Y'ffre's Children I - An Elder Scrolls Short

by jackdarcy812

Rahelia, a young Wood Elf huntress, tasked with bringing the heart of an Indrik to a High Elf noble, is dragged into a plot that she has been unknowingly pivotal to her entire life. Along the way, she learns more about herself and her destiny, whether she likes it or not. And her bond with nature leaves her desperate for answers. Part 1.

Jack D'Arcy

An Elder Scrolls Short

Y'ffre's Children I

I

Rahelia dropped to her haunches, incredulous. The Indrik had revealed itself, emerging from a blue-gold light that whirred into existence. Y'ffre's own steed in all its aetherial radiance stood before her, deep green and crystalline with feathers that rippled like a summer stream, and fur that danced in the forest breeze. And they expect me to bring back its heart, she thought sadly. Forcing the thought to the back of her mind, Rahelia crept forward; the long grass kept her well-hidden. Her hand searched for an arrow, fingers brushing softly against the goose feather fletching. She plucked one from her quill and placed it softly against her bow. The Indrik was fussing over some reeds by the banking, blissfully unaware. Rahelia drew her bowstring taut, doubt wrestling against her tense fingers.

Suddenly, wings beat against the sky and a tremendous, shrill cry followed. Startled, the Indrik shot a glance upward then reeled back rapidly; sunlight bounced off lucid antlers.

Rahelia shielded her eyes to find the source of the disturbance, yet before she could make sense of it, great, brown wings and golden talons swept her unceremoniously out of the long grass. She spun through the air before thumping back into the earth a second later, rolling to a halt at the foot of a tree. White-hot agony ripped through her arm and shoulder. Wincing, she pushed herself flat against the soil, becoming one with the green.

There was another screech as the immense, winged figure took flight once more; a wave of summer heat sailed through the forest. Grass parted and Rahelia was exposed, her bow lost to her. She clambered to a stand, a jolt of fresh agony burning through her ribs. The Indrik was gone, she noticed: away from this forest to somewhere safer. Rahelia turned to run. She had no portal to dash through or glade to hide in, only her legs and the forest. But this wasn't Valenwood, this was Summerset, and these trees were foreign to her, and even if they weren't her bruised body would not permit her to race through them as she would back home.

A sweltering burst of air took her in the back as she fled. Tree boughs shook and golden leaves swirled by her face and arms, scratching at her skin. Breath escaped her with each step. She staggered forward until she found a tree wide enough to hide behind. A short respite. Her body was against her: throbs of agony beat against her shoulder, her arms, her ribs.

The wind petered out as the monster came to land. A low clacking signalled its approach, and a distinct, acrid scent permeated the air, assailing her nostrils. Rahelia reached for the dagger at her thigh.

Y'ffre, guide my hand.

She lashed out from behind the tree and stabbed blindly at whatever her dagger found first.

A bone-chilling scream shook the very forest. The beast recoiled, its enormous wings spreading out to blanket Rahelia in shadow. A gryphon, and an old one at that. Rahelia's dagger had found its hooked beak, only serving to anger the beast further. Ice gripped her heart. The Wood Elf slipped behind the tree once more when a mighty talon came slashing. Flaming tendrils coursed through her veins; it was all she could do not to drop to her knees and accept her fate.

Then, like the heavens themselves opening, a blue-gold light shimmered into reality, and out stepped the majestic, moss green Indrik. The gryphon emitted a long, ear-splitting shriek at the sight of it, then reared, making itself much larger and markedly more terrifying.

It means to fight the Indrik, Rahelia mused, dumbfounded.

In a whirlwind of dust and leaves the gryphon took to the air. The Indrik never made to move, only waiting in serene silence. Until the gryphon went screeching into a dive.

Rahelia looked on as the Indrik simply bowed its head, releasing a beam of white frost from its antlers that took the gryphon full in the wing; a sheen of frost lined its edge, and the savage creature came hurtling through the treetops with much less grace than it had before. With a squawk it hit the ground, staggering clumsily to a stand. The Indrik was still again, watching its foe through gentle golden eyes. After a brief standoff, it began to hum faintly and the gryphon clacked in response, before turning away to prowl through the grove.

The Wood Elf shook as a breath of relief passed through her lips. As the Indrik approached she rose uneasily, aided by the tree that had been her shield. "Y'ffre's blessings on you, sweet beast," she said, sweeping a tangle of chestnut hair from her forehead. "I am truly humbled." She reached out cautiously, brushing her fingers along the Indrik's neck. Feathers parted where her fingers went; they were soft and smooth and like nothing she had ever touched before. The beast began to hum once more: a sonorous melody that washed over Rahelia, resonating against her very bones. Unbidden, her eyes closed shut. She felt her fingers drifting away from the furs and the feathers as tendrils of gold and crimson flowed across the darkness; vibrant colours twisted and merged in a dream-like haze. Memories began to well deep inside her, this one, then the next. On and on they came, flickering in and out of her mind before she had the chance to relish them. Then, someone was smiling at her.

Father!

She blinked herself back into the forest and found herself alone, lying on her back in the grass. He was smiling. And so was she. The Ooze did not claim him. He was no oath breaker. As she rose, she came to the sudden realisation that her pain had subsided; she felt a buzz of energy pulsating in her very soul. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek, she allowed it.

After that, she glimpsed a blue-gold light that dissipated like fog.

II

Rahelia tugged on her horse's reins as she approached the bridge. The mare slowed and the residents of Rellenthia took notice, watching with furrowed brows and cautious scowls. The High Elves here, as with most places on their island, were not fond of foreigners. Queen Ayrenn's decision to open their borders had been horrific news for most of them, Rahelia felt the distrust and anger at once when she arrived in Shimmerene with the other newcomers. Luckily for her, she managed to slip away from the justiciars when they came to escort them through the city, mounting her horse and bolting out into the countryside. She had a job to do after all, and spending days in Shimmerene going through checks and passes was not part of that job.

She came to the end of the bridge and continued through the town, passing the House of Revelries, home to the biggest artistic troupe on the island. Many of them stood watching, some had faces hidden behind an array of wooden masks, painted in deep purples, scarlet reds, and bright yellows. At the sight of Rahelia, one masked woman began to sing. Her voice was beautiful, melodious, even when muffled by her scarlet veil, yet somehow slightly unnerving. Then she began to dance with the grace only a High Elf could possess. She listened for a moment, basking in the ominously euphonious tones, watching as the woman's body contorted to the rhythm of her own voice, then she moved on, a lump forming in her throat. As she made her way through town, she could see the pillars of the giant amphitheatre rising out from behind the House of Revelries, like the hand on a stone colossus whose fingers clawed at the sky.

As she put one ludicrously large building behind her, another one appeared before her, a white stone manse, with spiral roofs and windows of blue and red and gold. However, in the place of singers and dancers stood a haughty looking noble, wearing a green and gold jerkin. Rahelia could not help but notice how he ringed his hands together. She greeted him with a bow. "Canonreeve. I have—"

"Eldanthir," the canonreeve called, and out of his manse came a Wood Elf garbed in servant robes. "Bring the ranger to my gardens, would you. She has a gift for me." A wicked smile found his lips. He turned and went inside with a spring in his step.

"With me," the servant said proudly, not deigning to look Rahelia in the eye.

When Rahelia dismounted she moved to stand beside the Wood Elf, gladdened to see one of her own. "Greetings from the Green. It is nice to see a fellow—"

"We have ample space for the mare in the stables," the servant interrupted. "I should probably have someone scrub it clean while you are with the canonreeve."

"My thanks," she forced herself to say.

Unspeaking, he took hold of the reins and led them through the stone archway. It was clear the Bosmeri servant had been in his position for a while as there was no trace of humbleness left in him at all, only the arrogance that came with years of noble affiliation. She pushed the haughty little Wood Elf to the back of her mind and started thinking about how the canonreeve was going to react when she told him about the Indrik, eventually settling on the fact that she didn't care all that much. If she had killed it, she would never have seen her father and proved the lying spinners wrong. She knew he wasn't the mer they claimed he was. When they finally arrived in the gardens the canonreeve invited her to sit on the long mahogany bench below the trellis.

"Where is it?" he asked once Eldanthir had left. "Where is the beast's heart?" When she began to explain she could see the colour drain from his face. "By the stars!" he boomed. "What do you mean you failed!"

Rahelia sat crossed legged on the cushioned bench, shaded by a cherry blossom tree. "Exactly what I told you, the beast escaped me. I'm used to hunting senche tigers and river trolls, they are easy. Indriks are not."

The Altmer noble's face twisted into a mean grimace. "When I sent for you I did so confident that you would be successful in this endeavour. I had it on good authority that you were the best there is." He raked his temples with his fingernails. "I am enraged. My plans are scuppered. You do not understand what this will cost me. How could you understand, Bosmer!" He stared at the desk before him, wild eyed. "You must try again! Get back out there and try again!"

"All the gold in Alinor would not rouse me to action, Canonreeve," Rahelia retorted, watching the nobleman's face contort further. "I was a fool to ever take up your contract. An Indrik shouldn't be killed for their heart, they are Y'ffre's steed."

"Thrice damned Bosmeri cur," the canonreeve growled. "You do not understand Altmeri etiquette so do not presume to lecture me." He rose, sweeping round the desk and across his garden. "An Indrik is a beautiful creature, that much is certain. Their hearts contain magical properties that we bestow upon our guests as a gift and sign of enduring friendship. It is a custom amongst the canonreeves, a custom I cannot tarnish."

