Chapter 8

It was nearly night by the time the rains had stopped long enough for Noren and Inigo to feel comfortable travelling again. The pair had spent the day huddled beneath their shelter begging the weather to let up. Even the Khajiit had become more than fed up with the downpour.

“I love the rain, but I did not plan on drowning during the adventure.” He shook the canvas with all of his strength before helping his friend roll it up for storage. “I suppose we are lucky that it was not also windy.”

Noren nodded as he tied the roll onto his backpack. “It did give me plenty of time to read, but I am not happy that we lost a whole day to this. Are you sure you are okay with travelling at night though? I would understand if you wanted to wait.”

The cat gave a scoff. “I assure you, I am fine with walking at night. It is peaceful to wander at night. I love looking at the stars. We will have to do without them tonight, though. The clouds are not done tormenting us it seems.”

As if confirming his prediction, a very light sprinkling began. Noren waved his hand above them, bringing up the rain ward he had used yesterday. “As long as it doesn’t get any worse, we should be okay. Let’s get moving before it tries to soak us again.”

The mountains loomed on either side of the road like lines of ancient teeth. They were coming closer to the southern end of the Karth river, whose roaring could be heard even from this distance. Noren had wondered about travelling through Rorikstead to come at the hold from the North East, but instead here they were. He had decided that he didn’t care for this region in the slightest. It was all well and good if you liked muted greens and greys, but as for him, he preferred the more colorful areas like the Rift and Falkreath. Shor, even Whiterun seemed to have more color than these crags. He put it from his mind to focus on what he had been reading.

It was a book about destruction magic, giving instructions on how to draw magicka from the environment to bolster your attacks. It was an intriguing theory. He wondered how well he could use it, since it seemed to require a great deal of practice to implement. He checked his sword, still not used to the weight on his hip. “How long have you been training with the sword, Inigo?”

His friend looked back, a little surprised by the question. “Well, my father began teaching Fergus and I from the point we were old enough to hold the weapon. Mother taught us the bow. They were the happiest times growing up. Some might have thought it a bit strange, and even dangerous for us to be raised by a pair of retired assassins, but I do not think I would have wanted it any other way. Unfortunately, I have needed to keep those skills sharp my whole life. It is a dangerous world, my friend. There is no end of troubles, and no shortage of enemies.”

The Altmer rested his hand on the hilt. “I wish I had been trained to use a weapon. I’m not very good, even with my dagger. This sword might not end up being of much use to me. I’ve never even held one before I bought it.” Noren stopped walking. Inigo looked back when he did. He watched as his friend gave an imploring expression. “Do you think you could, maybe… train me?”

The look of joy that filled Inigo’s features made Noren wonder if he had made a horrible mistake. “Of course I will! It would be my pleasure. Do you want to stop here and begin? It would be wise to take advantage of the relative calm we are enjoying. You don’t want to be learning in a place where you might be at risk of an attack.”

There was logic to this. Noren agreed, setting his bag on the side of the road. Inigo placed his own there as well before drawing his sword. The Altmer drew his weapon as well. He held it before him shakily. Inigo shook his head before lowering his blade.

“What on earth are you doing?” He jabbed his sword into the soft earth and approached his student. “You must have a strong stance. If you let the sword wiggle around like that you’ll be killed before you can even land a blow on your enemy.”

Noren struggled with the weapon, his face going red. It was much heavier than the dagger he was used to. He concentrated, keeping the blade still. His arms soon began to cramp, and he knew without a doubt that this was not what Inigo had intended him to do. “This is so uncomfortable…”

“It certainly looks like it.” The Khajiit smirked. “Be sure you do not soil yourself from the effort. Besides, now you have the opposite problem. You are standing too rigid. You have to be able to move quickly, and with fluid motion. Here, watch me,” He took the sword, turning to face the same direction as his pupil. “You should not think of the sword as a length of metal. Imagine that it is an extension of yourself. You should know its weight and feel. Do not fear them though. Make that weight work for you.” He stepped forward, bringing the blade down in a graceful arch that came upwards at the end of the stroke. The edge stopped with only an inch remaining between itself and the shoulder of its wielder. “Know where you want to strike, let the speed come from the weight. Keep it under control, and before you know it, you will struggle no more. Also, it is a good idea to plan a few strikes ahead. It will help you anticipate when and how to shift your weight to land the strongest blows. Or alternatively, know when you should hold back to keep your blade agile. Sometimes there are only seconds in which to block.”

