The light from the broken ceiling had turned wan by the time Reads-With-Tail woke again, though the sky beyond was the firm blue of early afternoon. He coughed hard as he twisted up to face the stew cauldron Hadvar had left for him – his throat was full of dust and his back and chest still didn't want to flex that far, and between them his lungs were much emptier than they ought to have been. Still, he managed to find his balance, left leg twisted over right in the bedroll and weight on his right palm as he reached out to the kettle.

Despite Hadvar's promise the soup had already gone cold, and sadly there wasn't even any fat to skim off the surface to make up for it. I guess that's the one flaw of a vegetable soup. But Reads-With-Tail wasn't about to let that stop him. He tried briefly to lift the cauldron to mouth level, but quickly gave up as his left side spasmed. Sighing, he instead dipped his angular snout into the bowl and started greedily lapping up the mix. He couldn't fish out any of the vegetables Hadvar had listed, which was probably for the better at this point. The lightly salted broth sloshed against the young Argonian's parched throat, and he savored the relief as he swished each mouthful around.

At last he'd had enough. He leaned back with a sigh of relief, opening his eyes properly at last. In spite of his injuries, Reads-With-Tail had had quite enough of laying about when there were heroics to be attempted, Nords who needed to be impressed instead of just sympathetic. "Master Ralof?" he called into the softly lit chamber. "Master Hadvar?" he added after a long moment of silence. Though if Ralof wasn't here he'd have answered anyway. They probably moved on to secure the barrow while I slept. He made to slap his forehead but thought better of it as his arms burned. Still, even if I am "just a novice," this is unforgivably slack.

Galvanized by his guilt, Reads-With-Tail sprang out of the bedroll – well, as close to springing as his twisted leg and tense back would permit. I'm on my feet now. That's what matters.

On his feet and entirely undressed. A fresh surge of energy shot through the boy as he belatedly realized that the two warriors must have peeled him out of his drenched, frozen clothes, and more urgently that he was now standing around in the chilly air with no idea who might be watching! He dove towards the low fire behind him by feel, not sight, confident that his outfit would be stretched out around the warmest place in the room to dry.

The dirt he ground into was itself dry, but it was also nearly as cold as the night air had been, and his injuries flared up again as the sudden chill made his whole body thrash. He crawled up to his knees stiffly, chest heaving against the shock. The things you don't realize from deep in your bedroll... He had come to rest with his muzzle a scant handsbreadth away from a birch plank chest, propped open and draped in his thick linen outfit. His shirt was still damp as he grabbed for it, but the water that had worked its way into the quilted pouches had warmed up around the fire. It was cool and clammy against his scales, but not so cool as to be unpleasant anymore. And his pants had dried almost completely, only a faint tinge of damp left where some of the snow had worked into the wood beneath it.

Which is good, because if I don't die of embarrassment here I'll probably get to watch my limbs freeze up and fall away. It's cold in here! The scrawny Argonian matched that thought with a full-body shiver that chased the air from his lungs yet again. The lukewarm moisture in his shirt was strangely comforting despite itself, at least, reminiscent of the humidity that filled the Windhelm docks on the warm afternoons that came once or twice a year. He could feel himself shivering still as he pressed the padded cloth snug, could see his trembling ribs shaking the heavy fabric, but even though it felt cold it felt warm.

His pants were more of a project, stiff as his right hip and both knees and ankles were, but they were also unarguably warm once he finally got them on and cinched the fraying cord belt around himself. No sign of my footwraps, though. I wonder where they vanished to?

No matter. Though the dirt was cold against his feet, the wrappings wouldn't have protected him very much, and while he'd certainly have been grateful for the support it wasn't some impossible loss either. Unlike winter clothes of fine linen, burlap strips came ten to a septim. So as long as he could find a septim on this trip, replacing his soaked and shrunken footwear would hardly be a problem.

Instead of worrying further, the young Argonian stretched himself again and rose to his unimposing full height. He had peeked inside the antechamber to Bleak Falls Barrow before the battle, but he'd been too focused on the bandits to spare a thought for their surroundings. Yawning and blinking away what little sleepiness had survived his rude awakening, Reads-With-Tail looked around the room at last.

"Room" was far too banal a word to describe the Ancient Nordic architecture. Even with the roof caved in, and what looked like a support pillar and an altar smashed beneath the great black stones, it was still an imposing structure. And whatever had been buried on the one side seemed to be mirrored on the other, with a tall pillar of grey stone slick with moss just beside his bedroll holding up the vaulted ceiling. A squat barrow-iron altar loomed from just beside it, atop a slightly raised stone plinth. Aside from that stone, though, the entire floor was simple dirt all the way out to the heavy twin doors – once again shut, and this time without a hapless Khajiit crushed between them. The young Argonian winced at the memory, but the image drifted easily away with a simple shake of the head.

