Part Six: College of Winterhold, 4E 212

A week after Tolfdir's lecture, Prisa was strolling on the College battlements, drawn there by a day of cloudless skies, a light wind, and unusual warmth. Skyrim's weather was far less predicable than that of Cyrodiil, but not all the surprises that it held were unpleasant ones.

As soon as she opened the door that led to the battlements, she noticed that there was another student up there, surveying the scene from just above the gate, a gray bag at his feet. As Prisa drew closer, she saw that it was Borrig, and hesitated. They hadn't spoken to each other since Borrig's unprovoked attack on the character of Imperials during Tolfdir's lecture. Prisa had thought about talking it out with him directly, but in the end she had shrugged her shoulders and decided to let time heal all wounds. Borrig hadn't really meant anything by it, she was sure. It was just habit, a tiresome one to be sure, but without any genuine hostility behind it.

Prisa sat down on the warm stone a couple of meters away from Borrig, leaning her back against the battlements. She looked up into the sky and said quietly, "You can come out now. I'm sure you weren't trying to hurt my feelings."

Borrig laughed quietly.

"Besides, Tolfdir was wrong," Prisa added. "Lelaut is a Breton name, not an Imperial one. One of the soldiers who fell at the Battle of Glenumbra Moors was a Breton named Lelaut. My ancestor was quartermaster of his unit, and we still have some of his documents."

"You've a good memory," Borrig remarked, in a tone that was polite but distant. "History is just a jumble of places and dates to me."

Prisa smiled up at him and said, "Then I suppose you've also forgotten that another one of the fallen at Glenumbra Moors was the King of Skyrim. Ironic, wasn't it? People called him the Elf-Killer, and he wore the title proudly, but he died defending the Direnni against the Alyssians. I wonder how they took the news when he arrived in Sovngarde?"

"He would just have needed to say that he died fighting for the right side. That would have been good enough. Friends become enemies, enemies become friends, but right is right and wrong is wrong. That doesn't change. The Alyssians were a plague on us all."

Prisa nodded her head absent-mindedly. She had gotten up again and was looking past Borrig now, at the faint blue mist to the southwest.

"I think a lot about it," Prisa began, very quietly. "I like to remember Glenumbra Moors, where so many came together to risk their lives for mortals whom they didn't know and had never met... some of them even hereditary enemies... because it was the right thing to do, not for any reward."

She paused a moment, and then sang a verse from an old ballad in a soft voice, eyes on the horizon, looking toward Glenumbra.

Who took up arms that winter dawn and to Glenumbra came?
To raise their hand 'gainst tyrants, stand and die in freedom's name?
Who stood upon the field that hour to answer Direnni's call?
Men, Breton-born, all came that morn, to fend the land for all...

"It wasn't just the Bretons, of course... it was everyone. The world of mortal beings never had a more glorious hour..."

Her voice trailed off, and Borrig, glancing at her face, was surprised to see her eyes full of tears.

"Why isn't it like that always?" she said to the blue mist far to the southwest. Her tone was strained and harsh, as if she were holding on desperately to keep from losing control of her emotions.

Borrig couldn't think of any answer that seemed even remotely adequate. They stood looking at the horizon in silence for what seemed like a very long time.

"I just heard from Urag that the book Tolfdir was talking about isn't going to go into general circulation after all," he said, changing the subject abruptly. "Tolfdir got flustered again, after his talk, and decided that even with cuts, it revealed too much information about... that whatever he called it, some outlandish name. Giving spirits a real, physical form in Mundus. Urag said that he just can't stop fretting over what might happen if information about that art got loose."

Prisa made a sour face. "So the rest of us will have to get on our knees if we want to see it, and then we'll be rejected anyway," she replied, in a disgusted tone.

Borrig responded to Prisa's irritation with a mirthless smile.

"I'm not surprised, after the cross-examination he got from Belana and Rigla at the end of the lecture. Those two seemed to have some project in mind already, though I don't know what it might have been. They just wouldn't leave poor Tolfdir alone. Like wolves on a wounded deer. No wonder he's in a panic."

Belana Serandis was a senior Dunmer student, infamous for her single-mindedness; Rigla Gold-Loom was a Nord who had already risen to the level of junior associate in Conjuration. Neither of them had many friends. Both were too used to getting whatever they wanted, Prisa thought, and now they'd spoiled it for everyone else as well.

"Completely useless caution, too," she snapped. "It's like an old alchemical recipe with ingredients that haven't been seen since the dawn of the First Era. What danger is a formula when its most important ingredient is impossible to obtain? Tolfdir didn't say much about that part of the manuscript, but he did make it quite clear that the procedure required the use of an intact skyshard. No one has seen one of those since the end of the Second Era. Even the one the Khajiit are supposed to have is barely active, and it's been hidden away or lost. Sometimes I wonder whether Tolfdir's quite right in the head. There's caution, and there's paranoia, and he's definitely paranoid."

Borrig turned to look toward the southwest again.

"There's also foresight. Sensing trouble ahead, even if you can't put your finger on when or where or why. Tolfdir may act like a silly old woman at times, but he's a well-informed silly old woman. Try to take him seriously in this. More than you might guess is riding on the decisions we make now."

