Thank you to those of you who read, and especially to Amondra and Razzika for leaving me some very encouraging reviews! I'm very glad you liked it.
Chapter Two
Morning found Islanzadí sore and irritated, but she rose from her warm bed nonetheless and lit the lantern next to her on the end table. The sun had yet to rise, but Dustman's Cairn was going to be a trying trek at best and the elf knew that the sooner she left with her shield-brother, the better. She rummaged around in her chest for a few moments, pulling out her travel-worn elven armor and a scruffy blouse. She slipped it on underneath the protective plating and strapped her two daggers at her hips. She contemplated her bow for a few moments, turning it over in her hands, but decided it would only weigh her down. Besides, if they had need for any long-range attacks, she could use her destruction magic.
Three firm knocks on her door caught her attention, and she quietly murmured, "Come in," as she slipped on her boots and her magicka circlet. The door creaked open and in walked Farkas, clad in his usual steel armor and his massive greatsword slung across his back as usual. He eyed her for a moment, taking in her weapons. "I would bring a shield, if I were you," he advised. "These places are usually crawling with undead. You know, draugr and the like."
Islanzadí ignored him. "Come," she said instead, brushing past the hulking Nord. "We best be off. I'm going to assume you know how to ride a horse, yes?" She chuckled at his grimace, although not entirely surprised. She was astounded at the lack of horses here; in her homeland, Valenwood, there were many of the creatures and even more of the wild Igma beasts. Here, in Skyrim, the most horses she had seen at a stable at one time were two.
"I know how," Farkas protested indignantly. "I just…don't really like to. It's hard to walk after you get off." He followed her out of her room and up to the dining hall. Jorrvaskr was empty at this time of the morn, the usual occupants either asleep or, if part of The Circle, out running and hunting, with the exception of Vilkas, Kodlak and himself. So basically, just Aela and Skjor.
"I would think you would be tougher than that, old blood," the Bosmer teased as they slipped out of the building into the quiet streets of Whiterun. "We could always walk, I suppose, but it would take twice as long to return and any loot we find would weigh us down on the way back. Besides," she said, turning to smirk at him. Farkas absently noted that the gold and emerald of her circlet made her hair look even blacker somehow. "You wouldn't want me to waste my money, would you? I've already gotten us the steeds." He shrugged and continued to follow her down the cobblestone path and out of the city. He could see the sun beginning to throw its orangey rays above the distant mountain peaks, and with the breeze blowing and the larks beginning their songs, the wolf in him stirred and he visibly relaxed at being outside of the city's confines. Farkas could smell a small herd of elk southeast, inhaling the scent of their blood as it pumped wetly throughout their bodies. Upwind, he could faintly smell his two friends as they began to return. From the way they were moving, swiftly and with hardly any noise, he guessed they were probably still in beast form.
He was yanked back to reality at a shrill whistle. He jumped, and Islanzadí snickered. "Get your head out of the clouds, Farkas," she chided. "We're on business." She tossed him the reins to a big paint gelding, and he watched her as she expertly clambered up onto her own black mount. He mounted as well, with significantly less grace. His horse snorted and pawed at the ground, eager to be off, and with another high-pitched call, the Bosmer spurred her beast into a ground-eating lope. The Nord followed as they made their way northwest.
"Damn bandits," Islanzadí hissed when they finally reached the edge of the entrance to Dustman's Cairn. She deftly wiped the blood off her dagger onto her armor and snapped the shaft off the arrow that was imbedded in her arm. She gingerly dismounted and tethered the horse to a nearby tree. "At least it wasn't poisoned," she growled as she walked over to Farkas. The pair had come across two different bands of the thugs not far from their destination. They had somehow gotten themselves caught in the crossfire between the inhabitants of Silent Moons and Halted Steam Camps as they were in some scuffle over some treasure supposedly located in Lunar Forge.
The Bosmer swore so explosively she managed to impress Farkas as she removed the head of the arrow. "What a fine way to start off the mission," she growled sarcastically as she flung it away. Farkas himself had managed to escape mostly unscathed, but his armor was thicker and had less weak links. Most of the arrows had clattered off harmlessly. But her thinner, lighter armor…well, it wasn't exactly up to par with a dozen arrows flying straight at you.
"Lemme see," Farkas insisted as they made their way down the stairs and stopped by the entrance. "Can't have you goin' in there with a hole in you." He tried to inspect the puncture, but she yanked her arm away and all but snarled at him.
"I'm not helpless," she snapped. She rummaged around in her pack for a moment before pulling out a wad of bandages and a small vial of healing potion. "It's minor, anyway. There's no need to wait on me to continue." Islanzadí unstopped the cork on the vial with her teeth as she pushed open the door with her shoulder. Farkas watched her, puzzled, before she called, "Are you coming or not?" Shaking his head, the Nord followed her into the ancient tomb.
