The Hearts of the Falmer
Prologue: One of Our Own
The stone bed was slippery with her blood. Splashes and drips of it trailed all across the floor to the entrance, marking a glittering path along which she had been carried into this dim and ruinous Dwemer chamber, lit only by a profusion of glowing mushrooms growing along the far wall. She moaned softly, steadily quieting as the life slipped out of her to pool and glitter on the floor. Her eyes were shut tight, face twisted with pain, but even the strength for that was fading, each shudder less violent than the last.
There was the sound of soft but hurried footsteps, and two figures entered the room. Falmer; one young, and one much older, limping noticeably, in the dress of a shaman. They came to the side of the bed, and halted. The shaman laid his hand on the girl's brow, and she quieted at once. When he removed it, she raised her hand weakly as if to bring it back, and then let it fall back again with a moan.
"You are determined to attempt this?" the young Falmer said, in a tone that expressed doubt and exasperation in equal measure. "One so young can scarcely be considered essential. It was an accident. And you were injured yourself."
The reply was immediate, the old shaman's tone sharp and impatient.
"Have you learned nothing, Elchinor? Has all the time spent studying our history been wasted on you? When the strut broke and the wall caved in, this girl and her mother stood between me and the falling rock. They put my safety before their own. Now her mother is dead, and the girl is on the point of death, but I have a life-debt to her and that debt I must pay. Such things are not to be forgotten lightly. We are a people betrayed over and over again. Of all things, we cannot afford to break faith ourselves. If we do that, we will fall lower than the Dwemer."
As he spoke, the shaman ran his hands over the girl, exploring her injuries. He sighed and shook his head.
"A struggle to bring her back to life and health, true. Just a slave, true – yes, I know very well what you are thinking!. But loyalty goes both ways, Elchinor. Another thing never to be forgotten."
He paused briefly.
"Now to work. Watch carefully, Elchinor. In such cases, judgment is the key to success. The long, deep slash in the leg... it's going to leave quite a scar whatever we do... here is the source of the worst bleeding... an artery cut..."
The room began to glow a warmer light, as the shaman cast restoration spells, one after another, the pace at first rapid, then more deliberate. The girl's moaning stopped as she slipped from coma into a more natural sleep. In place of an agonized grimace, her face now took on a gentle smile that neither of the Falmer tending her would ever see. But the old shaman could sense the change as he ran his fingertips lightly over her in a final check, and he nodded in satisfaction.
"Bring two of the others to carry her to her quarters," he said, shaking his head with weariness and leaning against the stone bed for support. "I will be fine in a moment or two," he added, as Elchinor, sensing his difficulty, reached out to steady him. "It was not quite as bad a case as I had feared. I am not yet as feeble as you young ones sometimes like to imagine."
"And bring someone to clean up this mess as well," the shaman added, calling after Elchinor as he left. "It smells like a Dwemer torture chamber in here."