Chapter Fifty-one
Blood in the Snow
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Brynjolf made good time on the road, making his horse run as much as it was able, walking only long enough for it to catch its breath now and then. He stayed the night in Kynesgrove and got an early start the next morning, putting him at the pass into Winterhold before midday. The remains of an avalanche blocking the road proved a bit of a challenge, but nothing that would keep him from going forward this far in his journey. It was just past noon when he finally arrived at Snow Veil Sanctum and was met by a small puzzle to figure out.
The first thing he saw outside the ruin was a dead horse, its throat slit with a knife. Nearby were the remains of a campfire that had long since gone cold. A few tent stakes remained as well. It was obvious someone had camped here for some time, judging by the store of firewood and the amount of snow that had been trampled. Was this Mercer and Irina's camp? They hadn't taken horses on their journey, so the dead horse must have belonged to someone else. Maybe Karliah?
He examined the camp more closely and noticed blood staining the snow near where the tent used to be. Droplets of blood made a trail over a single set of footprints that looked like they came from the ruin. Frowning, Brynjolf followed the trail. The trail actually passed by the ruin, which surprised him, and headed off in a westerly direction. The farther he went the more curious he got. Someone had walked quite a ways through knee-deep snow while apparently bleeding out. How they had managed it without collapsing was anyone's guess.
The blood trail led to the edge of a steep slope scattered with craggy rock outcroppings. Here the tracks in the snow and blood trail changed. It was no longer a simple set of footprints, and it took Brynjolf a moment to decipher what had transpired. There were a lot of large scrapings in the snow, as if something had been dragged, which was also evidenced by the smearing of the blood trail. However, there were still distinct footprints, which some of the drag marks had covered over. He finally deduced that whoever was injured was being dragged by someone else. And before when he'd seen only one set of footprints the injured person was likely being carried.
The trail led down the steep hill at an angle toward what appeared to be stone pillars half buried in the snow. When he reached them they were revealed to be the entrance to a Nordic ruin in the side of the hill. The blood trail continued up to the door of the ruin. Brynjolf paused under the cover of the arcaded entry. He ran his hand along the intricately carved door and then tried the latch. It was unlocked.
Pushing the door open carefully, he poked his head through and saw a narrow corridor disappearing straight ahead into the darkness. He could barely make out what appeared to be a wrought iron gate at the far end. The blood trail continued down the corridor, so that's where Brynjolf had to go.
The iron gate posed a problem, however. Once he reached it, he discovered that it had no latch or hinge. It was designed like a portcullis and had to be raised into the ceiling. However, when he tried to lift it up it wouldn't budge. It was either too heavy or its mechanisms were rusted. A careful examination of the ground on the other side of the gate proved that whoever the blood came from had somehow found a way through, since the blood trail continued into what appeared to be a large chamber on the other side. That meant Brynjolf would have to find something to leverage the gate up at least enough for him to crawl through.
He went back outside and scoured the hill around the ruin for anything he could use, but the only thing in sight was snow and huge sheets of ice. He remembered seeing some trees near the top of the hill, so he scrambled his way back up. Sure enough, several large pines stood in a cluster, and he used his knife to hack away at one of the larger branches. It took him some time, but he was thankful for the workout, as it kept his body warm as the afternoon began to wane into early evening and the temperature began to drop. Once he had the three branch, he searched for a couple large stones, which was also difficult, since most of them were buried deep under the snow. However, he finally found some under a tree where the warmth from the trunk had kept the snow clear.
He hauled all of it back to the ruin in two trips, then positioned one of the stones near the gate. He laid the tree branch over it, resting one end under one of the iron cross bars. Then with all his strength he leaned on the other end of the branch. The gate budged slightly, but Brynjolf still had to stand on the branch to get his full bodyweight engaged before the gate lifted any decent amount. Once he lifted the gate as high as the lever would allow—which was only about two feet—he used one foot to push the second stone he'd collected under the gate to hold it open, and finally eased off the lever. Standing back for a moment to catch his breath, he hoped that whatever he found on the other side was worth all this effort.
Brynjolf had to crawl on his belly to fit under the gate, but at least he fit, and was soon on the other side. Sure enough, the corridor opened up into a large chamber that sloped down away from him. Several large holes near the ceiling let in some daylight by which he could see large pillars and a set of wide stairs leading down to a level platform in the center of the chamber. Another set of stairs led from that to a large door that stood open in the far wall.