Inside, it was dark, dank and musty, and smelled like rotten cloth and festering flesh. Farkas wrinkled his nose as his stomach churned; his heightened senses from the beast blood made the putrid smell that much more disgusting. Islanzadí shot him a questioning look when he coughed, but the warrior merely shrugged and rearranged his expression into something he hoped resembled eagerness for battle. "Stick close," he muttered as they began making their way deeper into the burial site, stepping over dry roots and skirting around skeletons. "You never know what might jump at you."
The elf made a sound of agreement as they ventured farther. The place was eerily silent, and Islanzadí had the fleeting thought that this was a bit too easy when a sudden banging sounded to her right. Her ear twitched, and she managed to spin around just in time to see the lid fly off a nearby coffin. Something that she could only describe as a glorified skeleton stepped out, snarling and moaning nonsense, and she heard Farkas mutter something unintelligible under his breath as the next two coffins opened up in much the same manner. "Alright," he whispered urgently as the undead began to advance. "Draugr've got a weakness to—"
With a shout and a sudden burst of a black and purple vortex-like-thing, Islanzadí had put away one of her daggers and summoned something that Farkas had no way to describe. It looked similar to a spriggan, but without all the wood and branches. Not to mention it was made of fire. The thing started lobbing fireballs at the three draugr, shrieking its indignation, while the Bosmer darted forward and slashed persistently at the one enemy that was spraying frost everywhere. Every time the thing would turn toward her, groaning and moaning the way undead do, she would dance out of the way as it slashed at her or slide between its skinny legs and hack at its back.
Farkas didn't even have time to join the fray. Within moments, the three draugr lay dead at the elf and her conjuration's feet. "What the… How did you…" the Nord spluttered, one hand still on the hilt of his sword. Islanzadí chuckled, her good humor reappearing. She flexed her injured arm and nodded in satisfaction when there was no pain. "What in Oblivion is that?" Farkas demanded once he managed to gather his wits, gesturing wildly at the flaming lady. He wasn't very fond of magic; to him it seemed like cheating. The thing regarded him absently, twirling and flipping around in the air as it floated.
"Hmm?" the elf replied lazily, rummaging around in her satchel again. "Oh, that is a Flame Thrall, old blood. I've read about draugr and know they have a weakness to fire. She'll follow us around for a while until I dismiss her, or until she's killed. Ah, here it is." She pulled out a glass sword and stuffed her dagger into its place. "This will do more damage, I believe. Now, shut your mouth unless you want to eat flies—because Akatosh knows how many of the wretched things there are in here—and keep moving." She deftly tied her long hair back into a sloppy braid and set out at a brisk jog down a nearby tunnel. The Flame Thrall followed and, after shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, Farkas clomped after them.
The passage was long and winding, and occasionally they would round a corner only to find that the narrow space had coffins lying in niches in the stone and that they should have been quieter because almost all of them had the irritating undead warriors just waiting to attack some unfortunate passerby. But they all met the same fate; the slash of steal, the hiss of fire and the savage cry of a warrior before they were contorted in odd positions on the floor before the duo would continue on their way.
Islanzadí led her Thrall and shield-brother into a large cavernous space with a high ceiling and shallow rooms lining the walls, and Farkas let out a relieved sigh. "Finally," he grunted. "I hate tunnels." He placed his fists on his hips and gazed around the cave. "There's gotta be a release for that gate over there somewhere," he rumbled, jerking his head over towards the iron barrier. "You check over there and I'll head this way. Holler if you find anything." Turning on his heel, the Nord sauntered off over toward the other side of the cavern.
The Bosmer strolled over in the direction he indicated. The room she walked into had almost-empty shelves lining the walls and small potions scattered on broken tables. However, those weren't what caught her attention. In a small alcove, there sat a lever, rusty and almost hidden behind a burial urn.
Smirking in triumph, Islanzadí stalked over to it and wrenched it towards the other end of the release. The thing creaked horribly before it jerked forward and slammed into the other side, jarring her shoulder. With a deafening crash, an iron gate slammed down on the stones almost directly behind her. Islanzadí and her Thrall both yelled in alarm, and elf desperately tried to yank the lever back to free herself. It was stuck, though; it wouldn't budge no matter how hard she pulled on it.
A low chuckle sounded behind her, and the elf whirled around to glare at Farkas as he laughed at her predicament. "Now look what you've gotten yourself into," he chortled, crossing his arms. "And here I thought you were even smarter than Vilkas."
"Shut up, Nord," she hissed, darting over to the bars and gripping them until her tan knuckles turned white. "Get me out of here before you're stuck out there with hordes of draugr." She glared icily at him, her conjuration flickering even brighter than before in its anger. As an elf, Islanzadí absolutely hated feeling trapped and caged. Even worse, she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed the pointed ends of the gate peeking out of the ceiling of the small room. She wasn't usually so unobservant.