They spent quite a while there, the light rain streaming around them over the ward. Inigo did not try to spar with Noren. The Elf was nowhere near that level yet. Instead, the pair held their swords and went through the long practiced dance that was Inigo’s sword style. They started slow, letting Noren learn how the movements should feel. Down to the left. Up, then down to the right. Lunge forward. Step back, jabbing behind under the arm. Noren felt that he was far too clumsy for this. He scowled at the tip of his sword, angered by the fact that it would not stay as still as Inigo’s. Sweat formed on his brow and stung his eyes by the time Inigo told him to stop. “Alkosh, that shouldn’t be so hard…” He panted, slipping the sword back into its scabbard. Inigo tossed him a waterskin with a smile.

“You did very well for a beginner, my friend!” He took a sip from the water as it was returned. “My father’s form is not an easy one to learn. Do not expect to master an unfamiliar weapon in a single session.

“You make it look so easy.” Noren grumbled.

“Masters usually have that effect on their students.” Inigo laughed. He gave Noren an encouraging pat on the back. “I promise you, we will have you trained up before you know it! For now, let us move on. I fear the rain might be getting worse soon.”

Through whatever sense he had based his guess, Inigo had proven himself quite attuned. It was soon raining so hard that he, nor Noren could see more than an arms-length or two before them. Noren had his hood pulled up as tight as he could. The fabric was so close, he could only see out an opening that was no larger than an apple. Inigo was ahead of him, his ears pinned back to keep from filling them with water.

He was having difficulty keeping them on the road. his eyes might be keen, but even they could not see through the solid sheet of water that was falling all around them. He was about to turn to his friend when Noren collided with him. “We should try to find somewhere to wait this out!” The Khajiit had to shout to be heard over the tumult of the storm. “I am not too proud to say that I am lost. It isn’t safe for us to wander aimlessly here!”

Noren was not in the mood to disagree. “Maybe there is a cave nearby! Let’s look along the cliff!” He led Inigo toward the slightly darker grey area to their left. He reached out to feel for the rock face. Once he found it, he followed it with slow and cautious steps. There were small, loose stones that had crumbled from the cliffs above that threatened to roll and cause them to fall. After a handful of minutes had passed, the High Elf began to lose hope in the prospect of a cave. Just as he was about to give up, he ran into a strange cluster of brambles and stone. Inigo stopped just shy of bumping into his friend.

“What is it, Noren?”

“I’m not sure…” He squinted against the rain, trying to make out more of the obstruction. “It seems like a bunch of dead wood and stones. They’ve been piled up by someone. Maybe a marker for the road?” He reached one hand back to guide his companion, the other helping to navigate around the strange formation. As they rounded the object, his ears picked up the sounds of dripping water. Not just that of the rain. It was a deeper sound. Almost echoing as if… “It’s a cave.” He quickened his pace, removing his hood the instant they were sheltered. Inigo shook himself violently. Water went everywhere, leaving his mane standing on end in a most ridiculous looking manner.

“Thank the Gods… I could bear the wet no longer…”

Noren held out his hand. He focused on his palm as he drew upon his magicka. “Alata.” A brilliant orb of pure white light swelled in his hand. He gave it a soft push upward, causing the light to hover just above eye level. It cast the cave entrance in a bleached lighting. The moss and vines that clung to the stones were paled compared to what a torch might have revealed. Still, It was light all the same, and it did not require one of his hands. He checked his sword in the sheath. It would come free quick enough should they find anything else hiding here. “We should be careful. who knows what sort of creatures would use a cave like this.”

“Or what sort of people.” Inigo added. He readied his bow, the ebony glinting like midnight in the light of the magical orb. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

The cave continued into a long, narrow passage. Noren quickly cast muffle on himself, seeing light flickering in the path ahead that was not his magelight. He let the little orb fade to grant himself and Inigo a chance at stealth.

The light came from a series of hanging lamps, their fuel crackling quiet as they cast dim light below. On the ground stood a fellow in savage-looking garments. They were made up of roughly sewn animal skins and bones. Feathers of various birds were used as decorations throughout the armor. His helm was adorned with large antlers, and the sword at his hip was serrated. Upon a second glance, Noren realized the blade was actually made up of many sharpened teeth.

There was oil covering the floor. The warrior seemed to be unaware, as he was treading through it without a care. Noren pointed to the ropes overhead as he looked to his friend. Inigo nodded that he understood, drawing an arrow back. He released the shot with the slightest twang from the bowstring. The sound alerted the Forsworn, making him free his sword. But before he could find the source of the sound, the lamp had fallen, engulfing him in a raging fire. Inigo rose, drawing back a second shot. His arrow landed perfectly between his enemies eyes. silencing the panicked screams before they had truly begun. Noren raised a hand, sending a wave of frost across the passage. What little fuel remained was extinguished as the heat was stripped away. “I suppose we should presume he is not alone here.”

