Chapter Nine

The glow of the torchlight fell over the hag as Inigo stepped forward. He eyed her through the bars, his hackles standing on end in her presence. The creature blinked at them as they inspected her cage. “Please, let me out morsels.” Melka tilted her head from one to the other. Noren stepped closer.

“What are you doing in there? How did you come to be caged, Hagraven?”

Melka spat her next words with pure hate. “Petra! Evil Petra put me here, stole my tower.” She stamped back and forth in the enclosure, her fingers Clenched tight. “Hate her! Chew her bones! Let me out, kind meat.”

“My friend and I have been attacked by your kind before, and I have my doubts about your honesty in the matter of your incarceration. Why would my friend and I release you when you might just as easily kill us the moment you are free?”

Melka turned to Noren with a wicked smile. “Because he is such a kind, kind Breton, yes!”

Noren looked mildly offended. “What? I’m no Breton.”

Her smile faltered, being replaced by a confused expression. “Oh… Yes. You all look the same.”

“And what would be in it for me if I did let you out?” Noren considered her. she did not seem overly threatening. Surely, he and Inigo were more than capable of dealing with her if she decided to turn on them.

The Hagraven pondered the question for a moment. “Ah! I have a pretty staff. Help me find Petra. Wring her neck, pluck her eyes. Take my prize staff, I just want my tower back!”

A staff! He had noticed them for sale back in Whiterun, but had nowhere near the amount either Belethor or Farengar wanted for their wares. He had heard about many wizards and mages using staves to focus their powers. Magnus himself had carried a staff. They were difficult to buy, and even harder to make ever since the fall of the Galerion Mages Guild. An intense desire for the staff filled the Altmer to his core. He retreated away from the cage, calling Inigo to follow. Once they were hidden by shadows, he began. “That staff could be a great gift on our journey. A focus, even a primitive one, would help me master my powers far more quickly. I know that Hags are not traditionally trustworthy , and understand that it could be dangerous. However, I will yield to your decision in this, Inigo. What say you? Do we release her?”

The Khajiit looked back at her. She was gnawing at some of the feathers on her arm, reminding him of all the nasty chickens the Nords let spy on them so willingly. “If you are asking me if we should trust here I would say no. However, I do agree that anything that could help you so much is worth taking a bit of a risk though.” He grimaced, pressing his head into his hand. “Forgive me, Noren. A slight headache. Anyway, if you wish to pursue this, I am with you.”

Noren nodded. “You have my thanks, Inigo.” They returned to the cage, the elf producing his lockpick and probes from the depths of his pack. “Alright, Melka. We will help you take back your tower.” The hag gave a wobbly bow. She stepped back respectfully as he worked on the lock, letting a low gurgle from her throat as he worked.

The difficulty came not from the complexity of the lock, but from the terrible state of the mechanism. Though the rust had not seized the pins completely, it was clear that it might have been easier to break it off instead. Noren might have given in to this if he were not already so close to finishing. In moments, Melka began a slow walk out of the cage.

She watched them with caution. Inigo drew more of the creature’s attention. Noren could hardly blame her for this. If he had been in her place, he would fear the Khajiit more than himself as well. He had an intimidating presence when his sword was in hand. He might have thought his friend was more dangerous with his bow. However, Inigo was hardly ever so willing to be seen when the bow was his chosen implement. Most died long before they knew they were a target. The feline let his fangs show for good measure before speaking. “Very well, you feathery feind! We are giving you the benefit of the doubt. I would strongly advise against making me regret the decision further.”

Melka gave a quick nod. “Of course, beast-man. Melka will not betray your trust. We will all three be better off if we work together, yes?”

Noren found a seat on a fallen bit of masonry. From his bag, he produced one of the five magicka potions he had bought from Arcadia. The vial was small, but with some luck he hoped to stop the headache that he’d been suffering since he had woken. The blue liquid seemed to chill him from the inside. He shivered, but began to feel more focused immediately. “Let me rest for a moment more, then we can get moving. Tell us more about Petra. Was she a member of your coven?”

“Nothing so impersonal,” the hag hissed in rage, “Petra is my sister. She betrayed poor Melka and stole my tower. Why I asked? Could not we sisters share the lovely tower as good nestmates? No! Foul Petra wants all for herself.”

“What is so special about the tower?” Inigo asked, looking around at the state of the room. “Couldn’t you find somewhere better for yourself? Maybe your sister is giving you the opportunity to find a new home.”

As Noren watched her, he felt a stirring of sympathy in his chest. Melka’s face looked genuinely pitiful. “Isn’t home worth fighting for? Would you not give anything to protect yours, or return to it if it was already taken? These walls have been my place of comfort for years beyond description, morsel. I cannot imagine having to leave them for promises with no proof of improvement.”

