through its exploitation… No matter. Once you are under my will, its power will still be mine.” 

In the darkest part of the tunnel so far help a blocked archway. A lever stood on a platform in the middle of the corridor. Gaeolin put a foot on the stand, looking around the hall. “Do you see any traps?”

“No,” Inigo replied, “but we should double check before we try that.” He inspected the walls for spikes. Gaeolin once again searched the dark ceiling for hanging logs or roof mounted morning stars. Their search turned up nothing. With a preparatory breath, Gaeolin pushed the lever to the left. The stone blocking the doorway began to rotate. After a few moments, a portcullis came into view opening as the cutout aligned with the doorway. Quickly, they locked the switch in place. 

As they moved on, the ancient nordic themes started growing more prominent. Gaeolin could feel his apprehension starting to swell. Inigo saw his face, stopping him. 

“Are you okay?”

Gaeolin stared down the hall, almost whispering. “I’m not sure. I feel… a sense of dread. Something seems wrong about this place.” He caught his friend’s expression. “More than usual, I mean.” He clutched his chest. “The closer we get, the more I feel her grasp on me.” 

Inigo watched, more upset by the confession than he let on. “Then we should hurry and destroy her.” He took the lead, holding dawnbreaker ahead of them as they entered a large chamber. A draugr sat upon a throne. As Gaeolin approached, another vampire emerged from behind a pillar. 

“You’ve come far, mortals. No doubt you seek to enter Potema’s Sanctum. Just as well, we will need all the corpses we can get for the queen’s army.” He lashed out, trying to drain their lives. Gaeolin slashed, his sword ringing off of his opponent’s armor. Inigo cast aside his steel sword, drawing Dawnbreaker. The light scorched the vampire. It cowered away in agony. Gaeolin rushed him while he was weakened. The silver edge sliced his neck, crumbling him in seconds. Amid the pile of ash sat a key. The elf took it in hand approaching the door. 

The lock clicked open, allowing the door to creak open. They killed another vampire and her undead minion without much effort. At last, they came to another portcullis. This one stopped them in a circular room. It’s floor was covered in bodies, both ancient and new. Another effigy of Potema was carved here. A purple energy flowed from it, wrapping around Gaeolin, causing him to gasp in pain. “Not much further. Come, little thing. Serve me in death.”

As he was still collapsed on the bodies, four of them began to stand. Potema’s puppets turned on them like feral dogs. Inigo struck at the nearest zombie, Dawnbreaker meeting it’s long dead flesh. The light in the hilt flashed, a wave of blue flames cascading outward in a circle of holy light. The monsters screamed in terror as their lives were ripped from them. They crumpled, rejoining their dead comrades. Gaeolin shuddered as he stood. From within, he drew on his last reserves. 

Suddenly, a fiery rage filled him from head to toe. His face felt hot, and he could feel the urge to fight flood him. The words of power he had learned bolstered him, bringing a new strength he hadn’t expected. “Come on, let’s end this.” He rushed to the last door, ripping the door open. The sight that met him tempered his newfound spirit. 

A bright, mystical blue light filled the chamber. Many coffins lined the two levels that stood before him. His mouth fell open as he caught sight of his opponent. A large mass of energy swirled above, it vaguely had the form of a human, constantly shifting and pulsing with power. It was her, the remnants of the Wolf Queen. “You’ve come far, mortal, but can you stand against my inner council? Let’s see!”

Lids burst from the coffins, draugr growling menacingly at them. A ray of lighting skittered around the room, hitting both Inigo and Gaeolin. They gritted their teeth, taking to their attackers with fury. Inigo covered him from the second level, taking out several draugr within a few moments with ebony arrows. Gaeolin spun, taking the feet out from under them. He stabbed the chest of an overlord while he was down. He lobbed off another beast’s arm with a graceful slash. Just as the last enemy fell, the light flared above them. ”Don’t applaud yourself too soon, worm!” Potema sent down more magical tendrils. They soaked into the dry husks of the dead. They rose once more, joined by even more draugr that emerged from the sarcophagi. Her voice boomed against the walls. “Rip the eyes from his head!”