And that brought him to the other side of the room. The weapons from last night were piled in a neat stack against the far corner of the chamber, opposite from the chest his clothes had dried across. There was a curious pile of stone slabs stacked up behind the chest – not barrow-marble like the altars or the great black keystones of the ceiling, just mountain rock covered in dark moss and a glinting rainbow of lichen. Reads-With-Tail squinted at the rocks, unable to figure out where they'd fallen from, then shook his head again – much to his neck's displeasure. It doesn't matter anyway.

The fire had drifted down to embers. Surrounded as it was by earth and stone, Reads-With-Tail felt no urge to properly douse and bury it. Two empty bedrolls were stretched out a safe distance away from the pile of ash and charred logs, with the others the bandits had left behind presumably tucked away somewhere out of sight. And just beyond the fire was a gaping round tunnel, roof almost perfectly smoothed despite the great black and grey rocks that tried to jut out into the hallways. Aside from a pair of barrow-iron sculptures Reads-With-Tail couldn't make out from the antechamber, all that disturbed the perfection of that tunnel were drifting spiderwebs.

And propped just against the entrance were his hammer, pick, and shield. At last there was enough light to properly examine the design the unfortunate Orc had left for him. The Argonian's face fell as he got a good look at it. Indeed, just as the bandit's chief had said, he'd daubed an off-purple unicorn on a bright white field. Fine green bands spiraled down the purple horn and up the golden hooves, probably the "detailing" the bandit had mentioned. If there had been anything on the haunch or along the ribs the axe blow had torn it off, though the paint around the gap seemed to have remained quite intact. Worst of all, it was a shield for the left arm, but since Reads-With-Tail was more comfortable mounting it on his right the whole beast would be upside-down!

"Not the most heroic image, is it?" he muttered into the tunnel before him. Still, it had saved him twice during last night's melee, so he wasn't about to toss it away. Squatting as low as he could get without completely wrecking his back, he scooped it up and wormed his wrist through the enarmes once again. His grip on the handle was weak despite his best efforts, almost to the point where it would tire him out just for trying, so he relaxed it a little. The bulky roundshield weighed heavily on his wrist instead, but it wasn't inclined to slip off his arm even from a resting position.

The tunnel ahead was gloomy, but Ralof and Hadvar were already down there hunting whatever bandits remained. And for all that tales of the living dead unnerved him, Reads-With-Tail and Kennet had always talked about going exploring in one of Skyrim's many Ancient Nordic barrows. He ducked down once more and grabbed his pick, grasping its neck as firmly as he could and bracing himself on the shaft. Thus armed, he hobbled eagerly off into the gloom.


The broad mouth of the tunnel tapered quickly down to a slit. It was still tall, so tall that Reads-With-Tail could crane his neck all the way up and still not see all of the ceiling – or, to judge by the soft white light that filled the hall, the crevice in the mountainside. But as it hooked sharply left, then wrapped around itself and sloped again, he found himself instinctively walking at a slant and tucking in his shield. It wasn't all that narrow, but it definitely felt that way, especially with rubble strewn across the cold dirt floor. And the...is that a bookshelf?

The posture, the slope, and the surprise were hard on the boy's balance, and one overlong step was enough to bring his momentum to a halt. He felt himself trying to fall downhill over his pick. He threw all of his weight backwards and held it, abdomen burning, until he'd caught his balance. The motion tore at his right calf, though, and even once he finally felt stable Reads-With-Tail couldn't make it move. Muttering darkly, the young Argonian leaned against the wall and thrashed his leg around in an attempt to release the cramp.

Roots and rocks prodded at his back. Roots from what? I'm right under the peak of a mountain here! It wasn't a stretch to think he'd missed seeing a tree or two during the snowstorm and scuffle earlier, but it struck him as very far-fetched that there could even be a tree up that high. But thinking about it, maybe they were here from long ago? It would explain the crack in the ceiling, I guess. Like the way the woods outside Windhelm have ripped up the road.

Whether the roots were to blame or not, the damage to the hallway was undeniable. The fallen rocks were just as damp and dusty as the rest of the barrow, even the massive pile back up the corridor. The crevice might have just been that way, but that cross-hall had definitely seen a cave-in at some point. Reads-With-Tail could see light past those rocks if he squinted but there was no breeze to accompany it, just the warm humid cave air that was starting to put some color back in his scales and the comfortable scent of old cloth.