"Relax," Farkas drawled. "I think I saw the release over that way. Oh, it looks like you did manage to open up that tunnel after all. Alright, just sit tight for a minute." The warrior turned away, about to walk leisurely down the hall and free his shield-sister.
A loud clattering and half-crazed yells of triumph interrupted him, and Islanzadí could only watch in growing horror as about ten people, armed and grinning maniacally, suddenly appeared from the ledges above them and came running out of the gate she had unknowingly opened. Terror seized her when Farkas was forced to back up against the iron bars of her prison, his steel armor grating against them. The chuckling of their attackers ceased, and looks of absolute disgust and hatred replaced the bloodthirsty mirth. Farkas drew his sword, but the Bosmer knew that without help, even he wouldn't be able to escape.
"Which one is that?" one of the attackers growled, shifting his feet and twitching.
"It doesn't matter," a woman replied. "He wears that armor, he dies!"
Whoops of agreement and shouts of "Die, mongrel," and "Ha! We've got you now, scum!" followed her comment. "Killing you will make an excellent story," one of them purred, and Islanzadí's eyes narrowed to slits and she clutched the bars tighter in her hands. "And what a pretty little thing you've got with you," the man continued, his beady brown eyes roving over her face and down her body. "I'm sure we could find some uses for you, little elf."
Gods, how I hate that name… she thought. The Thrall behind her hissed in anger, flames flickering in her hands as she prepared to torch someone through the bars.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Farkas's guttural growl. "You won't live long enough to touch her," he snarled, and even though she thought he was mad for taking them all on by himself, the Bosmer couldn't help but admire his bravery. Her brain whirred, trying to think of any way to get herself out of the room and out to help her shield-brother.
Cries of fear and the sound of bones snapping and creaking jerked Islanzadí out of her thoughts. Where Farkas once stood there was now a swirling cloud of black smoke. Her heart stopped and her blood turned to ice as an enormous, humanoid wolf rose up out of the mist and roared its fury. The elf's scarlet eyes widened and she shrank away from the bars, stumbling over herself and falling to the ground as the wolf lunged at the nearest person. Savagely, it tore the man limb from limb. His screams echoed off the cavern walls and the yells of fright from his companions rang in her ears. Blood smeared over its muzzle, the wolf proceeded to brutally maul the rest of humans, each killed more savagely than the last. One woman was seized by her throat and slammed against the iron bars, and Islanzadí shrieked in horror as the girl was raked and clawed at. Her blood spattered over the elf's golden armor, tainting it even more. Another was knocked down and decapitated quicker than she could blink.
By the time the bloodbath was over, all the attackers barely resembled humans and the stones underneath them were forever stained with crimson. Islanzadí kept her eyes on the hulking black wolf as it loped down the hallway. Seconds later, the bars in front of her jerked upward and she was free once more. But she didn't dare move.
A low baritone howl filled the cavern, and the elf could faintly hear the snapping and creaking of bone as the beast phased back into Farkas. But the elf couldn't think around what she had just witnessed. She was frozen, her conjured Thrall staring down at her blankly as it waited for her to move on. Farkas tentatively stepped around the corner; only his woolen breeches had survived the transformation. The elf stared at him, her thoughts wild with fear.
She had seen this before. Witnessed a similar slaughter and barely survived herself.
"I, uh… I hope I didn't scare you," Farkas whispered as he carefully stepped toward her. Islanzadí flinched and tried to mask her growing terror. The Nord sighed, dragging a weary hand down his face. "Oh, who am I kidding," he snarled to himself. "I'm really sorry, shield-sister. I guess I should have given you a bit of a warning."
"You don't say," she snapped, coming back to her senses. Trying to cover up her brief moment of terror before he could question her about it, she picked herself up off the ground and dusted off her armor. "Why didn't you tell me, Farkas? You never know how someone might react to something like this! What if I decided to run out screaming and report you to the city guard?"
Farkas chuckled. "That doesn't seem like you," he said. "And you were never supposed to know. Oh, Talos, Skjor and Vilkas are going to skin me," he growled. He deftly began to wander around the cavern, carefully avoiding the corpses as he gathered up his scattered armor. "These are the Silver Hand," he said, nodding over at one of the more recognizable bodies. "They hunt down people like me and torture us. They think we're unholy, mindless beasts and they want to kill us all."
Islanzadí remained silent, drawing closer to the protection of the Thrall. She didn't know what to say to him; she couldn't trust her voice.
"We have remained here long enough," she finally said when she was sure her voice was stable. "We need to continue, retrieve the fragment, and get out of these caverns." She proceeded to march down the tunnel passageway, back ram-rod straight and her fists clenched.
Farkas sighed. He'd have a lot of explaining to do upon returning to Jorrvaskr.