The outburst was exactly what Rahelia had expected. In her first meeting with the canonreeve, when he had originally asked her to hunt the Indrik, he had been feverish in his desire to claim the Indrik heart. She remembered the cold that pricked her skin when he had said the heart mustn't be tainted, that it was too precious, and any damage might undo the very properties he hoped to make use of. She felt uncomfortable by his words; the Altmer see Indrik heart as a delicacy not some tool, she thought. The way the canonreeve spoke to her earlier that day suggested otherwise. She wanted to know more. "Then go get it yourself," she said.

"And bloody mine own hand?"

"Use your fancy spells."

"And contaminate the heart?"

"By the Green, you are insufferable!"

"No," the canonreeve snapped. "Only an arrow will do. A nebarra's arrow." The canonreeve sat on the lip of the fountain, crossed his legs, then grimaced. He pushed his silvering hair behind his ears and trained his star-like eyes upon the Wood Elf who leaned back into the bench coolly, as though she was at a friend's house and had been invited to make herself at home.

"So only a foreigner can kill an Indrik?" she said. "That is why you sent word to Cormount?"

He nodded. "Indeed. It is not unlawful for an Altmer to kill an Indrik, but it is heavily frowned upon."

Rahelia sniggered, "So send in the savage little Bosmer, yes?"

The Altmer noble smirked. "Well now, those were your words. You were to be paid handsomely. Still are, if you so desire it." The look in his eyes unnerved her, though she wouldn't show it. It was more than eagerness, it was a deep, voracious lust that needed to be sated.

"I'm afraid I can't, and nor should anyone else." She uncrossed her legs and hopped off the bench. "It was rash of me to come here, I should have known better. The idea of a job from a canonreeve was too good to resist. I should have turned and ran the second you mentioned killing an Indrik. No, I won't do this thing for you, and I do not believe any of my kin would either."

His golden face twitched, and something welled in the corner of his eye. "Am I to call upon the Khajiit for help?" he said flatly.

"No, call upon no one. Leave the beast be."

The noblemer rose in a flash, teeth bared. He was a foot taller than Rahelia, but she did not flinch. She met his gaze and smiled. "You smile?" he snarled.

"Yes, Canonreeve, I smile." Her amber eyes never left him. "That Indrik saved me from a gryphon that would have surely killed me otherwise. After that, upon permitting me to touch it, it showed me my father in Aetherius. Not the Ooze like most believed, the despairing nothing, but Aetherius. I knew it in my bones, I felt the heavens well inside me. I could not see him, Canonreeve, but Y'ffre rode that Indrik to me this day. He fixed a gaping wound that had been left to fester ever since my father left us, ever since the Spinners told me he would be forever in-between, without form. He smiled at me, Canonreeve. He smiled. He is home.

The High Elf rolled his eyes derisively and scoffed. "If I wanted to listen to Bosmeri fables I would go to Silvenar."

Rahelia cocked her head, observing him indifferently. "Do as you like," she said. "But I maintain that I will never harm that Indrik or any other for as long as I occupy this body."

A flush of red crept up the canonreeve's golden neck. "You dare disobey!" he roared. "You have no idea—"

"No," she interrupted, wiping his spittle from her brow, "perhaps I don't. And maybe that is for the best." She turned to leave.

"Where do you think—" he paused. "Do not leave. Look at me. Don't you dare—" He made to follow her. "Rahelia, you must bring me that heart. I need it!"

The manse door swung open and Eldanthir stepped out. "Master, Aldarch Relliondur has arrived. He awaits your presence in the sitting room."

"He is early, tell him to leave."

"Forgive me, Master, but he is perfectly on time."

"Stars damn you, Eldanthir! And stars damn you as well, Rahelia!"

Rahelia slipped past the steward and padded down the hall, smiling as the canonreeve's curses echoed off the marble. There was a spring in her stride.

III

Rellenthil was alive with merriment when Rahelia left the canonreeve's manse. The House of Revelries were to perform today, and people had come from far and wide to see them; the amphitheatre behind the Manor of Masques was buzzing with excitement and laughter. The troupe itself were stood at the foot of their guildhall, masked and donned in an array of vivid colours that made Rahelia feel rather drab in her muddy leathers. The smell of pyul-king-duck and gar sul pork belly assailed her nose, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since she broke her fast that morning. She decided she would eat before she left for home, and so made her way to the amphitheatre.

She passed beneath a pair of giant stone pillars under the watchful eyes of finely dressed Altmer whose lips twisted at the sight of her. Rahelia took little interest: she was used to High Elves turning their noses up at her, the Thalmor especially. Ever since King Camoran Aerodan agreed to join the Aldmeri Dominion Altmeri soldiers and wizards had flooded in to Valenwood, bringing their prejudice along with them.

"Begging your pardon," said the haughty High Elf sat behind his desk at the entrance. "Do you have business here?"

"I'm here to see the House of Revelries perform," Rahelia lied, her rumbling stomach betraying her intent.

The Altmer gave her a scrutinising gander. "Looking like that? I think not. We hold ourselves to a high standard here in Rellenthil, Bosmer. This is not one of your forests."

"You refuse me entry?"

"I do. Now turn around and leave, there are good folk behind you queueing patiently." The clerk took up his quill. "Step aside."

"She is the one that the canonreeve sent for," someone whispered behind her. "Paid to slaughter our Indriks."

Another scoffed, "Savage."

"Well, if your nobles did not lust after Indrik hearts I would not have to kill them," Rahelia retorted coolly. "Stop eating them and I might not need to hunt them."

"Quite right," said a masked mer sat cross legged on the lip of a wall. "The canonreeve refuses to sully his own blade but calls upon our Bosmeri cousin here to muddy her own boots, yet she is the one that earns your disdain. Fools, the lot of you. Fearful and misguided."

"Excuse me," said the High Elf behind Rahelia. "If you mean to speak falsehoods do not do so hidden behind a mask. Who are you?"

"Muse."

"Well, Muse, you should know that I-"

"Talk too much?"

Elegant as a deer, the masked mer unfolded her legs and sprang from the wall, landing softly on her toes. When she moved towards them she did so with grace.

"Did you do it, then?" she said to Rahelia, ignoring the crowd. "Is the beast slain?"

"No," was all Rahelia had to say. She was in no mood for conversation.

"Very good. And why not?"

"I changed my mind. The Indrik did not deserve to die."

Golden eyes lit up behind a lacquered red mask. "Let her in," the masked reveller ordered, clicking her fingers in the dumbfounded clerk's face. "You, yes you, I am speaking to you. Scribble her name on your page, she is my guest."

The clerk's mouth was agape. "And the fee?" he managed to utter.

"Performer's guests do not pay," stated Muse before turning to Rahelia. "Go feast, my friend, your grumbling belly demands it. Once the show is over I will find you. We have much to discuss."

We do? Before Rahelia could say a word Muse drifted away through the crowd.

"Name?" the clerk grumbled.

She told him then sauntered surely into the amphitheatre - before being asked to leave her bow with the mage-guard stood by the stage. Reluctantly, she obliged.

It was a challenge for her to wrestle past the towering Altmeri figures, but she did so brazenly and unapologetically. Some saw her coming, ponderously stepping aside so as not to meet the filth covered Bosmer. Rahelia heard the whispers as the other elves banded together but thought nothing of them.

By the time she reached the food her desire to devour the first thing she saw was palpable. She snatched at the pyul-king duck and sank her teeth into the flesh, caring little for the grease that dripped down her lips and chin. Someone gasped behind her, it made her smile. She wiped the grease away with the back of her hand and threw her head back with delight, taking another bite thereafter. These arrogant Altmer always did know a thing or two about food. Then she heard laughter approaching, catching her off guard. She wasn't used to High Elf mirth, thinking them incapable even. She turned, duck in hand, and found a sea of golden faces glaring at her.

"Good day," she said flatly. "What is it, then? Is it my height or the mud on my leathers have you ogling me like hungry harpies?"

"Stars!" bemoaned one of the onlookers, covering her mouth in disgust. "What are you doing?" Her hair was a myriad of golden layers. "Who let you in? They ought to be flogged?"

Another elf stepped forward, a flush of red in his neck and cheeks. "The duck was meant to be sliced up," he chuckled, pointing to the knife on the table. "It was to be shared out."

She remembered his face, the canonreeve's son. "Is that so?" A sense of unease crept into her bones. Has this one come looking for me?

"Well not now," someone else growled. "Greedy Halfling."

"Think nothing of it," said the canonreeve's son. "Cultural difference is all, there is no need for such theatrics, is there? Eat the rest, friend, I will send for more." Once the onlookers were finished gawping and gasping, they began to disperse. The canonreeve's son lingered, though, resplendent in green silk. "You gave Varelinwen quite the fright. I thought she might faint."

"Did your father send you?" Rahelia asked bluntly. She was there for food, that was all.

He shook his head. "My father thinks you are halfway to Shimmerene. Instead, you are here frightening the locals with your foreign mien." He smiled and ran his eyes up and down her.

"Naughty Halfling," she replied as her teeth sank into the duck again.

"I can only apologise on that rude mer's behalf."

"I've heard worse," she replied. "Your own father called me a—"

"Thrice damned cur, was it?" The High Elf shook his head once more. "He likes that one. Although he usually reserves it for Altmeri nobles."

"Then I am honoured."

"And so you should be," he flashed a smile once more and reached for the knife on the table. "The name is Telemacur, though my father never offered me yours."