At least the rockfall had missed the polished hardwood bookshelf, though now that he looked at it there were no books to be seen. A barrow-iron...nightstand, for want of a better word, sat squat and ready just uphill from the shelves too, holding a lit candle on a pewter stand. Reads-With-Tail shivered in spite of the air. Who lit it? He rolled his eyes at his own cowardice. Ralof and Hadvar did. Besides, the stories always say the undead come out of the dark, right? Even if this was some sort of magic eternal candle, it's probably there to keep you safe, right?

But he wasn't entirely convinced. The shelves and the stand were both stacked high with ratty old linen, but the cold dancing along Reads-With-Tail's spine spurred him to take a closer look. He flattened his bruised back even further against the wall once it clicked. Scissors, scalpels, what looked like a meathook on the hilt of a cleaver, and all of their blades dull with more than dust. Well, the stories were true. I'm going to assume from that cleaver that the ancient Nords really did have to disembowel their dead to do the rest of the embalming everyone talks about.

His mind was calmer than he'd expected, but his body had decided to ignore its injuries and bolt down the corridor. It hooked left just ahead, the slimy rock wall lit by some out-of-sight flame, but Reads-With-Tail was more unsettled by the embalming tools he'd just seen than by the risk of running into something unpleasant around the corner.

Besides, if anything had been lurking down this corridor then Ralof and Hadvar would have killed it. Again, if necessary. And really, what's so scary about the knives? His breathing started to settle down. It probably was an "eternal candle after all, there to light the storage space so the old Nords could pick out their tools when they took a new body down after the funeral upstairs. See, it all makes sense." His heartbeat was back to normal, but his breath still came ragged. I just don't want Ralof, Hadvar, or me to be one of those funerals! Especially not if the rest of the stories were true too. The ones about those well-preserved cadavers standing back up, grabbing weapons, and gutting and salting any intruders to build their army. So I'd have just as many centuries as they've had to be a gutless, spineless wreck. So, in reality, not much of a difference – I just want to get over that within my natural lifetime!

His harsh breathing turned into a short bubble of laughter. And after that bubble popped, Reads-With-Tail felt braced and steady. Even his shaky legs and bad hip were lined up properly at last. That's the second time the draugr have made me laugh. I need to remember that trick – if I can figure it out in the first place!

The newest ramp down was slightly gentler than the last few twists, and not that much longer either – perhaps the same distance again as he'd already covered since waking up. The tunnel broadened considerably at the landing ahead, too. Reads-With-Tail felt his lungs open wide just at the thought. He could also see more rubble dotting the landing, though – another cave-in? I hope nothing like that happens while I'm here.

It was indeed another collapsed tunnel ahead, the slick black rock lit by a large coal brazier set into a granite pedestal. More light poured in through the open door on his right. "If my sense of direction is true, that collapse is on the same side as the last one. I wonder if there's something wrong about this whole part of the barrow?" The boy winced as his voice echoed around the low domed room. Well, if there are any live draugr around, they definitely know I'm coming now!

He turned to face the next room. There was an iron gate frame – common grey iron, it looked like – overhead and a series of perfectly round holes in the floor, but the bars were retracted now. The middle of the well-lit room held a lever framed on a barrow-iron plate, while directly across the cobblestone floor stood another gate – a porticullis, this time, with the pointed bars stabbing down from its dull black housing. And all around that gate was rubble from the balcony that ran above the wall, including a fallen decoration and the splintered remains of another shelf.

The young Argonian shivered. There was something very off-putting about the screaming Nordic faces carved into the granite wall, especially the one with the barrow-iron snake for a tongue. At least the whale-mouthed one was clearly meant to house the animal symbol, but the snake was just believable enough to be disturbing. It was also centrally located, so he hadn't been given the chance to process its neighbor. Or the fallen, shattered head in the massive slope of debris that ran up along the left wall. Whatever animal plate it had held was half-buried and deformed under the impact, but Reads-With-Tail thought he could make out a feathery wing.

He stepped forward into the room only to lurch back, right foot held high in the air. Something awl-sharp had ripped straight through the scales to chew at his flesh. His tail and left arm flailed to hold his balance while he hopped about, half-blinded by sudden tears. It was awkward and painful, but he eventually managed to take the needle in his claws and tug it safely out. The air around him had gone from rejuvenating warmth to stifling heat in an instant, or perhaps the pain had reminded his body that it was still cold from last night.

Reads-With-Tail held up the offending object, blinking and rolling his eyes to hold off the tears and the heat. One end of the metal fingerling was coated in his quickly congealing brown blood, but the other was clearly visible – a viciously sharp four-sided arrowhead with a tiny hole at the pyramid's cap. There was no reason to assume it wasn't shaped the same way on the bloody head. And, as he looked back out at the room, it was only one of the myriad that stood out at angles from the gaps between the floorstones.