The fight took a terrible turn. Inigo dropped his bow, swinging dawnbreaker free of her sheath. The golden light dazzled the nearby minions, but didn’t break their will entirely. Inigo dashed around the room, golden light burning the dusty bones and flesh. Gaeolin fought like one possessed. His blade glinted the blue light back across the room. He slit the throat of an undead in front of him, bringing the swing around to stab beneath his arm. The draugr fell back, collapsing with a grumble. A final coffin burst open at the end of the room. The largest draugr either of them had ever seen emerged. It held a claymore of midnight black ebony, a great horned helmet on it’s brow. 

Inigo and Gaeolin rejoined, taking up a stance together. The beast roared their way. Gaeolin shouted with all his voice. “Yol!” Flames rippled along the trench created by the coffins. The force knocked the claymore and helmet free, setting their owner on fire. It cast frosty magic at Gaeolin with a guttural cry. The elf summoned power, his hand radiating with holy light. His hair furled as the energy coursed upward along his frame. He released, a field of light shone from him. The demon screamed as the rays tore at his wrappings. 

Slowly, the bones started to burn away. The armor fell down the skeleton and created a billow of dust as it hit the floor. With its death, the magical power in the room snapped back to Potema’s floating mass of energy. She flew about the room, light coalescing into a more compact form. She burst through the door ahead. Gaeolin made to follow her, but stopped as Inigo fell to his knee. “Inigo!” He sheathed his weapon, throwing his hands toward the Khajiit. Magic hummed on his fingers.He cast the power from his hands, it wrapped around Inigo, taking the blood from his clothes, knitting the muscles that had been gashed by the dead warriors weapons.  

Inigo grinned at him, coaxing a smile in return as the magic faded. “Thank you, my friend.” He picked up Dawnbreaker, his touch making the light flutter brighter. “Are you okay?”

Gaeolin nodded. “Just the queen left. Come on.”

In the next room, Potema’s spirit formed into an imitation of her body. She let out a monstrous roar, swinging a lightning clad blade at them. They dodged, bringing their swords down together. Her form buckled beneath the silver and gold of the weapons. With a final gasp, she burst into a cloud of glowing mist. All that remained was a skull, still wearing her crown from years passed. Gaeolin picked it up, tucking it away in his bag. 

They exited on the mountainside, snow falling lightly upon them. Gaeolin turned, his face blank in the wake of the battle. “Inigo…”

His friend looked to him. “What is it?”

“I was going to tell you when we got back to town but, after the fight…” He looked away from him. “I haven’t been as good a friend as you claim. To totally miss how you’ve been suffering… I forgive you. I forgave you long ago. From the moment you saved me in Ivarstead, and when you carried me to Falkreath, taking me to the healer. How could you think that I would still distrust you? You… If anything, I owe you.”

Inigo tucked his ears back. “It is nice of you to say that. But, while you may have forgiven me, I still need to forgive myself.” He tied a rope to a rock nearby, tossing it down the drop off. “For now, let us just continue as we have.” 

Solitude was empty, then light from the windows reflecting off of the pavement. As they passed under the arch, Gaeolin hear the cry of a hawk echo along the mountainside. They entered the hall of the dead, finding Styrr waiting. “You’ve returned.”

“I have Potema’s remains.” He held out the skull. The priest took it, muttering some enchantments over it before setting it before the shrine he had set up nearby. 

“Excellent! These things do have a way of working out when people take action. I’ll sanctify the remains.” He bowed to them. “In case Falk doesn’t make it clear. Solitude owes you a debt of gratitude.” He left them, going to pray over the skull. 

At the palace, Falk waited by the throne once again. When they told him of Potema’s demise, the man looked utterly relieved. “You’ve done a great thing today. It doesn’t matter who you support in the war. Potema would have been a blight on the land for both sides.”

“We were happy to help.” Inigo said. 

“Without the two of you, this would have been a disaster. I should have paid more heed to Varnius’ warnings. I won’t make that mistake again. Take this payment.” He pulled forth two large bags of gold. “And this as well, for whichever of you wishes to wield it.” It was a shield, painted red with the Wolf of Haafingar on it’s face. “The Jarl would thank you, but she very much wants to keep Potema’s return quiet. Make no mistake, we consider you both protectors of Solitude.”