"Rahelia."

Telemacur dipped his head. "Will you stay for the show, Rahelia? Or do you mean to dash once you have dined on our fine fare."

Does he think his charm is working? I don't need my bow to ram this bone through his eye. She chomped on the duck once more. "Someone…" she chewed. "someone… in this troupe… wishes to speak with me," she swallowed, "once the show is over. So I mean to stay."

"Which of our masked thespians wish to speak to you?"

"Muse."

"Muse," Telemacur repeated. "A new performer, must be. There are always new hopefuls at the Manor of Masques. Did they say what they wish to speak of?"

Rahelia licked her lips. "None of your concern."

"Ah, you are quite right, my apologies." Telemacur gestured towards the back of the amphitheatre, where there was a row of empty, cushioned seats. "That row there is reserved for Rellenthil's nobility: my mother, father, and I. Come join me, won't you. After you have sated your hunger, of course." He must have seen the reticent look on her face because he then said, "He will not be there. My father, I mean. He is too busy sulking and plotting, most like."

With one last friendly nod he turned and walked towards the noble's seat.

This town refuses to let me go.

It was then that she considered leaving. She did not know Muse, nor was she particularly fond of Telemacur, but something about all of it intrigued her. We have much to discuss, she remembered the voice behind the mask say, the lithe elf that defended her against the column of Altmeri objectors. As for Telemacur, she could not shake the feeling of doubt. His agenda was clouded behind friendly smiles and keen eyes.

Then, lacquered faces began to appear at the entrance of the amphitheatre: an intermingling of red, blues, yellows, and greens floating serenely towards the clerk. Silence fell over the arena like a heavy blanket: the show was about to start. Rahelia realised slipping out would be difficult now, Muse was like to be among that crowd of masks, and Telemacur was waving his arms to catch her attention, though she did her best to ignore him.

"Y'ffre's bloody beard," she whispered. I don't even like theatre.

After setting the bare duck bone back on the table Rahelia wiped her hands on her leathers and made for the noble's seating area where Telemacur waited.

IV

"Welcome one and all," the Maestro bellowed, his mask was green flecked with white. "Today we present to you the story of Essanyon of Ezduiin, The Doom of House Duure: a tale so harrowing that it does not pass the lips of most common mer. Alas, we of the House of Revelries are no ordinary artists, we do not fear the fearful. To spin a beautiful tale one must embrace the darkness as well as the light, hold it tight against one's breast. It is our duty as storytellers to do so. So, without further ado, I welcome you to drink deep the history of our wondrous land. I give you The House of Revelries!" The maestro exited the stage to a round of applause and excited chatter.

As time passed, Rahelia found herself in increasing discomfort, shifting from one position to the next; even the noble's padded seats did not stop her buttocks from aching. She settled on leaning forward, elbows on knees. Straight-backed Telemacur did not seem to be suffering from the same problem, his hands were on his lap and his eyes never left the stage.

At one point, a masked figure drifted onto the stage as the god Auri-El while others began to hum a soft melody that signified divinity and magnificence. His flowing silks caressed the head and neck of the mer that knelt before him, awestruck. "Your radiant beauty," the kneeler cried out. "I am not worthy." He fell forward to worship the god. "You bless me with your grace, what can this servant do for you?"

"The End Times come, Essanyon," said Auri-El. "A doom like no other will befall the blessed isle of Auridon. The land will be torn asunder, demons will rise from the deep earth and the sky will burn like the fires of Oblivion. You, my dearest subject, must commit a deed most noble. Essanyon of House Duure, you must save this golden land of splendour."

Essanyon rose his head to look at Auri-El and wept. "Anything for your radiance. What would you have of me?"

"You must make a sacrifice," ordered the divine. "Make haste to Skywatch and bring back to Ezduiin a mer of noble birth. Offer him to me, then slay him with your own hands."

Essanyon pushed himself to his feet. "You will have this of me, serene one."

Telemacur brushed his fingers across Rahelia's knee, taking her by surprise. "Do you know of the tale of Essanyon?" He asked. "Have you heard of the Mallari- Mora and the bound souls of Ezduiin?"

"I can't say I know all that much about the fables of the Summerset Isles," she answered. "If Queen Ayrenn never opened the borders I would never have set foot here. Before the Dominion was formed we Bosmer had only our own tales to tell."

"That must have been awfully dull for you."

Rahelia furrowed her brow. "Not at all. We are the best storytellers on Nirn."

"Your Spinners, yes?"

"The Spinners weave foul lies. They use their Narrative Magic to alter the truth."

"The best tales need a lie or two."

A smile spread plain across her face, a flicker of remembrance. "My father used to say, 'never let the truth ruin a good tale.'"

"Wise words."

"He was a wise mer." Too wise and good to be claimed by the Ooze.

"Essanyon and Ezduiin," Telemacur whispered, as though what he had to say was some great secret, "is one of our greatest tales of power and corruption, and what one might do to seize that power for oneself. A harrowing warning."

"O' please," said Rahelia feigning interest, "don't ruin the act."

Two masked figures appeared from behind the stage curtain and Telemacur returned his focus.

"Bring me a noblemer of Skywatch stock," the kneeler from earlier bellowed, "for there is calamity on the horizon, so the gods have foretold."

"My Lord, what would you have me do with this mer?"

"Mighty Auri-El has ordered that this mer must die at my hands here in Ezduiin," Essanyon boomed. "His radiance came to me as I prayed, deeming me the one worthy enough to save our homeland from chaos."

The other masked mer gasped, "Are you certain?"

"Do not dare question me or the word of our God-King, cur," roared Essanyon. "To Skywatch with you. And whilst you are gone I mean to spread Auri-El's warning around my fair city Ezduiin."

As the two masked performers exited the stage, a red mask emerged from behind a makeshift bush. One long leg stretched into view, then the other, and a second later the lithe figure that was Muse spun onto the stage to address the audience. "A message from Auri-El himself?" She said, pacing from one end of the stage to the other. "An order to murder an innocent mer in cold blood? Our God-King would never ask such a thing, would he?" The audience murmured a response: no. "It cannot be true," Muse continued. "Our Lord Essanyon has surely been touched by madness. Does the Mad Prince of The Shivering Isle play games with our good Lord's mind?" Someone in the crowd gasped. Muse placed her hand beneath her chin. "I am at a loss as to what to do. No, no, I must go to Skywatch, warn them. Their nobles are in danger." In one elegant motion, she sprung off the back of the stage.

"This is going to end in disaster, isn't it?" Rahelia said, words laced with tedium.

Scenes came and went, as did the artists acting them out. Rahelia felt her eyelids grow heavy so she blinked herself awake, praying that the real Auri-El would bring an end to all of this.

To the stage returned the Lord Essanyon and his servant. "I return from Skywatch a failure, My Lord. Upon reaching its walls I was met with hostility and disdain. I bring word of treason. One of our own eavesdropped on our most honourable meeting and on traitor's legs bested me to Skywatch."

Essanyon let out a mighty roar and dropped to his knees. "Mine own subject! Am I such a terrible liege, Vistardir? To be deceived so cruelly, my grief is immeasurable."

"You are blessed by Auri-El, My Lord, a worthier liege there never was."

"Yes, Auri-El chose me. I am honour-bound to do as I am bid. How so, though? With Auri-El and all of Aetherius watching I cannot fail."

"Skywatch leer down upon us now, as well, My Lord."

"Those damnable creatures. Do they come for me?"

"I am afraid so, Lord."

"Then I shall rain down the fires of Oblivion on the mer of Skywatch. The ultimate sacrifice to the radiant one, here in Ezduiin."

Telemacur pushed himself forward. "It would be extremely rude of you to fall to asleep right before the climax," he said softly. "You are about to learn the fate of Ezduiin."

Rahelia cared little and less about the fate of Ezduiin, not after her father's fate had been revealed to her. She was hungry for more, but she knew there was no telling where the Indrik would be, be it Nirn or beyond. Suddenly, she was roused from her fatigue, a feeling of urgency had taken her, and she found herself staring at the moons. Then, when her eyes swept across the fields that stretched out beneath Masser and Secunda she saw it: a blue-gold light shimmering into existence, beckoning her. She rose without hesitation and raced along the edge of the horseshoe shaped amphitheatre and into the meadow.

"I have the Mallari-Mora!" Essanyon boomed as he produced a glowing crystal in a raised hand. Masked mer were closing in on him with blunted swords. "And I will deliver a promise to my god!" The light from the crystal intensified, the guards shrieked and threw their hands in front of their faces. When all the actors slumped to the ground only Essanyon was left standing…

V

Rellenthil was a string of stone columns in the distance when she stopped to catch her breath, but the Indrik was nowhere to be found. Had I imagined it? Her father's face flickered in her mind's eye, she had to see him again.

Instinctively, she looked to the skies: the last time she went in search of the Indrik she was assailed by a gryphon – she wouldn't be taken again. It was then that she felt the empty air about her shoulders, the space her bow usually occupied. She bit her lip. Her knife was still there, though, hidden in the leathers on her thigh; the mage-guard hadn't relieved her of that, at least.