Noren stowed the bottle away before standing. “Then we should begin our task. Lead the way, Melka.”

The hagraven led them toward the Southwestern side of the room, through a door into a damp, darkened corridor. Noren summoned his magical light again, bathing the passage in the bleached white light. As he followed Melka, he noted how ill kopt the tower really was. Pieces of broken urns and pottery covered the floor. The scraping of the clay shards echoed off of the stone in a way that made the skin crawl. There was an ancient stone table, long ago Overturned and broken a little over 10 feet along the hall. The three of them came upon a bend to the Northwest. The moisture in the ruins had encouraged a cluster of Whitecaps to begin growing. The Altmer stifled the urge to harvest the fungi as he followed his newfound client up the set of stairs.

The landing above was lit by a pair of torches. An iron portcullis blocked their way forward, a set of three pull switches standing before it. Melka gave a smirk. “Foolish Petra. These silly measures won’t stop you while I am here,” She gestured with a crooked finger to the center switch. “Press only the middle button. Clever trick, yes? No one ever thinks of the middle.”

Noren inspected the walls, seeing a large number of iron pipes lining the corners of the room. He had read bardic accounts of the traps the ancient Nords had placed in their tombs. Spikes, blades, and darts with poisons that only grew in threat with the passing of time. The chances of being killed by such things did not hold any appeal. However, if he ignored Melka’s advice, he may end up meeting just the same fate. With hesitation, he reached out, pulling the center handle upwards.

The gate opened with a long, shrill screech of metal on metal. The noise echoed off the stone so loudly that both Noren and Inigo Covered their ears in agony. If Melka had been bothered, she did not show it. “Come, nibbles! My wretched sister will not have missed such a racket. She will likely send some of her flesh servants to stop us. They are wicked men. Melka admits to being jealous.”

The corridor turned to the Northeast now, leading the three of them to a modest room. As they entered, they were faced by a forsworn caster. He brought his hand up with a rush of flames. Noren caught them with a ward, his eyes fierce as he tossed the fire aside. He drew his sword, crossing the distance in the blink of an eye. He thrust at his foe, who dodged to the left. But Noren was ready, his hand full of white hot flames. He gripped the caster by the throat. The fire licked at the man’s skin, catching his armor on fire. He screamed, his cry cut off as Noren finished him off with a quick upward stab.

“You fight well, meat.” Melka gave a nod of approval. “Come. This way.” She opened a gate leading out of the room. They began to make their way across a caged walkway. Melka stopped them, barely preventing Inigo from losing his nose to a set of swinging blades. Noren thought he heard his companion utter a quick prayer under his breath as the hag waddled away.

“There is a trick to this,” she rasped, “The trick is… To not bleed to death!” She gave a wicked laugh. Inigo grumbled, indicating his lack of amusement. “Also, there is a lever.” She pulled a chain, causing a hidden door to open at their feet. Inside the hole was a large, silvered control. She changed its position, causing the blades to stop.

They continued, still not encountering any resistance beyond what they already had. Noren began to feel more uneasy. This was going just a little too well. Melka led them up another flight of stairs, through a small room, another hidden door, and finally to a larger chamber. Here she stopped, looking oddly like a tired old woman who had walked too far without rest.

“Ah… My parlor. We shall rest her for a moment.” She lowered herself on a low wall. “So many memories here. No finer place to boil eyes, no?” Noren noticed both an alchemy lab and a cooking pot. Mentally, he wondered with which apparatus she meant. In the raised section behind her, Melka had a small, but fully serviceable garden of alchemical herbs.

“I’m surprised that you have so much alchemy equipment here. Do you brew many potions?”

She nodded. “There is much power hidden in root and leaf, young meat. I have boiled much in my time, and still Melka knows only a small fraction of the essences. So many combinations… Flowers and bone, flesh and eyes… I fear there is no time to learn them all. Does the kind Breton also practice the boiling arts?”

Ignoring the second time he was mislabeled, Noren nodded. “It was the only type of magic I learned quickly. I still practice on occasion.”

Inigo leaned against the wall as he inspected his bowstring. “It is still more magic than I have ever mastered, my friend. I fear I am only skilled enough to cause myself harm. It is good that you plan on handling that side of things for us.”

They all three stopped at the sound of footsteps coming from the hallway near the lab station. From the sound of it, there were two men approaching. Noren held his sword at the ready. Inigo observed his stance, nodding at the slight improvement of the position. His friend seemed to be getting more comfortable with the weapon’s weight. Melka raised her clawed hands, sending a faint golden light to settle onto their bodies. The men felt their strength grow slightly. With a nod of thanks, Noren pushed his way past the door.