The Argonian was shivering again now, his jaw chattering and tail locking up just like it had during the blizzard last night. Definitely me getting colder, then. Wait, that hole! It was frostbite venom, I'm sure of it now. The spiders' poison wasn't the deadliest around and it broke down quickly enough that poisoned prey was safe to eat the same day. Kennet had apparently turned quite a few septims selling it after a couple of spider-infested misadventures – hunters loved it not just for food safety but because of the way it put prey into a deep freeze for long enough that they could close the distance. The spiders loved it for much the same reason – not that they had a choice – and it wasn't a leap to imagine that draugr would take the exact same approach as everybody else.

And so it was that despite his shivering and stiffness Reads-With-Tail made himself limp into the room, taking exquisite care to mash each dart flat and knock it aside as he came to it. Some had already been crushed, probably by the warriors' boots, but it was still slow going. When he needed to catch his breath the boy looked off to his left, where three three-sided obelisks stood in small vaulted alcoves. The designs on their faces were the same as the ones in the mouths on the wall – exactly the same, the Argonian realized, probably cast from the same mold – and, the more he thought about it, in the matching order from left to right. Not the most subtle trick once you look for it, I suppose, but it's something that would let a priest in with no danger and keep an unwary grave robber out. Not a bad design. Though that dart was a nasty piece of craftsmanship.

Reads-With-Tail still hadn't tried taking the ramp up to the derelict stone balcony, but despite the presence of a bookshelf he had no intention of trying either. Perhaps he could get the warriors to stomp on the darts on their way back out, since clearing them with his pickaxe would take the rest of the year! And in all likelihood it was another supply shelf of some sort, perhaps with torches or timber for marching bodies down into the barrow proper. At least, that would make sense considering what he'd seen in the first hallway – though why there'd been no stretchers or torches there bore thinking on. Actually, I'm not sure that it does. I'm going to have enough nightmares after this without inviting them in.

At long last he'd reached the porticullis. This time, he took special care to slowly lean over the threshold and check the floor first. There didn't seem to be anything dangerous waiting for him, at least, only a few giant clay urns and some smaller pitchers and wine jugs. No, not wine, Reads-With-Tail thought as he sniffed the air. Salt water. The scent of brine sent a sluggish surge of new life through him, or perhaps that was just his blood catching up with his heartbeat as the poison broke down.

A truly massive brazier stood at the pillar between two deep alcoves, casting light that made the matched pair of marble tables shimmer and glow. The flame was even powerful enough to shine some light on the dragon's claws of barrow-iron that held the tables up, and as the young Argonian leaned in close the slightly translucent stone seemed to drop down to the bottom of the world, lit from below rather than above. But there were more knives and hooks and linen wraps scattered about, making it obvious what the beautiful tables had been used for. It was a mercy that the ages had stolen away the stench. Though that marble looks almost...comfortable. His body had been crying out for rest since he woke up, but the table called out for him to lie down, curl up, and take a nap. And then wake up with draugr cutting me apart, right? Even with the poison's effects gone, the boy still shivered...and yawned.

There was an empty three-log doorframe at the end of the stone hallway, flanked by torches that did nothing to illuminate the room beyond. Reads-With-Tail hefted his pick and shield warily – if there was anywhere he'd expect to find draugr, it was a place like that. Shield up and eyes down, he tiptoed into the shadow and left the embalming chamber peaceful once again.


The smell of decay slammed the young Argonian's head back almost as soon as he entered the dark chamber. Windhelm's docks had the same stench, but there it was diluted by the cold, by the wind and waves. Here it had been caught in a single chamber and held for gods only knew how long. The wood planking under Reads-With-Tail's feet was slimy with mold; the thick stone and mortar around him was simply slimy. I can already tell that every step here comes with the understanding that the floor might finally give out.

The room was too dark to make out much more than the metal shaft that ran through the center, but as Reads-With-Tail felt his way along the circular wall the layout became clear. The wood paneling sloped down into a moderately steep spiral ramp, broad enough for him to feel comfortable despite the hole in the center. Even then, the support struts and central pole could probably break his fall if he reacted quickly.

As would the surprisingly soft floor, he thought as he stepped off the creaking wood at last. Soft...and furry...and still warm? "Ack! Skeevers!" The oversized rats were always far more aggressive than they had any sense being, which wouldn't be much of a problem even for housepets if it wasn't for the sheer range of diseases the damned creatures could spread through their bites. "At least with vampires you know what you'll need to go get purged afterward," he muttered. Still, these skeevers were safely dead – presumably after an ill-considered attack on Hadvar or Ralof – which meant all Reads-With-Tail had to do was step past them and not breathe too deeply.