The world around her was quiet but for the birds chirping at one another, readying themselves for nightfall. Blades of grass brushed against her boots and a crystalline lake rippled sweetly, dappled by twilight. Nixads and dragonflies buzzed about her head as a warm breeze cut through the mountains of Eton Nir that encircled all. She looked back at Rellenthil, the town of revelries and pomposity and recalled being heckled as she fled the amphitheatre: "rude," one Altmeri lady had wailed, "do not come back," barked another, "filthy Bosmeri cur," was the worst, but she didn't care; it was only now, when she had stopped to take a moment, that she even remembered at all. Her bow was there so she would have to go back eventually, and she was intrigued by what Muse might have to say to her. The Altmeri thespian was interested in the Indrik and Rahelia wanted to know why.

But not before she found the beast herself.

An immediate thirst was upon her then, so she kneeled at the foot of the hillock and eagerly drank some water from the stream. At that same instant there was a sudden change in the wind. When Rahelia snapped her head up she saw why. Up the hill, crawling down the mountainside, was a great, snow white gryphon, far larger than the one that had tried to kill her earlier that day. Rahelia lied flat against the hillock. No bow, she remembered bitterly, not that she felt confident that her arrow would find the beast's heart in any case. Looking to her surroundings, the stony grove of Eton Nir, she knew there was no easy way to slip away without stumbling into the creature's ferocious gaze, before then slipping into its ferocious talons. She decided it best to stay still and silent as tremulous fingers brushed over her knife hilt.

Then, someone began to speak, and icy terror shot through her bones. "By order of the Welkynars of Cloudrest," said the stranger, "I, Welkynar Arelandur, order you to surrender yourself." Rahelia dared not speak or move. Perhaps he was talking to someone else. But even that glint of hope was vanquished. "I see you hiding there Bosmer," the Welkynar growled. "I am giving you a chance to surrender yourself under the law of these blessed isles, do not make me do something I would rather not do." His gryphon began to scrape its talons against the rocks. "It is no good ignoring me, Bosmer, I know you are there, my magic detects your heartbeat." Rahelia slipped her knife back inside her leathers, she knew better than to fight him now. "Go get her, Everaena," said the Welkynar, and wings thumped against the wind.

"No, wait!" Rahelia spoke hastily, jumping to her feet. "I am cooperating. By Y'ffre do not set that thing on me." Before her stood the Welkynar, clad in scaled mail and gilded boiled leather with wing banners attached at the shoulders. A resplendent sight, the High Elves answer to the Breton Knight. Between the wings a scabbard hung across his back, a golden handle was visible over his right shoulder. He trained baleful cobalt eyes upon her. "What is it you think I have done?"

With a flick of the knight's hands two streams of energy burst from his fingertips and attached themselves to Rahelia's wrists. She stifled a groan as the magic tightened hard as steel, grinding against her bones. "Now tell me," he ordered, "what should I expect to find in there?"

"In where?" Rahelia groaned. "I think there has been a mistake."

"In there!" the knight seethed, pointing to a breach in the mountainside. "The Vault of Heinarwe. What foul magic have your people plagued this ancient ruin with?"

Rahelia fought against her shackles feebly. "I do not have any people. I am here alone. I didn't even know there was a way into the mountainside."

"So these heartbeats I sense now, beyond the rift, you know nothing of it?"

"On the Green I swear it."

"Then why are you here?"

"I was…" she paused. The truth was going to sound absurd; she knew it. But it is the truth. "I was following an Indrik. I came from—"

Welkynar Arelandur raised a hand for silence, disbelief was palpable in his narrowed eyes. "Following an Indrik," he uttered, incredulous.

"Tracking it."

"Hunting it?"

"Just tracking. I find them fascinating. We do not see many back in the Green."

He was an untrusting Altmer, she knew it. She had seen eyes like his more times than she cared to count since arriving in Summerset. From the moment she disembarked at Shimmerene to her travels through Russafeld and all the way to Rellenthil she had seen it. Beautiful, distrusting eyes and deep, scornful lines etched into golden faces. Very quickly she realised these isles were no place for Wood Elves, even now, when Queen Ayrenn and King Camoran Aerodan were united under the eagle banner. She had never yearned for Cormount more.

But her father was waiting.

"Come," said the knight. "If you do not know the people beyond the breach then you are under my protection."

"Protection, is it?" she replied, raising her shackled wrists. "If you mean to go in there would it not be better for me to flee?"

"You are under my protection as I am yet to determine the honesty of your tale," he said. "I do not trust you, Bosmer, you might yet play me false. You will come with me."

An invisible force urged her forward and before she knew it she was beside the gryphon, taking in its foul smell. Even Altmer owned gryphons had that pungent stench that was so familiar to her now, though she would not let it be known. Nor would she dare to look the beast in the eye; it was already making low grumbling noises that were either filled with hate or hunger.

Once he had seized her dagger the Gryphon-Knight stepped into the breach and Rahelia, now unarmed, had no option but to follow.

She quickly adjusted to the lack of light; her occupation called for it. If the Khajiit can do it then so must she, or be out of work. Further along the way, in a narrow crevice deep in the mountainside, light was pushing its way through, offering a glimpse as to what was waiting for them down below. Rahelia could see a broad, stone bridge green with thorn vines, coiling around the bridge wall and spilling out across the walkway. There was something else down there and Rahelia's flesh crept at the sight of it. Two grey figures indistinguishable from one another moved across the bridge and out of sight. Arelandur was eyeing Rahelia cautiously, waiting for a flicker of recognition to ignite in her eyes. There was no recognition, only unease and the realisation that she was stepping into a world far darker than her own. Both directions led to some level of danger: the unknown shades creeping before her and the ferocious gryphon standing sentry behind her. And she sensed the mer beside her was as powerful as he was unfriendly. She let out the breath that had caught in her throat and shuddered as the branches of Cormount's graht-oak lapped against her thoughts. A sound like iron hinges groaning against an opening door reverberated from somewhere further on, reaching a forte that made her blood run cold.

Arelandur moved on and Rahelia was urged forward by the will of her shackles.

As they descended towards the bridge Rahelia thought about calling out into the mountains and alerting whoever was hiding away in there. Her echoes would bounce off the rocks and rouse these shadowy people to action giving her time to flee when the chaos ensued. Surely his magic would falter and her bonds would be broken. She chewed her lip in doubt as the gap between her and the Welkynar widened. It was when he turned and glowered at her that all the rebellion she had built up in those last few moments drifted down into the crack of light before them. In the end she decided against disobedience, she knew her severed head would hit the rocks before her lungs had emptied.

They stepped out onto the bridge.

"Make any noise or any sudden movement and I will make you my enemy," Welkynar Arelandur whispered to the bound Wood Elf that walked in his shadow.

They crept under the full moon in silence. Although they were encircled by the moss-coated mountain the sky above was unobstructed, allowing for the starlit pre-dusk to reign over them as they went. The sight had Rahelia absorbed in thought: why hadn't the gryphon knight flown in from above and taken these villains by claw and sword? Her musings left a bitter taste in her mouth, she could have avoided this folly had the Gryphon Knight made use of his gryphon. Now she was doomed to dice with death for no other reason than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

At the far end of the bridge four stone columns guarded an iron door built into the mountainside. Any sorceress activity that was taking place was going on beyond that door, Rahelia knew. Welkynar Arelandur hissed, as though he had put bare hands on a red-hot cooking pot. She didn't ask why, she only assumed he had sensed something maleficent.

Iron hinges screamed.

The Gryphon Knight raced forward and pushed himself up against one of the four columns, and Rahelia, bound to him by magic was dragged forward as well, so forcefully that she stumbled and fell, rolling to a halt in a thick bunch of thorn vines. Stifling a groan, she managed to envelope herself in foliage.

The iron door slammed shut, then Rahelia heard whispers on the air, too low for her to understand.

Then there was a gasp and the sound of a blade being ripped from its scabbard.

"I was sent here to slay you to a man," she heard the Welkynar growl in that orotund tone of his. "Each and every one of you were to die at my hand, still are if you do not surrender yourselves. So, under the law of these blessed isles I order you to—"

"Kill the elf," a man's voice commanded, then the sound of air being rent resounded through the mountains.

"You never should have come here!" someone else snarled.

What followed was a cacophony of deafening magic and ringing steel. Rahelia was struggling to escape her barbed cloak before some spell set it alight but before she could even attempt to rise she was torn away and dragged across the bridge by that invisible force. Arelandur was back near the breach in the mountainside so Rahelia was as well, lacerations running up and down her arms like tribal patterns. On her painful journey to Arelandur's side she noticed a Breton man all in grey lying on the bridge, blood pooling around his head. When she staggered to a stand she finally saw the other grey figure: eyes like chunks of coal pushed into a green, scaled face. He raised his clawed hand and produced a purple glow, unaware that all around him the thorn vines were shifting, as if they were growing restless. Suddenly, the greenery whirled around his legs and clambered eagerly up his chest and arms, constricting his movement and rendering his spell useless.

The Argonian let out a pitiful croak. "Who…"

"Never mind who," Arelandur snapped, hands moving in rhythm with the thorn vines. "You will tell me what is happening beyond those doors. What darkness does your ignominious little cult intend for Summerset?"

"Unbind me and we shall speak."

"If you tell me now, your life will be spared, and your actions judged by the Divine Justiciars."

The Argonian cackled weakly, "My life given over to your kind, bah, there would be no hope for me. You may as well just—"

"Very well," said the Welkynar.

Thorn vines slid over the Argonian's face like snakes over a carcass, tightening around his throat, crushing the life from his helpless body. Beyond the crackling sound that feebly pushed its way out of his throat there was no resistance, his baleful, black eyes stayed focused on the Welkynar and they betrayed no emotion. But all that bravery crumbled away when death's shade stepped upon the bridge. "Ack, ack, ack," he sputtered.