Two more Forsworn waited for them down the corridor. Noren, remembering his short lesson from earlier, quickly began the form that Inigo had demonstrated. He did not land his first blow, but did manage to throw the foe off balance. In that brief moment of adjustment, he brought the blade back down to slash the Breton’s throat. He fell to the floor, his hand on the wound as Noren brought his fire to bear on the other opponent. Inigo had already littered him with three well placed shots, the arrows lighting along with the dried fur of the tribesman’s armor. Noren plunged his sword into the man’s heart to finish him. He turned to do the same to his previous victim, only to find that Melka had already dispatched him. She held a cruel looking dagger, the tip dripping in fresh blood. He was forced to look away as she tasted the fluid thoughtfully.

“Bah! This blood would serve no one. Too much vile poison in it to use for boiling. Come, we are near the main chamber. Petra must be there!”

They approached a pair of large double doors. Their wood was old, but showed no signs of decay in contrast to the ruins they had explored already. They were not locked. Noren sheathed his sword, feeling that this fight would need him to defend against magic, more so than blades. He looked to Inigo, who nodded that he was ready. After a silent count, the men pushed the doors open.

Petra waited for them on a balcony above them. She was flanked by a pair of Forsworn archers, who began raining arrows upon them the second they entered the room. Noren and Inigo leapt for cover. Noren summoned his flames, wrapping his hand around the fire to form a large orb of intense heat. He tossed this at the nearest archer, pleased to hear that it had the desired effect. Inigo Drew back his arrow, loosing it to land between the other marksman’s eyes with a sick sound that echoed down to them.

The Hagravens paid no mind to these actions. Both were locked in a fierce duel of magic. Petra swung her claws, the misshapen hands wreathed in flames. Melka fought back with frost, the cold of her spells making the two adventurers shiver. Noren did not wait to see the outcome of the match. He took steps toward the fight with his own flames torrenting toward Petra. She turned with a snarl, swatting the flames aside as if they were nothing. The distraction had allowed Melka the opportunity to strike. She conjured a spear of ice, plunging it into her sister’s heart with an expression of utter loathing.

“You should never have underestimated me, dear sister. Traitorous grouse…” She twisted the weapon watching Petra crumple into a defeated heap. When the body moved no more, Melka spat on the corpse. Inigo pulled at the now charred arrow that stuck out of one of the Forsworn. Admitting that the projectile was ruined, he swung the bow onto his back. “I have to face the fact that I will never know what I am getting into while travelling with you, Noren.”

The Altmer gave a small grin of amusement. “So, Melka. May I ask you for the staff now?”

She gave him a smile that caused a shudder of unease. “Yes, yes. Follow Melka, morsel. Her staff is now yours.” She hobbled up the stairs, producing the weapon from a place near an old chest. It was almost as long as he was tall. The wood was old, the type impossible to determine without more time to examine it. Near the head of the staff was a rough wrapping of leather and feathers. Bits of carved bone protruded as his eyes travelled upwards, culminating in a crown of what looked like two halves of some animal’s jawbone. A minute ruby was hastily fitted in the cleft between the jaws. It looked wicked, crude…

Any doubts he had, however, were stemmed when he took hold of it. He could feel a rush of power that shocked him. The brush of warmth against his fingers told him that it was likely going to work well with his flame spells. He tested the channeling ability, making an orb of flames appear at the tip of the staff. Melka watched the fire with a nod of approval. Noren extinguished the flame as he gave her a shallow bow. “Thank you, Melka.”

The hag returned the gesture. “Kill something pretty with it. You may help yourselves to anything else Petra may have hoarded here. I will begin my own tidying. Must get her feathers out of my roost, yes.”

She shambled off, muttering to herself. Inigo watched her go, keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword. “This has been a strange adventure, my friend. However, I am not ashamed to tell you that I will not feel comfortable until we are far from this creature and her lair.”

The Altmer leaned the staff against the wall as he stooped down to search the chest. “I know. Give me just a moment, and we will go. I just want to be sure we don’t leave anything useful behind.” The chest was filled to the point of bursting. The upper layers were mostly old, faded scrolls that could no longer be read. The deeper he searched, the more intrigued he became. There were three books. Each of them seemed important, though the last he pulled out caught his attention right away. It was ‘The City of Stone’. And if his suspicions were correct, the very copy that Farengar had sent them to retrieve. Opening the tome to the first page, the owner’s name confirmed his realization. He carefully wrapped the book in a bit of leather before storing it in his bag. After placing the other books; ‘Mystery of Talara, Part 4′, and ‘2920, Rain’s Hand, volume 4’ into the bag, he picked up his new staff with a new energy. “Alright, Inigo! Let’s get out of here. I don’t know about you, but I am ready to find somewhere with a good meal and some dry beds.” Following the smell of fresher air, he opened a door to their right, following the tell tale drifts of snow to the exit into the mountains.