The room at the bottom of the spiral was nearly as dark, but bright white sunlight filtered through from somewhere up ahead. His eyes useless, the young Argonian shuffled forward cautiously. He held his weight on his sore right leg as he rattled his pick around by the neck to feel for obstacles. Right away he found one, another marble table judging from the muffled clack. And there was another obstacle, not something to trip over so much as a permanent annoyance – cobwebs everywhere. And, now that his eyes were adjusting to the distant glow, they only got thicker as the tunnel went on.

"I think I" know where they got the Frostbite venom for those needles. He choked down the air that he would have spent on that sentence. Best to be quiet, though I'm sure they already know where I am. I'm tugging on the webs hard enough, aren't I, and I know there's at least one or two stories where squirming in the trap just summons the thing faster. He couldn't spin the pickaxe around his wrist the way he'd seen Ralof do with the waraxe last night, but he wormed it around in his palm until he was carrying it properly again.

Even with his eyes adjusted it was still hard to see, but Reads-With-Tail kept his gaze focused on the webbed ceiling. The spiders that had ambushed him in the foothills of High Hrothgar had used the trees to terrifying effect, dropping down silently and jumping from branch to branch to keep after him, and if he was going to be attacked again – and he was sure now that he was – he could at least mitigate the shock when it finally happened. Though the more apprehensive you are the worse it is when it comes, right? That's always how it is when I see a twist or scare coming ahead of time in a play.

He knew from the earlier experience that his ears were going to be useless, but he couldn't exactly turn them off either. And as he stepped out into the silvery sunbeams that flooded the end of the hall he started to hear voices. Voices he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or dismayed to hear.

"...My knife," Ralof grunted. "I'm sure you don't have anything practical." He paused for breath much too often, a fact which set Reads-With-Tail shivering.

Hadvar's reply was just as choked. "I left my fruit knife for the boy, remember? I wouldn't have been so generous if I'd known what was down here."

That told the young Argonian all he needed to know. So I got them trapped by a spider, because Hadvar took pity on me and left me the tool that could have saved them. I told them I'd be a distraction! Guilt, frustration, and general pain tugged at his eyes and nostrils until he finally gave in and started to cry. The air was much cooler than it had been above, chilling his eyes and scraping his throat as he started to lose control.

But then his mental voice firmed up, reforming its battle lines and counterattacking. No good worrying about that now. Just fix your mistake and get them out before the spider gets hungry again. The pain was still there, the blurred vision and raw throat, but the sobbing stopped almost instantly. Reads-With-Tail tugged his feet free of the webs once again and pushed forward, ducking between a grid of pillars completely silver with illuminated spider silk and into the brilliant chamber beyond.

The sunlight was almost overpowering after the barrow's shade, even with the minute or so Reads-With-Tail had had in the last hall to let his eyes adjust. He quickly scanned the wide oblong room before turning his eyes resolutely upwards. The only things down here are web sacs, and unless I miss my guess Ralof and Hadvar are trapped in some. But until I'm safe from the spiders there's no sense in me poking through them. The silver web and green stone made for relaxing colors, but the stickiness under his feet kept his body on edge.

His mind didn't need any encouragement, it was already ticking away as fast as it was going to. Nothing, nothing, massive barrow-iron water grate in the floor, that thing isn't moving, and that leaves up. You know, I'm going to guess that they're hiding in the crevice that's letting all of this light in. If they were at the right angle, deep enough in that the sun wouldn't hit directly, he wouldn't even see shadows. And it fit with the Frostbite spider's arboreal habits, as one of the many survival guide authors might have phrased it.

But knowing wouldn't do him any good if they just dropped on his head anyway. The thick webs would have crippled him even if it wasn't sticky, and he was crippled enough on his own. If he was going to beat even one modestly sized spider in a fight he'd need it do pounce on something that wasn't him. But there wasn't a chance that he'd toss away his pick or shield right before a fight, and there wasn't anything else close at hand.

Reads-With-Tail reluctantly took his eyes off the oddly circular shaft in order to find something to toss. A big, surprising impact with noise attached ought to wake up the spiders and give him a chance at the first strike. But it was tough to find anything when every other heartbeat he twisted back up to watch for ceiling climbers.

The closest thing to him proved to be a skeever-sized cocoon, and the only reason he'd even given it a second look was because it had rolled around loosely when he'd shifted his weight. His face twisted in disgust, he set down his weapons and stooped to try to pick it up. It's not pleasant, but neither was watching that Khajiit last night... But that had been an accident, not something he was making himself do, and the strange and unpleasant feeling on his fingers and the overwhelming smell in the air made this simple act a thousand times worse than any sympathetic pain he might have felt.