"Speak," Arelandur demanded, his grip loosening. "I swear by Trinimac, this is your last chance."

Swallowing the air eagerly the Argonian uttered, "Down… in… the Vault… so much magicka."

"Why? What is the source?"

"It is the hearts… the beasts'… hearts."

"What beasts? Speak!"

Rahelia stepped forward confidently. She had heard enough about beasts' hearts in her short time in Summerset to know what this was about. "Are there Indriks down there?"

"Yeeeeessssss," the Argonian gargled, his black eyes flickering maniacally. "So many dead, so many hearts."

"Dead." The word was like a cold knife in her ribs. Rahelia reached for her phantom dagger. "You monsters killed them all?" she growled, her voice betraying her rage.

"Not… us. We only… tend to them."

"For whom?"

"The masters."

Arelandur forced the cultist to his knees. "Enough! You will lead me to the vault, and you will tell your people that I am an ally. I must see this for myself."

When Arelandur found Rahelia she was tracking an Indrik around the mountains, unknowingly close to the entrance to Heinarwe's Vault, so she knew what he was thinking and he wasn't about to let her go, not after hearing this new and conspicuous information. Someone like him would never believe her untimely appearance was anything less than highly dubious. In that moment she didn't care, she wanted to stay by his side for the first time since she had met him, shackled or not. If there were Indriks down there she had to go with him, there could be no other way.

VI

The Argonian, who claimed his name was Xosteek, led them to the bottom of the vault: through stone chambers and dusty libraries, through long corridors and down wide, spiral stairs. To the many suspicious, grey figures that they passed Xosteek would say they were escorting a Bosmeri prisoner down to the Vault, on the orders of the master. Little did the other cultists know that Xosteek was one wrong word away from having his ribs crushed by the spell that lingered beneath his robes.

All it will take for this to fall apart is one Altmer who knows their country well enough to know a Welkynar when they see one. They are not the most discreet of mer.

Arelandur must have thought so as well, since every shifting shadow or flicker of candlelight had his eyes darting to each corner of the murky lair. He anticipated a fight, his cover being blown and blood being spilt. To Rahelia's relief it never came to that, and the entrance to the vault appeared much quicker and easier than she had dared to hope. But there were two more cultists guarding the entrance: an Orc and a Nord. Xosteek faltered, and the two guards watched him intently, there eyes never leaving him. All Rahelia could see was the back of his spiked head, for all she knew he was sending some messages with a blink or a flash of teeth. The Orc turned his gaze upon Rahelia, eyes like muddy puddles beneath a heavy brow.

"Another one?" He grunted. His angry eyes rolled down her body from head to toe, then he grimaced. "We were not due another until dawn. Take it back to the cells."

"I don't recall there being any elves down there," the Nord added, flicking his head lazily towards Arelandur. "And the tall one doesn't look like a prisoner to me. Far too fancy to be one of us, as well. What is your business here, elf?"

The Welkynar scratched his beard and snorted. "Someone on your level should learn to be more polite when speaking to someone they have never met, you never know who you might be speaking to." He edged forward, blanketing his foe in shadow. "Try again, Nord, and be more mindful this time. You would not want to provoke my ire… or your master's."

The Nord, incredulous, looked to Xosteek. The Argonian nodded. "Shor's bones, I can only apologise for my insolence," said the red-faced Nord. "Please, forgive me. Take the prisoner and do as you must. Xosteek, ensure the others know who this is to avoid further distraction." He turned and pushed on the vault door keenly. "You should speak with Alincarwe once you are inside, the master has given her command in his absence. Though I suppose you will assume that role now, er—"

"Aldarch Calinor," answered Welkynar Arelandur.

"Well, Aldarch," said the Nord, gesturing inside with his arm, "this way."

Alincarwe. Rahelia felt her neck tense. Alincarwe, an Altmeri name.

From the expression on Arelandur's face Rahelia assumed he hadn't realised, or he didn't care. She settled on the latter, deciding that the Gryphon Knight wouldn't have been concerned whether this Alincarwe knew him or not. She was ushered forward, then, and her heart began to thump against her ribs in an irregular rhythm. A dull ache throbbed against her skull before it began to swell behind her eyes and her stomach roiled. The sound of beating hearts thudded against her bones until she began to shake.

The Argonian let out a nervous cackle then turned to her. "It will pass."

"What is this, lizard?" Arelandur snarled through clenched teeth.

A pulsating sound was permeating the air, a recurrent throbbing that sounded like a Daedric Watcher being provoked into action. They continued down the passageway until the room opened before them. An ancient throne room. And what they found within made Rahelia's legs go weak. As well as Heinarwe's old, stone throne there were numerous altars, and on them were the carcasses of dissected Indriks with crusted red cavities where their hearts had once been. Along the back wall, behind the throne, were cages filled with Indriks; the iron bars aglow with magic. They whinnied dully as they feebly knocked their heads against the bars; their solemn, golden eyes followed Rahelia across the vault. A wave of sickening exhaustion crashed against her soul, forcing her to her knees. The contents of her stomach rumbled through her body, burning up through her chest and throat, before exploding from her mouth in a stream of bile and Pyul-King Duck. She tried to push herself to a stand but her body failed her and she fell forward so her face was pressed against the hard ground. A black haze poured in behind her eyes.

"Help me," she pleaded.

Then, someone had hold of her shackles and they were dragging her to a stand.

"I have never seen anyone react so violently," they said. "A weak specimen."

"What… have you done," Rahelia uttered. "These Indriks—" A blow from the back of a hand took her full in the cheek and drove her into the arms of someone behind her.

"You do not speak," sneered the Dark Elf standing before her.

"Enough!" she heard Arelandur snap. "I am the Aldarch sent by your master. Take me to Alincarwe immediately before I start tearing heads from shoulders."

No one spoke but Rahelia was drawn forward by someone pulling on her chains. The blend of emotions that battled inside her made her numb. Fear, anger, and uncertainty mingled together with the immense levels of magical energy crawling on her skin, across her scalp, and down her fingers made for a sensation like none other, like the aftermath of a particularly horrific torture. Her throat began to itch. She clawed at it. Red rivulets trickled down her neck.

A moment later she heard a woman speak.

"Hmm, not a familiar face," she said silkily. "I am usually greeted by silk robes and jewelled fingers; your armoured self is a welcome change. I am Alincarwe, overseer here. You are?"

"Aldarch Calinor," said Welkynar Arelandur. "Sent here on behalf of the master."

"The wings banners," Alincarwe said. "An interesting touch. Do they help you in any way?"

"You want to discuss my armour, Overseer? Is that what you are being paid for?"

"Apologies," she said unapologetically.

"Yes. Why is this prisoner having such a bad reaction in this room?"

Rahelia 's eyelids were fluttering against her will and tears streamed from her bloodshot eyes. Dark pain shot up her arms and across her shoulders making her hunch forward. She felt encumbered, like her leathers had been stuffed with rocks. She uttered a shallow groan.

Alincarwe twirled her finger around her long, golden hair. A playful smile played on her lips.

"Interesting," she giggled. "A reaction that is worth noting, to be sure. I have never seen anyone behave like this when subjected to this kind of environment. This needs to get back to the master, it could be pivotal to his research."

"Research?" Arelandur asked.

Bony fingers pinched Rahelia's chin then tilted her head up. Alincarwe's unblemished, golden face was all she could see before her, a flicker of recognition alive in her sapphire eyes. "Who is this prisoner?" She asked, before taking a step back. Then, heavy footfalls echoed through the vault.

"ALINCARWE!" Someone bellowed, his nearing shadow dancing on the passage wall. "ALINCARWE!"

"Forgive me, Aldarch," Alincarwe said, bowing. She turned away. "What is it, Ozrog, why are you screaming in such a shrill manner? It is unbecoming of one of your kind."

"Matien Petierre," the Orc known as Ozrog roared, stopping to catch a breath. "He's dead on the bridge! Someone murdered him!"

Alincarwe twisted her head back around, her face frozen in horror as she glared at Arelandur. But it was Rahelia who decided that the look of incredulity etched into her golden face would be the expression she would die with. The shackled Wood Elf ripped her knife from Arelandur's belt and sunk it deep into the flesh of Alincarwe's neck. The High Elf slumped to the floor, gurgling her lasts breaths as her life left her in jets of crimson.

The rest happened like a fever dream.