Inigo nodded. “I have never known a Forsworn to occupy a space alone before. To be honest, I am surprised they did not have more people guarding their hideout. Even common bandits know better than to have less than two people at the entrance.”

“We may just have been lucky. Perhaps the guard was changing.”

“Luck is relative. If you are correct, it means that at least one is going to be headed our way soon, if not more.”

Noren drew himself up, lighting a fire in his hand. “Then we shouldn’t wait around here, should we? If we move in now, we might catch them by surprise.”

The passage led them at a slight upward slope. Before long, it opened into a much larger chamber. The ceiling of the cavern had collapsed long ago, allowing steady streams of water to pour in due to the storm. To the north stood a Nordic tower. Another tower lay collapsed alongside it, the pair obviously having fallen into the cave when the ground above had given way. The area between the towers and Noren was littered with large stones and piles of rubble. more Forsworn dotted the clutter. They had fires built in large braziers all over. They huddled close to their fires, using tanned hides to keep much of the rain off of themselves. Seeing the opportunity to avoid a fight, Noren motioned for Inigo to follow his lead.

They sneaked along the path heading west, making their way past a large boulder where one of the Forsworn slept. Noren eyed the table he rested on, his gaze falling on a small purse with Septims peeking out of its opening. The Altmer let the flame in his hand vanish as he reached for the gold. He willed the silence of his muffle spell to extend beyond his hand, wrapping around the sack of coins to stop them from clinking together too loudly. He dared not breathe a sigh of relief as the purse settled softly into his bag. He never looked away from the sleeping man as he slunk back into the shadows. Inigo nodded his approval, taking the lead on the way toward the towers.

The pair came to a set of wooden stairs that led up to a natural stone landing. Water pooled up in the depressions of the stone, with lamp oil floating atop the liquid. There were oil lamps hanging above, but the rain had put them out. The stone formed a ramp that led up to the base of the base of the toppled tower. Noren peeked into the doorway of the tower, seeing a jumble of barrels laying inside. Long planks had been placed to create a path to a landing above. Noren and Inigo were halfway along the planks when another Forsworn appeared above them. His clothes were the same, but he had no visible weapon. Noren could feel magicka radiating from him. Reaching for his own, he slashed his hand forward to launch flames at his opponent.

The Forsworn mage quickly raised a ward against his spell, charging what looked like a frost spell in retaliation. Before he could cast it, Inigo’s arrow pierced his neck. The magician grasped at the haft of the ebony projectile as if caught in disbelief of his fate. He fell forward, landing with a thud on the stones beneath the crossing planks.

“That one fell funny…” Mused Inigo.

Noren sent an expression of mock concern. “I’m not sure one should find humor in the way someone falls in death.”

Inigo shrugged. “I cannot help but see patterns. This Forsworn did not fall down the way most people do. In fact, I am fairly certain that he was still standing a full fifteen seconds after the prior example of longest to die on my list.”

 “You have a list?”

“Nothing so formal as a written account, no. But there is no easy way to forget killing. Noren.”

The young Elf sensed that they had once again encroached on a dark subject, and that courtesy demanded that they move on to something else. “Come on. We should get moving before someone finds him.”

They soon found themselves back outside, under the now lessened rainfall. From what Inigo could see, the clouds were beginning to break above them. They stood inside the broken top of yet another Nordic tower. The wooden steps were old, but still solid enough for safe travel. Noren took the lead on the climb upward. He gripped the hilt of his sword tight. He could feel something amidst the rain that worried him. It was faint, but powerful. Old magic… Something even his teachers back on Summerset would not have known. He was so certain that he broke the muffle, in favor of readying a ward. “Inigo… Something dangerous is close.”

The Khajiit looked at him, face cool with focus. “What is it?”

The Altmer closed his eyes, reaching out with his spirit. It was ancient, unrestrained by the structures and civility of the magics he had studied so far. It felt wild. It was free… But not in a way that any but the user would deem good. “It is chaotic power. The closest thing I could even think to compare it to would be Bosmer magic. But even they have more control over their power.”

Inigo swung his bow onto his back, drawing his blade instead. At the close quarters they would be fighting it made more sense. “I’m right behind you. Be careful, my friend.”