The web sac crumpled in his grip, stray strands fluffing out and wrapping around his hands, but it came up off the stone as smoothly as he could have expected. Once it was up he spun in place, head whipping to and fro so much that his horns were starting to throb. I left myself unguarded for so long just now! If one of them moved while I wasn't watching, it could be anywhere by now! But even then he had to trust that it would still pounce when it felt the desiccated skeever bounce off the web, and by then he'd have his pick and shield back on and be ready to deal with them. Even if he landed the first strike there was no chance he'd stop more than one of them at a time. Still, he could funnel them back into the array of pillars that connected this room to the last hallway, try to keep it to one or two that could actually reach him, and if he truly had to run then the ramp and embalming room might also make for good chokepoints. Fitting that I might die right next to the funeral table. At least if the spiders get me then the draugr won't...I hope.

He rocked back and forth a few times before finally taking a deep breath and hurling the crumbling skeever out into the circle of light with a scream that caught him completely by surprise. And not only him. Vibrations sang through the massive spiderweb pool as things up in the shaft reacted to the sudden disturbance. And, just as Reads-With-Tail swung his shield back into place over his right forearm, Ralof finally found the breath to speak.

"Reader? Oh, by the Nine, what are you doing down here? Get out! Quickly, before the spiders come!"

The Argonian desperately wanted to reply, to reassure Ralof he knew what was happening, but he could barely breathe himself. Even knowing the spiders were there didn't give him much confidence he could kill them, but with a little luck he could draw them away from the two warriors long enough for something to go right on their end. Or something. I really didn't think this through far enough, did I? Oh, come on, spiders! Get out here before I completely lose my nerve!

But what came down the shaft sent young Reads-With-Tail scuttling backwards anyway.


The spiders that had swarmed him in the woods had been perhaps a third his height and twice that long, at most. This...thing was mounted on spiky segmented legs each as tall as he was and then some. Ralof and Hadvar together would probably have fit in its abdomen, though it was hard to tell behind the twinned mountainous fangs, bloated and green with venom. Two multifaceted eyes sat well back behind an armor-studded brow ridge above those mighty fangs. Then a pair of massive scythes even longer than the legs swung out over its head, hooking into the web as it swung its mighty weight down to strike just above the skeever's landing spot. It spun about in an instant, rearing up and bringing its blades back into place. And worst of all, it did everything except the landing entirely silently, and even what should have thundered like an avalanche barely whispered across the layers of spider silk.

Reads-With-Tail raised his shield nervelessly, his limp grip doing little more than holding it in place. He had a little more care for his pick, which he twisted in his hand to bring the broader end to bear, but nearly all of his thoughts were consumed by the sheer scale of the thing he'd summoned down.

The giant considered him for a moment, hulking form swaying slowly as its eight legs pumped one by one. Then it reared up suddenly to expose what the Argonian momentarily assumed was a tail until it spat a dripping jet of silk at his chest. Reads-With-Tail instinctively shifted his body into a long stance behind his shield and the web simply drifted away, no more forceful than a snowdrift.

But behind it came the monster at the charge. There wasn't a chance the scrawny Argonian could have stopped it, but with the web all around he couldn't roll aside without leaving himself trapped for even longer. After being pinned by the maceman last night he had no intention of voluntarily getting stuck again!

I can't roll, but I can still move! It had checked its charge somewhat to raise and spread its fangs, revealing the glistening knife edges up behind the bulbous fangs, and with only a breath to go before it struck at speed Reads-With-Tail pirouetted off to his right, closer to the center of the room. He let his pickaxe gather speed in his loose wrist as he spun, slamming it into where he expected his enemy to be. But it had moved even more easily than he had, the web glue no obstacle to it, and though it had gone skittering past him it was already nearly turned back around. Its left front leg skated along his right knee to rest against his bare heel; the alien sensation sent a spasm through the Argonian and he sprang away.

Finally he had just enough distance, though completely by chance. The monster was too close to mount another bull charge but still far enough away that it couldn't bite his head off just that instant. Reads-With-Tail staggered for just a moment more before finding his feet at last, widening his stance a little and bringing the shield back up just as his attacker completed its turn. Its claw came slashing down across his left shoulder, forcing him to twist into a very awkward position to block it. And punching his shield into the unsharpened bottom third of the limb left his back exposed to its other claw and his shoulder scant inches away from its fangs. The instant its first swing recoiled he forced himself to untwist while stepping back, narrowly avoiding a follow-up chomp that would likely have sawed through his forearm. All the while he had his eyes half-shut and his head twisted as far away as he dared, the creature's horrific face just as disorienting as any pose he could possibly hold.

