"Pity Dagoth Ur and the Sixth House. All they do, all they are is foul and evil, but they began in brightness and honor, and the cause of their fall was their loyal service to you, Lord Nerevar." - Peakstar
"We must answer Namira's threats with the wrath of Azura," Sakani said, the reflections of flames dancing in her wide crimson eyes. "The impotent Prince of repulsion has only words in her arsenal. Let us respond with action. Namira's familiar has foolishly provided a map to their fortress. Her domain is the shadows, but shadows wither and die in the light of dawn. Fall on Red Mountain with the might of the Urshilaku, with sharpened spears and blinding faith."
"I'm not throwing my granddaughter's life away," Nadene growled, her voice barely muffled by the helmet. They stood in the center of the village, amidst the gathered Ashlanders. "I'm sure you're looking forward to roaming Moonshadow for the rest of eternity, but nineteen years on Tamriel is no sort of lifetime. Habi deserves more."
Nineteen years. Gelebor had known Habisinulu was young, but the average lifespan of Dunmer and the long-lived beings he'd been associating with had blinded him to the total truth. Such a short span of time seemed like scarcely a season to him. There had been times during his vigil in the Vale that two decades had passed between heroes fighting their way to his wayshrine. In Gelebor's memory, his life had stopped when the Betrayed had pillaged the Forgotten Vale and only started again when he encountered Nadene in that Solstheim forest. In the time between those events, he'd just been going through the miserable cycles of life: eating when hungry, drinking when thirsty, fighting when others attacked him. His mind had served only as a time capsule for an extinct race. Truly, Habisinulu had probably lived more in her nineteen years than he had in millenia. All the more reason for her to carry on living, while I go to my final rest.
"We will heed your words, Nerevarine." Sakani bowed her head, but her sharp gaze didn't leave Nadene's covered face. There was a certain tension in the air, as the Ashlanders observed these proceedings. Gelebor sensed that if it came to choosing sides, many of them would be conflicted on who to follow. Their wise woman, who led them in this holy war against Namira, or the reincarnation of their greatest hero? He dearly hoped it would not come to bloodshed. Enough had been spilled already. "You are our greatest warrior. No attacks will be led without you at the vanguard."
"Good." Nadene turned her head, squinting at the setting sun with her remaining eye. The air was calm, but it would not last. "I'm going to the Cavern of the Incarnate, to confer with Azura."
A wave of enthused whispers ran through the Ashlanders, and even Sakani's eyes brightened in excitement. Not every day when the venerated godkilling champion of your people goes to meet with your most celebrated god, I suppose.
"When I return, we'll decide what our next step is." That seemed to serve as a notice of dismissal, and the gathered throngs dispersed swiftly to go about their duties. Gelebor went to Nadene, a grim certainty taking hold of him.
"I have to go," he said firmly.
"Go where?" She knelt down to rummage around in her pack. "Sorry, but I don't think you can come into the cavern with me."
"You know what I'm saying." Gelebor sighed. "I beg of you. Don't make this more difficult than it already is. They just want me, Nadene. If I go to them, Habisunuli will be safe."
"Yeah, I'm sure the insane cannibal priestess will keep her word." Nadene stood up and crossed her arms. "Don't be so naive. Eola was bluffing, trying to make you give yourself up without a fight. They won't dare hurt Habi, as long as I'm on the island poised to lead the Urshilaku against them. She's the only thing protecting the cult from total destruction."
"I can't take that chance. Don't you understand?" He didn't know how to make her see. "No one else needs to die for me. I'm simply not worth three lives. Or even one." Vyrthur's words came upon him again: Soon Nadene Othryn will discover how weak you are, and she will leave you just as everyone else has.
"That's not for you to decide. I'm calling the shots here. No one leaves the village without my permission."
Gelebor raised his brow. "You're just being silly, now. I'm not an Ashlander, or the descendant of someone you freed from the chains of slavery. We're equals, remember? So this is my choice. My life. If you truly love me, you'll respect that."