This enigmatic caution served only to annoy Prisa even more. She started to speak, and then checked herself suddenly, to re-edit what she wanted to say into something more diplomatic. But her exasperation still came through, impossible to conceal completely.

"We're frightened of our own shadows. No wonder magic is in such a state. Shalidor would have been ashamed of us."

"Shalidor got himself into enough trouble through his recklessness to last thousands of years," Borrig replied. "He's not a good role model here." He broke off at that point and looked steadily at Prisa until she began to feel uneasy.

Finally he spoke again.

"There's a problem. I'm the immediate cause of it, but if it had not been me now, it would have been someone else later. You're level-headed, able to keep your mouth shut, and I think you understand the dangers involved better than you let on. You don't have an agenda of your own. And you care about these things, a lot. That's most important of all."

"I don't understand..."

Borrig bent down and picked up the sack at his feet. He handed it to Prisa.

"Take a look at this. It will tell you most of what you need to know."

Prisa unwrapped the contents of the sack carefully. It was light, and the shape suggested a vase or some sort of ceremonial vessel. She tugged away a second layer of cloth, and peered into the mouth of the sack to examine the object inside.

There was a blinding flash of blue-white light, a loud hissing or humming sound, and Prisa lost consciousness. When she came to, she found herself staring straight up into the vault of the sky, temporarily unable to move or speak. Borrig was on his knees beside her, looking more embarrassed than worried.

"You'll be all right in a moment. It did the same thing to me when I first discovered it. I'm sorry for having been so vague. I hadn't thought that you might be a sensitive as well. Silly of me not to consider that."

"Sensitive... to... what?" Prisa croaked out, with considerable effort, still flat on her back. But she had already guessed.

Borrig answered her with a sardonic half-smile.

"You know how they say that you can find at least one of anything that has ever existed, from the beginning of the world onward, buried somewhere in the storeroom of an old Nord family? Unfortunately, that turned out to be correct. And my family is very, very old, and they've fallen heir to the property of other old families, mostly through marriage. We've piled up quite a bit of stuff... quite a bit... and literally piled up. No order to the accumulation at all. You'd have to see it to believe it.

"The last time I made a long visit back home, early last year, I dug up a lovely old set of alchemy equipment in our storeroom. No one had any idea whose it had been, or how long it had been there. Centuries, perhaps. So I kept on digging when I returned home briefly, a couple of months ago, and found... that," he said, nodding his head toward the bag, which lay on the paved floor three or four feet away from them. "After I got up off the storeroom floor, it didn't take long to realize what it was. How it got there, no one knows. But you and Urag are the only people here who know that it exists, and that it's with me now."

"What are you carrying it around with you for? Practical joking?

Borrig shook his head.

"To tell you the truth, I was half-thinking of throwing it off the battlements here. Hoped it might break. But that would be irresponsible. What would happen to the pieces? What if it just bounced and got stuck somewhere, or disappeared among the cliff rocks? What if it ended up in the sea, and a winter storm washed it up some day? No. I've talked it over with Urag, and I agree with him. It has to be put somewhere safe. Beyond temptation. And it has to be done quietly, and quickly, before anyone realizes what is going on."

He got to his feet, and helped Prisa up, but she was still a little unsteady and clung to his arm for a moment until the world steadied around her. She glanced nervously at the bag containing the skyshard, and Borrig chuckled.

"Lighning doesn't strike twice. It's perfectly safe to handle now, even if you are a sensitive, as I suspect a lot of magic users are. There's only fireworks the first time you get together."

Prisa straightened up and took a few tentative steps back and forth, until she was sure she could walk without falling. The sun was beginning to move down in the western sky, and a cold little wind had risen from the high peaks on the mainland. She shivered.

"Only Urag knows? Well, I can see your point... he's about the only one here who can be trusted to keep his mouth shut. And he's read a lot about such things. Where does he think it should go?"

Borrig didn't answer at once. He picked up the bag with the skyshard, and took Prisa's arm. The two began to walk slowly back to the door that led back to the Arcanium. Prisa felt very weary, not just from the experience, but from the news. More trouble. Always trouble around mages. At least Borrig's behaving responsibly, she thought to herself, and leaned a bit harder on him. Where will all this end? They passed through the door into the entrance court for the Arcanium, and Prisa broke free of Borrig to sit down on the first bench she could find. But she gestured for him to sit beside her, and when he did, sought his support again.

"It'll pass," he said, in a reassuring voice. "For me, it felt almost like losing a lot of blood. The dizziness took a long time to wear off, nearly a day. I'll stay with you until you feel better, if you want."

Prisa nodded, and said in a small voice, "Help me back to my chamber, Borrig. Sit with me for a while, if you can. Tell the others I'm indisposed if they ask. Feverish. Dizzy. Not so far away from the truth. Damn... I want to come with you now to talk with Urag, but that'll have to wait. Don't want to throw up on one of his beloved books..."

He patted her hand. "You'll be all right by tomorrow. You might dream tonight, though. I did. Not to worry. It gave me some hints about the future, I think. You might get more from it, if you know what to expect."

"I can hardly wait," Prisa muttered, and her delivery was so deadpan that they both began to laugh. Then she struggled to her feet and began walking to her chamber in the Hall of Attainment, once more leaning heavily on Borrig's arm, feeling foolish and dependent, but at the same time, curiously secure.