This isn't working! It can attack me from too many places at once! The giant punctuated that thought with an easily countered slash to his right side followed by a downwards stab with the other claw that nearly drilled into his skull. If I had Hadvar's shield arm or Ralof's dexterity I might be able to handle it, but I've got neither. The fangs snapped out wide and clamped around his shield, twisting vigorously but not quite dislodging him before it gave up on that plan. Though Reads-With-Tail doubted he could have held on much longer, and his arm was throbbing in about nine different places.

The monster was rearing up again and Reads-With-Tail crouched and raised his shield against the torrent of silk that was sure to follow. But it had outmaneuvered him, forgoing the web and instead just dropping its massive weight directly onto him. With nothing else for it the young Argonian let himself fall, reaching across himself with his pick arm to catch himself without dropping his only weapon.

The chitin on his attacker's body was cold and hard, like sheet metal but more brittle, and bristles and thorny spikes jutted out of it and tried to press into his clothes. But the padded linen softened both the giant impact and the lesser pokes and prods, and his shield held its greatest weight at arm's length. Something thick and frigid trickled down the outside of his left sleeve to pool on the back of his hand, making Reads-With-Tail finally realize that his weapon had come to rest pick end up. Then...is it thrashing just to get itself off...?

It seemed that it was. The wounded behemoth lurched back away at last, scuttling nearly back to the entryway as it struggled to rein in its momentum. Reads-With-Tail scrambled to his feet, shaking his pick hand to resettle his grip and clear off some of the thoroughly nasty blood that had set his skin burning. His shield arm hung low, aching dully after the assault, but it still moved well enough. He glared at the monster as it finally recovered, and if he wasn't mistaken it actually quailed for a moment. Just wishful thinking, I'm sure. I probably look pretty silly to it, actually, even if it is a little sore now.

But the spider was more than just a little sore. It actually seemed to be struggling to move – certainly not as smoothly as it had been. In fact, it looked like Kennet or Berit after a late night at the inn, its legs no longer pulsing in rhythm or quite touching the same places each time. Still, it was only angrier now, and it stumbled its way over to the Argonian with far more force than grace.

But, once again, he had time to react. Your shield's a weapon too, the skalds and Stormcloaks all said. No Nord goes into battle without two anyway, but a shield's supposed to at least be more versatile. And Reads-With-Tail put that philosophy into practice right there, matching the spider's attack with a charge of his own. It rose up to present its fangs again and he rammed his shield straight into them, feeling the wood strain against the spiny, thrashing chitin. Then, before it had a chance to respond, he slammed his pick out from across his chest, ramming it point-first into the root of the spider's right claw. It was a weak motion using weak muscles, and it felt like it had ripped out everything on the outside of his left upper arm, but he'd compensated for power with sharpness and what little body weight he had to spare. However he'd done it, at least, the splash of freezing, burning blood that soaked into the top of his hand told him he'd been successful.

As did the spider's reaction. It lurched away from him, pulling up into the corner just outside of the entryway and huddling there. The Argonian could see all five of its eyes now, three far larger pools of blackness spaced evenly across its face beneath the two he'd seen from the start. And all five seemed fixed on its suddenly flaccid claw as it flopped from side to side pitifully. Indeed, Reads-With-Tail felt his own left shoulder burning in sympathy at the sheer brokenness he'd just caused. The injured spider backed up into the web a little, flailing its remaining claw until it hooked on the strands overhead and pulled itself up. Slowly and clumsily it dragged itself back up the ceiling and into its shaft. Reader staggered into the center of the room after it, careful to stay out from underneath it, and watched it scuttle away pitifully.

His own energy fled with it, shoulders sagging as every fresh bruise and twist rushing forward to greet him at once. "Hadvar, Ralof, where are you?"

"What? Talos!" That was Hadvar, though. But I thought Imperials didn't believe in Talos anymore. "We're –" he broke down wheezing, but Reads-With-Tail was able to follow that sound just as easily as a voice. It led him to a pair of slowly moving web sacs lashed up against the back end of the cavern. No, not the back of the cavern. There's light coming from back there, between the strands. Firelight. "I feel you there, lad. Did the spider leave you alone?"

"I knew it was quiet, but I didn't think I was!" the young Argonian said with a shudder as he thought about the monster's alien movements and bizarre touch. "It's gone for now though. Here, I'm going to try to get you two out. I've just got my pick though, so it might take a while."

"Go for my left hip – that's mine, so your right," the Ralof pod ordered. "I've got my knife there. It'll be much handier for sawing through the rest of the web."

Reads-With-Tail did as instructed, holding the broad edge of his pick just short of the blade and sawing gently through the threads. As he worked he finally realized he was still carrying his shield, at which point his exhausted arm simply let it fall to the ground. He looked away for a moment when it failed to clatter, but it had only skimmed off of the dense webbing at the foot of the two warriors' cocoons. Curiosity satisfied, the young Argonian turned back to his job.