Lightning zipped across the vault in blue streams and erratic flashes. The Welkynar had his sword in his hands and two cultists were dead at his feet: Ozrog and the Dark Elf. He grabbed Rahelia by her manacles and they shattered at his touch. They shared a glance before he flashed forward in a stream of white; shrill screams followed. He had given her the chance to flee, to get out of this den of evil that tugged on her very soul and run. But she couldn't. She had no intentions of fleeing, not before freeing the Indriks and putting this entire twisted vault to the torch. Knife to hand, she stumbled towards the Indriks trapped in their enchanted cells. They were screeching and slamming their heads against the bars now, the chaos of the vault had roused them from their stupor. She was almost upon them but the closer she got the more intense the pain behind her eyes became. White-hot pincers burned through her skull and she thought it might blind her. "Someone warn the master," she heard someone bellow above the din. Then someone stepped out in front of her, a Breton woman all in grey, and slammed a quarterstaff hard against her head. A burst of white light became her entire world and a deafening ring ricocheted around her skull like a screaming banshee. She tumbled sidewards, slashing at the air with her dagger. Her hand found Heinarwe's throne, so she pulled herself behind it. Then, the quarterstaff came swinging again and the throne-arm exploded in a plume of dust and stone, showering down on her. "Y'ffre," she groaned, her world whirling in and out of clarity, "guide my hand." The Breton appeared behind the throne so Rahelia leapt up to meet her, piercing cloth and flesh with her knife then twisting. They were both groaning heavily, shuddering as they exhausted the little energy they had. Bony fingers clawed desperately at Rahelia's face until the pale hand went limp. They hit the floor together and the vault trembled and spun while spells flashed and whizzed in golden whirls and streams of flame. And there were screams. Exhausted, Rahelia crawled back behind the throne, her energy spent. But the Indriks were still imprisoned so she was up again and searching for a key. She gripped the edge of a table for support and with her other hand swept the surface in the hopes her fingers might brush across something small and metal. The beasts were watching her through keen, hopeful eyes. A key won't do, she realised, watching the iron bars radiate with magic.

Arelandur had fared better than a single mer had the right to; dead cultists lay strewn about the vault and the ones that still lived wouldn't for much longer. A rope of magicka emerged from his fingers and coiled itself around a fleeing cultist who was dragged screaming back into the vault and used like a ball and chain, spun about the vault like a ragdoll, breaking his body upon other cultists until he expired.

"Help me," Rahelia demanded once Arelandur had a moment's respite. She was scouring the room for some magical article that might dispel the magic imbued in the iron bars. "You must have the capacity to bring down this barrier." She touched her temples and felt blood throb against the tip of her fingers. The bone by her eye was chipped, touching it sent searing tendrils up her face that made her tremble.

"I gave you the opportunity to flee yet you stayed," the Welkynar said as he moved towards her. His long black hair was slick with gore, his once immaculate armour stained crimson. "You could have been killed three times over, yet you survived with just that knife – that you snatched from me before I could blink. I admire your courage, foolish though it might be, but I must understand something – what is your connection to these creatures?"

"I don't have a connection," she replied, turning shakily to face the Indrik. "I just don't want them to suffer."

"Your reaction upon seeing them," he said. "I felt a strange sensation when I entered the vault, but I image that was due to the corrupted arcana, but you…"

"There was a pull, I must admit, like nothing I've ever known." Rahelia felt herself sway. "I still feel it now. Why are you looking at me like that? Help me, would you. Once the Indriks are free we can leave this evil place. I need to go home to Cormount and leave this island behind for good."

"Very well," Welkynar Arelandur's words were softer than usual, like a level of respect had been reached. "Step aside, foolish, brave, and curious Bosmer. Let us see if I do have the capacity to free these poor creatures."

Rahelia nodded and produced a half-smile before slumping into Heinarwe's throne. Her eyes closed unbidden, and her head lolled, resting on her shoulder. When she forced her eyes open the vault had filled with people again: grey robed cultists scuttling about in haste. Three of which were chanting incantations around a large beating heart. There was the corpse of a Redguard woman lying on the table, wrinkled and grey, like their soul had been dragged out of their body.

Suddenly, blue-gold portals opened all around the vault and half a dozen Indriks appeared. Some of the cultists made a ring around them instantly, their hands abuzz with magic.

"Now," someone called out.

In a show of bright lights and crackling air countless cultists unleashed spells at the Indriks. When the spells dissipated the beasts collapsed before being dragged across the rooms to their cells. Once imprisoned, someone pulled a lever and the cell's irons bars began to hum and glow. Rahelia could see the Dark Elf that struck her, alive and laughing, ringing his hands together eagerly.

Beads of cold sweat trickled down her face. What is this? Can they see me?

"Excellent," said the Dark Elf. "A completed objective for once. Alincarwe, isn't it about time we cleared the carcasses to make space for the new bunch?"

"I think it's about time you learnt your place, Llorys," Alincarwe snarled, her golden neck not yet marred with blood. "The master put me in charge in his stead, remember? So, let me advise you to clear the carcasses while I do the important work given to me by the mer in charge."

"Then I would get to it if I were you." Llorys gestured to the vault entrance. "The master just portalled in."

Stern footfalls rang out across the vault, a golden skinned mer in green silk and silver hair was approaching Llorys and Alincarwe.

"Your timing could not have been better," Alincarwe said jovially. "The ritualists' spell worked. Using the power of the Matriarch Heart they managed to draw the attention of all these Indriks. The power we can harness from all these Indrik hearts once we—"

"Good," the master said. "Things have changed on my end as the nebarra did not uphold her end of the deal. I have someone working on it, we will get her back. We are too close to fail now. Get those hearts ready, I will be back with news of our progress."

By the Green! A flicker of recognition ignited inside Rahelia. The master was looking right at the throne then. At her. Eyes like starlight were trained upon her. "Canonreeve," she uttered.

"By the Stars!" a voice rumbled like an earthquake, like it was below and above and coming at her from either side. "Come back to me."

Rahelia gasped and flung herself forward, stumbling before falling to her knees.

"Bosmer," that voice said again. When she looked up Arelandur was towering over her. "What happened? You went somewhere else for a moment there, I could get no response from you. If I couldn't detect your heartbeat I would have thought the worst. You have taken quite the beating down here, your body needs rest, and you won't find it on that cold throne."

"The… the Indriks."

"I am afraid they are still caged. My magic—"

Rahelia heaved to a stand and staggered towards a round table to the left of the throne. In the centre of the table was a large heart that pulsated with an eery blue glow. And behind the table there was a lever. She pulled it. Then behind the throne something sizzled, like a burning hot poker being plunged into cold water. Suddenly the cage doors creaked open and the Indriks stepped out one by one. Arelandur, incredulous, turned and faced Rahelia.

"How did you know?" he asked.

She didn't answer, she was too focused on the buzz she felt as the Indriks approached her: weightless, almost, like she might start floating at any moment. There was a connection, she decided, there had to be. But why? When they reached her the Indriks began to nuzzle her and the sensation only heightened. Pleasure and pain coming together like a pair of long-lost lovers, colliding and parting, merging then splitting. She smiled despite herself, despite the dizziness, despite the waves of jolting pain that raced around her skull. She caressed the face of one of them, hoping to be transported back to the realm where her father would be waiting for her. She closed her eyes and waited for the whorls of colour to cloud her mind and lead her to the aetherial otherworld. Sadly, she looked to the ceiling and let out a shuddering sigh. "Not this time it seems."

"Bosmer," Arelandur said, his voice shattering all hope. "You must explain to me what this is all about. The lever, you knew where it was. These Indriks, they know you; you share a bond. This place, these people. You must know more."

"When you said I went somewhere else you were right," she answered. "I saw a vision of something that happened in this vault, something from a time before. The lever, the giant heart… I don't know how but I saw them." Her eyes met with the Indrik before her. "I saw the master, as well. It should have made sense sooner but amidst the chaos I didn't get the chance to gather my thoughts." She rested her head on the Indrik's nose. "The canonreeve of Rellenthil. He is this Master they spoke of. That twisted old villain. They are harvesting as many Indrik hearts as they can, using rituals to lead them here."

"You cannot mean Canonreeve Helcarion?

"I do."

"Are you certain?"

"He is the entire reason I am in Summerset. He sent for me in Cormount, hired me to hunt an Indrik for him but I couldn't do it so he sent me away. He is the one harvesting the hearts. Only now it seems they have concocted a more efficient way of doing it. They don't need a nebarra hunting Indriks for them anymore." She made her way to him. "You seem to think I have a connection with these poor beasts… perhaps this vision has something to do with that. For all we know these Indriks sent me a message, offering me a look into the past. Arelandur, some strange power is born when I encounter them, that much I know. I do hope you trust what I say, as inconceivable as it sounds."

No one spoke for a moment. Arelandur wore a golden mask that betrayed no emotion, thin lips pursed, eyes vacant.

"That thrice-damned monster," he finally growled. "Mer in dremora skin, corrupted by the illusion of power."

Rahelia's relief was palpable. "What happens now?"

"We must leave!" Arelandur stated. "I must return to Cloudrest and warn my order. I can get you to safety first, but we must act fast. We do not know what nefarious scheme the canonreeve has planned but we cannot linger to find out."

While he was speaking the Indriks were fading away through their portals. Without the magic that bound them to their iron cells they were free to leave. The energy that permeated the air went with them and all Rahelia felt then was the intense throbbing that swilled around her head like wine in a goblet. "I must go to Rellenthil," she said.

Arelandur shook his head aggressively and said, "No. You will not take the law into your own hands. Not again. Come with me to Cloudrest, where we can get you healed. You can decide from there what you do, but the canonreeve must be left to me. Some of these cultists escaped, they will have warned him already. A canonreeve will know my wing banners immediately, and it will not take him long to figure out who the troublesome little Bosmer might be. If he is the monster you claim him to be he would have you killed."

"I didn't think you would care all too much about my demise."

"You are an innocent; I know that now. It is my fault that you are in the state you are currently in. My scepticism got the better of me and your life was made considerably worse because of it. It is now my responsibility to make amends and see you to safety."

"Very well," Rahelia said, taken aback. The gryphon-knight's demeanour had softened, she realised. The mer that was her captor was no more. "I will go with you. But first…" she took the quarterstaff from the dead Breton's limp hand. "Everything in this vault must be erased. And the prisoners… we must free them."