Suddenly her hands were clenched into fists, beating at his breastplate. He blinked down at her in surprise. Though a mask covered Nadene's face, he heard the tears in her words when she spoke.
"How could you say such things?" Nadene said weakly. "Of course I love you. I don't want anyone I love to die, you damn fool. Just let me try to take care of things."
Gelebor felt utterly helpless. He wrapped his arms around her. "How?"
"I don't know yet." It was strange, to look into Nerevar's golden face and feel such unbearable love. "Just...stay here, please. Until I return from the cavern. I'll know what to do, after I talk to Azura. Give me a chance. I'll beg, if you make me."
"No. It's alright." He rubbed her shoulders. "I'll wait. I'll go stay with Kharjo and Erandur in the guest yurt, okay? We'll play cards and wait for you to come back."
"Okay." Nadene stepped away, and the mask looked up at him. "Do you promise?"
The sun was falling beneath the mountain, and the shadows of the yurts around them grew longer. The time of Eola's first ultimatum was nearly upon them. Gelebor took a deep breath. "I promise. Now, hurry to your cavern. Dusk is almost gone."
Nadene nodded and took off at a run, heading deeper into the valley. Several Ashlanders stopped to watch her go, their expressions unreadable beneath their helmets of chitin and bonemold. She looks more like them, now that she wears Nerevar's visage. He watched until she passed from sight, his heart filled with dread. Why does this feel so much like a final parting?
Kharjo had not spoken since their encounter with Eola. Gelebor couldn't imagine the depths of his frustration. He had travelled across Tamriel to avenge his family, and he bore the scars of that long passage. Now he had looked his nemesis in the eye, shared words with her, and been forced to stay his blade. Does he resent Nadene, for giving that order? Or does he resent me, for the prophecy that led the cultists here in the first place. There was only madness to be found on the roads of suppositions and regret. Gelebor had learned that well during his lonely years in the Vale.
The guest yurt was empty, their meager possessions scattered across the kreshfibre floor. Gelebor wore his only cloak over the Snow Prince's armor, and his mace was fastened to his belt. Whatever Nadene might think of Eola's threats, they had all seen the ruin Namira had wrought on the Telvanni, and Erandur's retelling of the Balmora massacre seemed even more gruesome. He would not be caught unprepared. Gelebor passed through the Urshilaku, apart from them even as he shared their air and walked in their footsteps. Scarcely before had he felt so alone. Mostly they ignored Gelebor, as if he was a harmless spirit floating above the ash.
"Hey outlander," A tall, thin Ashlander clad in chitin called out to him. The mer was sharpening the head of a spear; evidently, he was some manner of warrior. "You lost your way?"
"I'm looking for my friends." Gelebor stepped aside from the path, so as not to block the way.
"Maybe I can help you find them. Name's Niranil." He put aside the spear, took off his helmet and then clipped to his belt. The smiling Dunmer face that greeted Gelebor was mostly free of the roughness and wrinkles of his fellows. Long black hair fell past his pointed ears. "And yours?"
"I am called Gelebor."
"Fancy that. I've never met an Altmer, before."
"I am actually a Snow Elf." At this point, it seemed little use trying to hide what he was. "The last one, in fact." Just your luck. You have met the last Snow Elf on his last day.
"Boethiah take me. A proper Falmer! I've only heard stories of your people." Niranil's eyes were wide as he studied Gelebor's face. "Is there a special way you folk do your greetings? A fancy handshake, or some such?"
"Just a hello, is fine." Gelebor couldn't make himself smile, though the Ashlander's curiosity seemed well-intentioned. "Pardon me for asking, but Niranil doesn't seem like a Velothi name."
"Probably cause it isn't." Niranil inclined his head. "A lot of us here came from Balmora, over the years. Heard tales of the last Ashlanders living out near the northern coast. Most who leave the city don't make it to the village. Those that do, sure aren't in any hurry to make the journey back. I left with my brother and father right 'round my thirtieth year."