By the light from the holes in the ceiling Brynjolf could also see the blood staining a trail across the center of the chamber toward the other door. He followed it, thinking it would go through the door, but it stopped at a small pool of frozen blood, obviously marking the place where the person had been injured. Mercer said that Irina had been shot with an arrow. That was a lot of blood for a single arrow wound, unless on the off chance that it happened to sever an artery, which wasn't likely. So was this in fact Irina's blood? Mercer had not been injured, and he'd not mentioned if he'd managed to injure Karliah before she got away. But if he had he probably would have mentioned it. So it was likely that this was Irina's blood, especially since her body was not here and the blood trail lead out of the ruin and back to the camp at the main entrance. Had Mercer tried to save her? But he'd said he'd left her in Snow Veil Sanctum. He'd said nothing about dragging her body out to safety. There was also no body at the camp, nor a grave—at least not that he'd noticed. He needed to do a closer inspection of the camp now that he knew what else to look for.
But first he wanted to examine the chamber a bit closer. He scanned the floor, studying the tracks he could see in the light dusting of snow that came through the holes in the ceiling. He found a broken arrow shaft lying a short distance from the pool of blood. It was ebony—the same kind Karliah had always preferred. The arrowhead was missing, which meant that someone had tried to help Irina by tending to the arrow wound—or perhaps she herself had attempted it.
Some footprints—obviously a woman's, but not accompanied by bloodstains—led to a pile of rocks on the level platform in the middle of the chamber. The stones had been piled there deliberately and it looked remarkably like a grave, long and narrow with a larger stone positioned at one end. Brynjolf's heart beat faster as he considered that maybe this was Irina's grave. He had imagined Mercer just leaving Irina's body unburied in the ruin, but maybe he hadn't been as heartless after all. As much as he didn't want to disturb the dead, there was only one way to know for sure who was buried there.
He began removing stones one at a time from the head of the grave, but drew back slightly in surprise when he uncovered a white, fleshless skull staring up at him. He glanced around the chamber in mild confusion. Someone had been buried here years ago? This chamber did not have the appearance of a tomb, and the location of the grave was odd. It looked unplanned and hastily constructed, not matching the style of the chamber at all. Also there were all the footprints around the grave. And upon further inspection he noticed the places where stones had been removed from the floor throughout the chamber, and apparently brought back to construct the grave. So the grave was a fairly new addition to the place, and yet the entombed skeleton was old.
Then in a moment of sudden realization, Brynjolf knew what he was looking at. He sank to his knees beside the grave.
"Gallus…" he whispered. That had to be it. Karliah had killed Gallus in Snow Veil Sanctum and left his body to rot. Mercer hadn't mentioned it, but could he have possibly given Gallus's remains a proper burial?
Brynjolf shook his head. That didn't make sense. Why would Mercer do that for Gallus but not for Irina? Unless he did actually burry Irina outside near the camp—he still needed to investigate that area further.
Could Karliah have laid Gallus to rest before Mercer and Irina arrived? Had remorse got the better of her in the end? It didn't matter though, she was still at the very top of his most wanted list.
He carefully replaced the stones on the grave and then made his way back outside and up the hill to the camp by the main entrance of the ruin. The daylight was beginning to fade by the time he made it back, but he could still see well enough to examine the area more closely. He saw no evidence of a grave being dug—which would have been obvious in the snow. The blood trail he'd followed before led directly to where the tent had been set up, and it ended there. So whoever the blood belonged to apparently recovered or died in the tent. A bit more searching around the edges of the camp revealed two sets of footprints walking side by side away from the camp toward the west. Both sets of footprints were small, likely belonging to women. He followed them all the way to the main road that led to the city of Winterhold, where they became obscured by other footprints of travelers and the tracks of cart wheels. Brynjolf stood on the road for several minutes, trying to wrap up a conclusion in his mind as the sunset turned the distant sea orange and pink.
Irina's body or her grave was nowhere to be found. That didn't necessarily mean she wasn't dead—since bodies could be hidden any number of ways—but the likelihood of that was less than her being still alive, and Brynjolf chose to believe the latter. He didn't know who the person was who saved Irina's life, but he knew it wasn't Mercer, and from the tracks in the area it appeared to be a woman. Could it have been Karliah? Why would Karliah shoot Irina and then save her life? He didn't want to believe it was Karliah—he wanted to go on hating her, and definitely didn't want to owe her any favors.
He shook his head, deciding to dismiss it for now. It didn't really matter who had saved Irina. All that mattered was that she apparently had been saved, she wasn't dead, and that was a huge relief. He didn't know where Irina was now, nor did he have any ideas how he could find out. It appeared that she might have gone on to Winterhold—why, he couldn't guess—but he couldn't be one hundred percent sure, and Winterhold was still several miles west of him through very inhospitable countryside. It was getting dark and very cold, and he couldn't afford to risk the trip on a hunch. He needed to get back over the pass before nightfall or it would be dangerously icy on that road.
Wherever Irina was now, she must have a good reason for not contacting him. He just had to trust her and wait.