VII

"Who was he?" Canonreeve Helcarion asked, his voice hoarse from shouting. "Who was this cretin that aided her in murdering my labourers?"

"They claimed to be an Aldarch, Master," Xosteek said. He was on one knee and looking at the red carpet. "Aldarch Calinor, visiting on your behalf."

Helcarion looked at the ground, then flung his head round in a circle and hissed. "A false name, an alias. I know no one by that name, Xosteek. Keep your head down, do not look at me. Not one of you fools thought to portal to me? It would have been extremely easy for me to shed any doubt as to who that mer was before he started butchering you all. You all just believed it because he had a Bosmer prisoner. The very Bosmer that I informed you all about. Lizard, I would melt you where you stand were you not one of the few workers I had left." He padded across the study barefoot and sat on a cushioned seat beneath the window. "Tell me more, I want to know everything. I need to know who to keep my eye on."

Xosteek inhaled sharply. "Yes, yes of course. H-he wore scaled armour, l-looked very knightly. He had the Bosmer – R-Rahelia – bound by his magic. She was to be the next sacrifice, according to him. Alincarwe came to speak with us but even she did not know who the little elf was, just another prisoner to her."

"I need information about the Altmer not the Bosmer."

"Accept my apologies, Master. He… he wore some strange armour—"

"You already said."

"No, no, Master. This armour came out of his shoulders, l-like wings. B-banners they were."

A cold shiver ran up Helcarion's spine and he snapped his teeth together. "A Welkynar…"

"Master?"

A roar burst from the canonreeve's lips. A roar so loud, so fierce that Xosteek fell onto his elbows and nestled his head against the carpet. "It is time to leave here, Lizard," the canonreeve snarled, resting the back of his head on the windowsill. "An elite warrior has infiltrated our operation and before long his entire order will know what is happening. If there was any evidence as to my involvement down in the vault then they might have already seen it. Once the Welkynar tells his order about what he found down there, and the prisoners tell their stories, they are bound to make their way to Rellenthil and an attempt on arrest me." He rose and rubbed his temples. "Tell my son that I am away on important business. He will understand. Then hide, Xosteek. Do not be in Rellenthil when they arrive."

The air before him twisted and crackled until it split open in a burst of red and gold, spiralling in and out of each other seamlessly. He stepped through, leaving Xosteek alone in his study.

VIII

"We have some company tonight, Everaena," Welkynar Arelandur said to his Gryphon once he and Rahelia stepped back through the breach. "Not to worry, though, they are friends for a change."

The gryphon shrieked at the sight of them, beatings its giant, white wings against the cool, night air. It stooped low enough for Rahelia to climb on. She raised her arms to grab the saddle and scabs came away in streaks of black flake. She had almost forgotten about her time on the bridge under the thorn-vines. She remembered the pain when her skin split like the seam on an old jerkin and blood ran down her arms like water pouring into a ditch, and she found herself thinking that pain like that only happened once in a lifetime to people like her. How wrong I was.

Arelandur helped her into the saddle. He was remarkably unscathed considering the number of foes he had to face during their time in the vault. Once Rahelia was secured he set about helping the prisoners up; two of them there were, a Khajiit and an Imperial.

They had sobbed when Arelandur first appeared at their prison cells, they thought their time had come. An imperious High Elf like him appearing at your cell door would ignite terror in anyone's heart, Rahelia thought while she watched. Once they realised he wasn't a cultist but a liberator they sobbed tears of a different kind. Their morose wails became cries of relief, hope.

Rahelia was the one that unlocked the doors with the key she had procured from the cultist outside the prison room. He had gasped at the glint of candlelight that bounced off the steel but it was too late by then. It was all too easy for her to slide the knife through his throat. She snatched the keys before his body hit the ground and slipped away while he sputtered his last breath.

The freed captives could not thank their saviours enough as they left Heinarwe's Vault. The Khajiit, whose name was Zarja, claimed to be a treasure hunter, with gifts aplenty for her heroes back in Senchal. The other an Imperial name Octarius, here looking for work thanks to Queen Ayrenn's decree. They both told Arelandur that the Aldarch of Shimmerene insisted they travel to Rellenthil. Rahelia decided that it was no coincidence that they were sent there.

"Have you ever taken a life before today, Bosmer?" Arelandur asked so plainly that he could have been asking how her day was.

She shook her head and said, "There was just this urge, this will that wasn't my own. When I killed the Altmer all I could think was how she had to die there and then for what they she had done. Those poor Indriks. Then, there was the Breton girl that almost shattered my skull. My blood was already up by that point but I was so dazed that I had to fall back. If I'm being true, I was praying to Y'ffre that you might get to her first because I didn't think I had the strength. In the end I was just quicker than her. Somehow."

"How do you feel now?"

"Right now, I'm not allowing myself to feel anything about them." She massaged her neck with the tip of her fingers. "We are still in the eye of the storm, Arelandur, I don't have time to be pensive. That will come after this is done."

"Your part is done, Bosmer," Arelandur replied as he took the reins. "You broke Altmeri law when you plunged your knife into Alincarwe's throat, to be sure. However, I do not want you to feel remorseful for even a moment. Those villains deserved nothing but disdain and death. Your actions just gave me the freedom I needed to slaughter them."

"I thought you told the Argonian you were ordered to kill them all."

"I thought it might put the fear in him. Especially after his Breton friend met his end on the bridge beside him."

Rahelia allowed herself to chuckle at that, agonising though it might have been.

"I never did ask your name, did I?" Arelandur continued. "In all the madness I never did ask who this wilful and courageous Bosmer was."

"It's Rahelia," she said. "My name is Rahelia." And my part in this is not done.

Everaena beat her wings once more, creating a veil of dirt and grass that stirred all around them. Rahelia flung her arms around Arelandur's waste and pressed her cheek into his back. A squawk from the gryphon's enormous beak announced she was ready to fly. A cloud of dust veiled them, yet through it Rahelia saw crystalline antlers, and eyes like molten gold. "Wait!" She bellowed over wingbeats, then she slipped out of the saddle and carefully climbed down Everaena. Arelandur said something but she didn't listen. Smiling, she approached the Indrik that waited for her by the stream. "I know you, don't I?"

The Indrik let out a low moan in response. Everaena chirped cautiously.

"We really should not linger, Rahelia," said the Gryphon-Knight. "The beast should be far away from here, as should we."

"Please. This one needs to see her mother," the Khajiit Zarja pleaded.

"A short moment, please," she replied vacantly, still walking towards the magnificent creature. Impulsively, she put a hand out and let it sniff her fingers. "You are the one that started it all," she said jovially. "The one I was tasked to hunt. If I hadn't followed you here… none of what happened…" it dawned on her then. "You led me here to save your friends, didn't you?" She let out a shuddering gasp. "All of this…"

"Rahelia!" Arelandur snapped.

"Please, elf," the Imperial moaned. "I have not eaten since Morndas."

"Why me?" she asked, ignoring the others. "The visions… the canonreeve… my father. You led me through all of this…" she felt herself drifting. "I don't understand… I don't understand anything anymore…" Suddenly, a cascade of golden light poured from the Indrik's eyes. "It's happening," she realised, her heart soaring with glee. Softly, her eyes sank shut. The trickling of the stream was the last thing she heard.

"Did you see what she did this morning, Indenoth?" she heard a familiar voice whisper into the nothingness. "The way she uses her bow is like nothing I have ever seen from someone so young. I think it is pretty clear to me—"

"Quiet, Silvaera, please."

Before Rahelia's very eyes a scene spiralled into clarity: her mother and father sitting at the end of a branch on Cormount's graht-oak. They were hand in hand with her mother's head rested on her father's shoulder.

"It is Y'ffre's will, Indenoth."

"Yes, it is," Indenoth replied. "And the Spinners will know soon enough and have their way with her. Before then let her enjoy being a child."

The vision faded, but before she had the chance to make sense of it there was another forming before her. A balding old Bosmer in long, trailing leather robes sat at the head of a bone table, flanked by two other robed priests. Before them, standing at the foot of the audience hall, were her mother and father.

"Spinner Davaenor," her father started, addressing the mer at the head, "we only ask that you give us a few more years. She is too young and she deserves to frolic with the other children before she begins training."

"I can't help but agree," said another Spinner to Devarnor's left. "This kind of forced training only encourages resentment and rebellion. We have seen it in the past."

Davaenor clasped his hands together, smiling wanly. "While I know the girl deserves a proper childhood we cannot sit idly by and let her use her abilities untamed. She has to hone her skills now or cause irreparable damage in the future. Imagine letting a gifted Altmeri child loose with a wealth of magic without first guiding them on proper usage."

The Spinner to their right spoke then. "Can we even say for certain that she has the gift? Perhaps she is just a naturally gifted child, whose abilities will come in line with others her age as she grows up."

Rising, Spinner Davaenor said, "Spinners Falrond and Alaena, am I to say you disagree with the proposal I put forward? You would rather sit and wait until the girl kills a child or brings down a tree on someone's home before we act?"

"We should at least see if her skill extends beyond being a prodigy with a bow," Falrond stated.

"Agreed," Alaena added.

"Fools," Davaenor thumped a fist into the bone table. "The Storyteller witnessed this meeting today and he shakes with anger. When this girl grows old and wild you will see first-hand the damage you have wrought through your negligence."