The rest of the work went much faster once he finally reached Ralof's blade. The threads parted far more easily under the longer, leaner, and less cumbersome blade. And Hadvar's seemed to fall away in no time at all with Ralof free to rip away any sheets that fluttered loose. "Thanks, lad," the legionnaire said as he finally stood up, panting.

Both of them were still fully outfitted. Ralof's weapons had been loose in his hands when he came free; Hadvar's spear was slung and his shield had given them some trouble in cutting him down. In his other hand was something that had been even less helpful – an elegant gold dragon's claw just like the ebon ones that held up the embalming tables above. "Is that –" Reads-With-Tail started to ask.

"– What we're here for? Aye, that it was." Ralof had caught his breath but seemed to be using it mostly on bitterness. "Also what got us caught. By a lone damn spider."

Hadvar either nodded or stretched his neck – either way, it left the Argonian feeling stiff and even more comprehensively sore in sympathy. "That's more or less it. I saw the handle of the claw," he spun it around in his hand to show Reads-With-Tail the cylinder that jutted out from the claw's wrist, "poking out of some poor bastard's web sac. It must have been one of the bandits who ran down here ahead of his fellows. In any case, Ralof came up to help me cut it free and then something flattened both of us. We woke up stuck in the webs ourselves."

"I figured it had to have been a lone giant to take both of us out at once like that," Ralof growled. "Should've figured it out ahead of time, though. Pitiful, a Stormcloak bested by a wild beast!"

Hadvar smirked. "My Legion pride isn't too happy with how it played out either, Ralof, but it's at least reassuring to see the sort of enemy I'll have to worry about when we next meet."

"Oh, sod off." I guess being trapped by a giant spider for several hours takes away your creativity. Or he used it all on the spider and doesn't have any to spare now. "We've got what we came for, now let's make like Elves and run away to call ourselves the flawless victors, eh?"

Reads-With-Tail was still curious about the firelight beyond the webs, but he was too sore and tired to push the issue. He could only hope the three of them had the energy to get back to the surface, perhaps even out of the tunnels altogether once they'd had a little food and fire. There could be more spiders somewhere, and he hadn't noticed a single embalmed corpse, walking or otherwise. And besides, if the fading sunlight down in this cave was refreshing, he could only imagine what fresh mountain air would do!

The trio started off for the pillars, Reads-With-Tail reclaiming his shield along the way. The webs shivered underfoot in a way he hadn't really noticed before – indeed, he only noticed now because it set the dart wound throbbing again. He turned around stiffly, suddenly realizing just how badly he'd let his guard down as the crippled Frostbite spider spat another jet of web through the air at them. It caught him fully in the chest this time, and his ribs rattled wherever the layer of venom soaked through his shirt.

But the motion had caught the warriors' attention. Ralof fumbled for his mace, but Hadvar was much faster to draw his spear. He held it close up to the neck, leaned back, and hurled it straight at the spider in less time than it had taken Reads-With-Tail to realize it was there. The makeshift javelin flew true, punching through the spider just below the abdomen. It fell to the ground, spinning gently to land on its belly with none of the grace it had once possessed, and Hadvar immediately marched across the webbed floor to retrieve his weapon. "Just couldn't leave it at that, could you?" he muttered just loud enough for Reads-With-Tail to hear.

The spider squirmed but it was obviously dying, its legs kicking entirely at random and both scythes and fangs twitching with no force behind them. But Hadvar wasn't about to risk it recovering, it seemed. He held his spear point-down, both hands high on the shaft, and stabbed hard into the creature's head. Then again, and again, four times, regular and precise as a master smith, until at last the Frostbite spider lay completely still. Reads-With-Tail looked at Ralof and saw what he could only imagine was the perfect mirror of his own slack-jawed expression.

The legionnaire stalked back over to them. "And that, Ralof, is how you throw a hand weapon properly. Now, are we ready to put this place behind us?"

"Aye, we'd best go before you start trembling again, Hadvar," the Stormcloak replied, but to Reads-With-Tail's ears it was hollow. At least the mission is done, for all three of us. We get out of here, get some sleep and a little traveling money, and we can forget all about this.

Well, maybe they can, he made himself add as the silver light faded behind them. I'm going to be dreaming about it the rest of my life. I may have been brave, or at least crazy enough to pretend I was, but I don't know how I'll react if I ever see another one of those things. It was so big, it was so monstrous, it was so...so big!

Hadvar and Ralof were silent as they worked their way back upstairs, and Reads-With-Tail wished they wouldn't be. He needed something to keep the nightmares away. And no help was coming. Real warriors don't need help to fight their dreams, do they?