He sneaked up the steps to find the way blocked by a strong iron gate. He looked at it closely, but found no lock or chains securing it. At first, he seemed to be at a loss. He was about to suggest turning back when he saw it. Behind a chest, almost out of sight was a rusted iron lever. He reached out, pushing against it with all his strength.

The gate swung open with only the slightest  creak. Inigo nodded, peeking through the opening. “All clear. Do you want me to take the lead?”

Noren shook his head. “Let me. I don’t want you getting your whiskers charred off by running head first into some powerful mage. I will go first.” He reset his grip on the sword before setting off. The ramp outside led up to yet another level of the tower.

Once his head cleared the doorway, he could see the source of the power he had sensed. It was a Forsworn, like the others they had seen. However, this one wore a much more ornate headdress than any other. The feathers from his cap flowed down past his waist. He wore patchwork robes, and in his right hand, held a wicked looking staff.

The rod was topped with a bleached deer skull. Beads, dried herbs, and other bones decorated the core of what must be powerful channeling wood. From the colour, Noren guessed it was juniper. This foe would be quite the challenge. Noren thought to try and sneak up on the magician and use his sword. But one look at the collapsed floor was enough to quell those ideas. He was going to warn Inigo to get his bow out when the mage turned from his ritual to face him.

“What do you think you will find here, Altmer? Our clan has nothing you would desire, and we are not a people who welcome outsiders any longer. Did you come here like all the others? With plans to steal our land from us? I will not permit that.” The shaman brought up a withered hand. The wrinkled skin glistened with the crackle of electrical power. With a thrust of his fingers, the Forsworn threw a cluster of lightning bolts at the Elf. Noren quickly dropped his sword and threw his body away from it. The shock spell followed the steel, burning the wood beneath it as the metal grew red hot. Inigo made his presence known, sending an arrow toward the shaman.

The Forsworn mage dodged the arrow, reaching up toward the now reforming clouds. More lightning sprang from the clouds to form an orb in his hand. He tossed the orb toward Noren again, who managed to stop it with a ward. The half dome flared and shattered under the spell. Noren felt the tingle of the residual shock run through his body. His hair fluttered as static made it stand on end. Remembering one of his old lessons, he brought his hands together, a bright ball of fire forming between them. “Belomolag!” The flames in his hands turned a vibrant blue, a tight, focused gout of flame leaping across the divide on a mission of immolation. The Shaman reacted quickly, waving a warding wall before him to take the brunt of the attack. Inigo was trying his best to get a clear shot. But from behind the magician, atop the bridge leading to the second tower, a Forsworn archer maintained a constant volley of arrows. He was pinned behind a set of barrels. There was no way he could help Noren from this angle.

The shaman let the flames sputter, looking at the High Elf as he leaned on his staff. His wrinkled lips curled, a wheezing coming from him that made Noren seethe. This man was laughing at him.

“So this is the might of the fabled Altmer wizards?! My grandchildren could do more harm with magic than you!” He hobbled closer to the edge on his side of the divide, “Let me show you what real power looks like, fool!” He reached behind himself toward what seemed to be a crudely made dreamcatcher. His knotted knuckles twisted in a gripping motion as he raised his staff into the air. A deep, violent purple smoke oozed from the dreamcatcher. Below it, on the table lay a large black gemstone. The purple smoke touched it, making it flash almost as bright as the sun. “Masters, I offer you the soul of Karthanach, traitor to my tribe. I ask that you bring forth a servant to defeat this worm who would challenge the claims and rights of my people!”

The soul gem flashed once more, bursting into several shards. From the epicenter of their explosion rose a cloud of midnight black smoke. It stood tall, resisting the attempts of the wind to dissipate the vapor. It stepped down, the smoke falling away to reveal a body of clay coated, rotting flesh. Where eyes should have been, rested burning coals. The dead mouth made the effort to try and snarl. Noren felt his breath catch. This was something he had never expected to see, much less fight. He felt his head starting to spin. He couldn’t focus. Things began to look more and more blurry. The dead thing did not run, but walked  deliberately slow. Inigo stood by in terror. He had never seen a zombie quite like this before. He wanted to help. He had to! He leapt over the barrels, his bow releasing several arrows. All but one made their mark. None did anything of note to the beast. Inigo made to draw his sword, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

Noren had his head down, his robes starting to flutter around his feet. A low thrum of power began to radiate from him. Inigo looked at his friend, wondering what was happening. The shaman also stood by, a look of surprise frozen on him. Even through this sudden change, the dead shambled closer to the divide. The air ahead of it took the smoke from the dreamcatcher and molded it into a path, bridging the gap. Before the creature could set foot on the bridge, Noren looked up.