"Are they around here someplace?" Gelebor glanced around. Niranil stood next to an empty pen, seemingly meant to hold livestock of some sort.
Niranil shook his head. "Brother was taken around the ruins of Gnisis, on our way here. B'veking ashspawn rose all around us, out of nowhere. He's with the ancestors, now."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
He shrugged. "Berath knew the risks when we left Balmora."
A question nagged at Gelebor. "Why leave the city at all? I haven't spent long on Vvardenfell, but it seems a dreadfully hostile place. It's impressive how you Ashlanders have etched out an existence here, but I'd much prefer the protection of high walls and a trained guard force."
"Aye," Niranil said, "I was a lieutenant in the Redoran Guard for ten years. 'Twas no easy thing to leave that life behind. But living here with Veloth's people, I've found something Balmora could never provide. We live off the ash, like our grandfathers did. We hunt our own food, instead of buying it off some fetcher who sailed from Blacklight. In the noise of the city, a Dunmer is deaf to the voices of his ancestors and gods. But in this valley Azura's voice is as strong as ebony. Elves living in big cities and depending on pampered priests to tell them what to do, well, that's how Vvardenfell ended up this way. The Ashlanders were right. That's why I'm here, Gelebor."
"I'm not sure I understand," Gelebor admitted. He saw Kharjo past the mer's shoulder, carrying an orange-robed figure in his arms. There they are.
"Don't expect you to. Not sure that any of it matters, now, since Balmora's gone. Village this size doesn't have enough younglings born to support itself. The Urshilaku have only survived this long from strays wandering in. And now with the Ashkhan and his sons, all dead or lost...don't know what we'll do after all this."
"I wish you all the luck in the world. I beg your pardon, but I've caught sight of my companions. I'll have to leave you now."
"My pardon is yours, serjo." Niranil shook his head, and returned to sharpening. "A Snow Elf, in the flesh. By Azura."
Gelebor stopped a few steps away, and turned back to the Ashlander. "I forgot to ask. What happened to your father?"
Niranil 's face darkened. He held up his spear. "This is for him. Namira got into his head, turned him into a monster. When we go up the mountain, I suppose I'll have to put Toram down. There's a sickness in my sire now that can't ever be cured."
More innocent lives, thrown in peril thanks to me. Gelebor had to physically shake his head to clear the troubling thoughts away. He followed Kharjo's trail back to the guest yurt, where he found them talking over cups of tea. The Khajiit was obviously agitated, his legs shifting restlessly.
"Am I interrupting anything?" Gelebor asked, hovering at the entrance flap.
Kharjo rose and brushed past him, with nary a word spoken. Before Gelebor could respond, he'd fallen in with the Ashlanders following the valley path.
"Come inside, my son." Erandur, at least, seemed happy to see him. "Have some tea. I fear that this may be the last quiet moment we have to enjoy."
He sat down in the spot Kharjo had left, his face turned down. His friend's reaction, and the sight of Erandur's injured legs, did nothing to soothe his worries. Everything, all of this, is because of me. Why do I warrant such trouble?
"I'm sure he told you that we met Eola," Gelebor said. "I don't think he took it well when Nadene asked him to let her go."
"No, I do not imagine he did." Erandur smiled wearily. "The path of revenge takes its toll in blood and pain. Kharjo has suffered greatly. I think he's looking for an ending to things, now that he's finally found his family's killer. The anger that has brought him this far is all he has left. After the priestess is dead, Kharjo will need to find something else to fill that void."
"And if he can't?"
"Then he will die. Or come close enough to death for the distinction to be negligible."
He remembered how they had found Kharjo in that Solstheim warehouse, starving and beaten. Close enough to death, indeed. It seemed silly to Gelebor, the thought that he might be able to provide his friend with the strength to carry on after completing his bloody mission. I barely have enough life to keep myself going.