Once more the vision faded like the turning of a page only for her to be greeted by another. She was watching herself now, a youngling racing through the trees in the forests around Cormount. Her father's voice was trailing away behind her, his breath ragged. She jumped from one branch to another effortlessly. Eventually, she came to a halt, landing surefooted on the flimsiest of branches. Here she hung by her legs and let her body go limp, watching the world below from upside down. There was a body of people looking up at her from the ground. One of the mer was Spinner Davaenor, pointing up with shaky hands, and another was an Altmer with long, silvering hair and eyes like starlight.

"Don't take any notice," her father said when he finally caught up. He wore that wide, honest smile that was so familiar to her but his eyes betrayed the truth. "Come, let us get back."

Once more the world she was watching flickered before vanishing and reappearing in a different setting. Now Rahelia and her father were carrying a deer carcass through the muddy paths of Cormount.

"When your mother sees this she will be most pleased," Indenoth laughed. "You have been out-hunting your old father for some time now but you have outdone yourself today. You make me prouder every day."

"Thank you, Father," Rahelia heard herself say. She was older now, this memory was a recent one.

They were approaching their pod when they heard Silvaera cry out. The deer hit the ground and the pair of them raced to their home. Rahelia ripped the leather curtain back and saw three Wood Elves surrounding her mother. She had an open wound on her forehead that ran red with blood. Rahelia had her bow to hand and she was taking an arrow from her quiver. Before he could react, the first elf died with an arrow in his throat, the second an arrow to the gut, and the third an arrow through the heart. Her father arrived a moment later.

"Silvaera, what have they done to you?" He cried, kneeling beside his wife.

"They were looking for Rahelia," she uttered. "They came to take her. I don't know who—"

"I do," her father growled. "Rahelia, look after your mother."

Silvaera whimpered, "Indenoth, please… don't do anything rash—"

After kissing his wife on the head Indenoth rose and turned to Rahelia. "No one will ever take you away. I love you."

Then they were in the audience chamber again and Indenoth was racing across the room with a dagger in his hand. Falrond and Alaena were on their feet, shouting for Indenoth to cease. Davaenor didn't make to move, only watching mirthfully, like he knew a secret that no one else knew. The star-eyed Altmer watched cautiously at the back of the room, covered in half-shadow. Indenoth jumped on the table and moved swiftly across. Suddenly, Davaenor's face changed, his smile was gone and he was jumping to his feet.

"HELP ME!" He screeched, looking to the statue-still Altmer observing from the back of the room. When he realised no one was going to help he went to run.

He didn't account for Indenoth's speed, or his unrestrained fury. He felt a hand snatch at the loose fabric hanging from his neck. Then Indenoth leapt from the table, uprooting the shrieking spinner before dragging him to the floor.

"Y'ffre, look to me, your favoured son—"

Indenoth was on top of him, knee on his chest, knife at his throat. "You dare to enter my house, attack my wife, and attempt to kidnap my daughter! What sort of priest are you?"

"It is Y'ffre's will," he muttered. "The Storyteller must have his champion. Your daughter—"

"My daughter will never see you again."

When Indenoth's blade sank through flesh it drank deep.

Falrond and Alaena dropped to their knees. They were muttering something incomprehensible, a prayer, or a hastily spun tale.

"You," Indenoth screamed at the Altmer. "I have seen you watching my daughter on more than occasion. What do you want? What foul lies did you concoct to turn a Spinner against his own?"

"None of your concern," the Altmer replied calmly. "Be on your way now. This particular tale is rather above your understanding."

"SHE IS MY DAUGHTER!"

"She is the Green Lady."

"We… we don't know that yet," Indenoth snarled.

"Hmm, no, you did not know it," the High Elf retorted coolly. "That dead spinner did, as did I."

"Who are you? "What business is this of yours? You know nothing of our people, of our culture."

"A mer chosen by Y'ffre to hold the primitive nature of an entire race of people?" The Altmer said. "The spirit of the Bosmer, a reflection of your raw strength. The ability to commune with and shape nature, to connect with animals through their bond with Y'ffre. All that power being harnessed within one small mer. Your daughter, is all of that. I had to find her, and I had to have her. Such power should be in the hands of the Altmer, not a little savage like her."

"You will never have her!" Indenoth lunged, knife primed for the elf's heart. Suddenly, a burst of flame engulfed him and he hit the ground screaming.

"You wicked little mongrel," the High Elf sorcerer shrieked, manipulating the flames with a dance of his fingers. "If only you had agreed to Spinner Davaenor's terms all those years ago, you might have avoided this end."

Her father's screams pierced her heart like a thousand knives.

No, let me go. I don't want to see this anymore!

She tried to drag herself away, return to her corporeal body, awaken it, free herself from this torture, but all she heard was the horrifying screams, they burnt against her soul. The fires that claimed her father grew larger and somehow the stench assailed her nostrils. She wanted to wretch, but how could she wretch when she wasn't in her body. She was hovering above the past, ethereal and weightless, yet bound by her inability to return to her own skin. She watched the priests rising, shaking, sobbing. Then, she watched them go silent. Watched them wheezing for air. Watched them claw at their throats. Watched the light die in their terrified eyes. Cormount's audience hall turned to a graveyard before her. It brought back all the stories, all the lies. She remembered the Treethane coming to their pod later that night. "One Altmeri noble, an envoy to Queen Ayrenn, saw the whole thing," she had said. "Your father shifted into beast-form and tore at the throats of our dearest spinners. Such an act is a violation of the Green Pact and therefore meant he would spend his days in the Ooze, without form." There was no compassion in her words, no effort to ease her mother's pain. Rahelia remembered the scorn in Treethane Erenel's voice, the suspicion. There was no compassion in her because she believed Indenoth's wife and daughter were aware of their father's curse. The curse of Lycanthropy, the foulest deed one can commit amongst the Bosmer. Or she was a part of Davaenor's ruse. Either way, Rahelia never knew the feeling of home again after that. She remembered feeling like a pariah, daughter to a recreant, most likely a recreant herself. Her mother only descended into darkness after that, lending credence to the lie. The conspiracy. Rahelia remembered the cries at night, her mother's deep, soul-stricken sobs. They didn't last long, though, as her mother died months later. Heartbreak led to delirium, which eventually led to madness. Rahelia found her in a cave not far from home with dried up blood scabbing around her wrists. And for what? A lie. Please! Enough! But she knew the truth now, to Oblivion the rest. This brutal, inescapable show had enlightened her with knowledge that she might never have uncovered otherwise. The truth that Canonreeve Helcarion had orchestrated this entire thing from the first. It all leads back to him, from Davaenor's betrayal to my arrival in Rellenthil. The loss of my father, my mother, and my home. How much of my life has he had a hand in controlling? My life and the lives of those I love have been destroyed all because he coveted power above all else, no matter the cost. No matter the soul-ache.

But then… why wait? After all the damage he caused, why wait almost a year after my father's death to try and claim me once more? I was alone and vulnerable, no parent to protect me, and not a friend in town. That vile sorcerer could have stole me in the night and no one would have cared. An accursed daughter vanished under a full moon.

Like the blink of an eye, another vision started to play out before her: a dark and damp cave covered in thick, green moss and webs of ivy. Large, blood filled spiders scuttled up and round the walls while flies gathered in their hundreds, swarming to the cracks of light that pushed in from above.

Not this! Why this place, please. Why?

Rahelia saw herself then, weeping uncontrollably as she held her mother's lifeless body. However, what her past self never knew was how the thick vines danced with her in grief, or how the moss shuddered as her wails beat against it. As she held her mother tight against her, she never noticed the roots bursting through the soil or the cracks in the stone that threatened to erupt and tumbled down upon her. All she knew in that moment was her mother and her sorrow. And that was why she never noticed star-lit eyes watching her from a distance, hidden on a ledge behind a wall of ivy. Upon seeing the cave come to life the canonreeve made for Rahelia, his hands aglow with arcana, but was quickly brought to a halt when a rogue root broke out from beneath the soil, twisting his leg in a hideous fashion. He spun into the dirt on his elbows. Before he could rise roots began to slide over his back to squeeze the life out of him, and then those grotesque spiders came skittering down the walls to feast.

DIE! She thought, hoping against hope. You took everything from me and it still isn't enough! Yes, yes, tear the flesh from his bones, leave nothing!

Suddenly and abruptly, she felt her soul being dragged away from the vision, like she was floating upwards and had no choice but to let it happen. The vision slowly melted like ice, snatching away the only sense of justice she could ever hope to claim from this tragedy, even if she knew how the rest of the tale goes.

She blinked herself awake and gasped in horror.

She really was weightless on the back of Everaena. Howling wind whipped her hair and nipped her skin. Before her was clear blue skies and to either side of her were great, white wings that sliced through the air. She gripped the reins as tight as fear gripped her heart. Arelandur was behind her, his powerful arms barring her in from either side. She opened her mouth to speak but the words were carried away on the wind, the cold air catching in her throat. Once she realised the Welkynar had placed a ring of magic around their waists, keeping them bound together, her fear subsided slightly. Settling into the saddle she closed her eyes again. She thought about her mother and father, and her new truths. Her new reality. Cold wind made her shiver violently, then stupidly she looked down. Eton Nir was a sea of grey mist and jagged rock, an abundance of mountain for her to dash her body against. Her stomach would have betrayed her again if there was anything left in her, so her throat only managed to produce a burning, dry cough.

Welkynar Arelandur tugged on the reins and Everaena swooped low beneath the clouds. The city of Cloudrest appeared before them, sat in the centre of Eton Nir like the jewel in a crown.