His hair had gone white-gold, his eyes wide and glowing with purple light. A blinding flash of purple shone around him on the planks, dimming into a circle of runes. His features, illuminated from below, looked far more terrifying than Inigo had ever seen them. He spoke, his voice distorted and powerful.

“Falca ehlin, Admanye hilyanoris. A hecta anymmis.” He brought his hands up, bringing them together in front of his chest with a resounding clap. Thunder rumbled through the air at the same instant. The runes shone with a light that blinded all. The dead thing screamed in pain. Its body began to crumble as the pale blue light of its spirit sailed toward Noren’s bag. The dreamcatcher burst into flames, along with the Forsworn shaman who had made the spell using it. Inigo took his chance, shooting the other Forsworn while he was distracted. He looked back to Noren, who was not done casting.

The Altmer now drew a rune in midair, the white gold light at his fingertips making up the thin, spidery lines of the spell. Once the runes were complete, he lay his hand against them. Light of pure gold radiated out from him, fading away into the hills. The rain stopped, the wind fell quiet. Noren’s eyes went back to their pale blue. A sigh escaped him as he fell to the floor out of exhaustion. His face was pale when Inigo approached him. The young Elf was barely breathing.

Inigo put away his sword, grabbing Noren’s before lifting his friend with a grunt of effort. He hauled Noren up the stairs and across the bridge between the towers. The Khajiit huffed and puffed, finally reaching the top of the tower with his burden. An iron door sealed a passage that ran into some part of the ruins that had been made into the mountainside. Testing the opening, Inigo was glad to find that it was not locked. With one last, great heave, he pulled Noren and their things into the hidden bastion.

The hall was dark. It smelled d amp, with undertones of earth and age. Inigo propped Noren against the wall, taking a moment to gaze down the shrouded corridor. His eyes shone as he peered into the dark. There was nothing there. He returned his attention to Noren, unable to make his hackles lie down. He produced a large bottle from his bag. It was fine blown glass, with a brass stopper keeping in the large volume of red potion. He pulled out the stopper, gentle as he poured the potion into his friend’s mouth.

The sudden bout of coughing from the Altmer made Inigo slump forward in relief. Noren spluttered, his face gaining some of its normal colour. He looked around weakly. “Inigo… What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. I have never seen magic like that. And unless I missed something, you’ve never used anything like it until now.” He wore a face overrun with concern, “You banished the zombie, set fire to its summoner. It was as if life and death had stopped and listened to your commands.”

Noren clutched his head. His eyes hurt. His vision was cluttered with many spots of color, swimming in front of him no matter the direction in which he tried to see. “I-I don’t… remember any of it. The last thing I remember was that dead creature appearing. I though for sure it was going to be the end for us.”

Inigo still looked frightened, but tried to give a smile to his companion. “It is lucky for us that your power revealed itself when it did. I was not looking forward to becoming zombie food. Can you walk? We should try to find a better place to rest than this. The draft from the door will not help your recovery at all.”

Noren nodded, accepting the hand offered when he began standing. His knees wobbled, and were it not for Inigo’s help, he might have fallen. “I think I’m going to avoid a repeat performance, if that is alright with you.”

“Absolutely. In fact, I insist that you do not. Whatever magic that was, it almost took your life. A bit more practice and training might be in order.”

They followed the corridor for a short distance. Another Iron door blocked their way. Beforene Noren could open it, Inigo stopped him. “There is someone inside. I can hear them.”

Straining his own hearing, Noren too could hear a harsh, low voice beyond the door. Careful as he could, he pushed the iron open, walking inside with his blade ready.

The lighting was very poor. Most of the room was cloaked in shadows, save for a single beam of light that fell upon a large cage. The speaker paced back and forth inside, muttering to herself. Noren felt his heart tighten.

It was a hagraven. Her feathers were ruffled, a few falling out. No doubt, it was a side effect of her present stress. One of his steps upset a chain that had been strewn across the floor. She turned to the noise, her black eyes squinting to see.

“Who enters? Will they free poor Melka?” There was a strange, hopeful coo to her question. In spite of his fears, Noren approached her cage. “You, meat! Come, come Don’t leave poor Melka to die.”

Noren eyed her with suspicion. “What do you want, hag?” he had heard too much about the devious ways of the hagravens to feel more diplomatic.

She gave what was likely an attempt at a smile. “Pretty, pretty flesh. Let me out!”