"Nadene's gone to speak with Azura." Gelebor sipped his tea, barely tasting it. "She asked me to wait for her to return, before I make a decision."
Erandur grimaced. "Ah, yes. Kharjo told me of Eola's offered deal. You give yourself willingly to Namira, or three innocent lives are taken. I was not surprised to hear of it. Bargains of blood are common among the Daedra and their worshippers."
"So what should I do?" He leaned forward, covering his face with his hands. "My mind feels like it's on fire. All these awful memories and thoughts, swirling about. I'm guilty because by staying here I'm killing three others, but if I leave I'll be betraying Kharjo and Nadene. And…" The voices. Azura, and my dead brother. But Gelebor couldn't bring himself to tell Erandur. This priest of Mara seemed to be the only being left on Vvardenfell who would listen to him.
"And?" Erandur asked gently.
"My brother." Gelebor looked up. "A long time ago, he became deathly ill. It made him cruel, spiteful. Evil. I was weak. I couldn't bring myself to face him. When the Dragonborn came to my wayshrine, I asked him to kill Vyrthur. And by the gods, he did it. I even rewarded him for the deed, like I was some royal heir who had hired a mercenary to spill the blood of his own kin. I could have saved my brother, but I killed him instead. That's why I deserve to die this night, and why no one else need die for me."
"The Dragonborn, you say?" Erandur mused. "Before he held that title, the mer named Jaxius Amaton provided me aid in ending Vaermina's influence over the people of Dawnstar. Countless years before, I wore the name Casimir, and I was a faithful servant of the Prince of Nightmares."
"You?" Gelebor's eyes widened. "A priest of Vaermina?"
"Difficult to believe now, I'm sure. Amaton helped me destroy the Staff of Corruption, at least for a time. But before I could reach the wicked artifact, I had to face the brothers I had left behind."
"Brothers…" He chewed the inside of his cheek. "The other priests. They attacked you, for leaving them."
"Hmm. Not entirely. They had been suffering the effects of a Daedric poison for many years, and their minds were irreparably damaged. Whatever their intentions, they stood in the way of Dawnstar's salvation. Amaton and I were forced to cut them down. Their final expressions, filled with confusion and betrayal, haunt my dreams to this day. Nevertheless, it was a necessary act. My brothers were only bringing pain to the world. I imagine Vyrthur was persisting in a similar state, when you asked the Dragonborn to take care of him?"
Gelebor nodded numbly. He wanted it so dearly to be true, the lesson Erandur was trying to impart. He wanted so badly to believe.
"My friend. Though you do not follow Lady Mara, her teachings can still be of use to you." Erandur leaned forward, his expression intense. "We are more than the sum of our failures. The love you feel in the present is more powerful than the pain you suffered so many years ago. Let the dead rest, Gelebor. I have seen how much you mean to Nadene. Do not become a ghost of her past. Be the light that brightens her life in the years to follow this dreadful day."
"I don't know-"
A distant scream echoed off the canyon walls. They both looked up sharply, and Gelebor's hand went to the handle of his mace.
Erandur frowned. "What was that?"
Nadene Othryn was alone with her god.
Getting inside the Cavern of the Incarnate had been simple enough. The great stone door had materialized under the light of the falling sun, and she'd managed to hold it open long enough to slip inside. The air inside was so stale that Nadene slipped off her mask after a few seconds. It seemed that no one had been here for centuries. That wise woman praises Azura's name to the heavens. I would have expected her to leave offerings at the statue, at least. Lazy fetcher.
The cave was much as she'd left it, some two hundred years ago. The enchanted door had kept the ruin of the Red Year from touching the hallowed shrine. Azura's statue, a grotesque construction at the end of the cavern, did seem more faded than Nadene recalled. The lines in her carved expression were being eaten away by time. The thought brought Nadene a grim satisfaction. As always, the crumbling remains of failed reincarnations surrounded the statue. Erur-Dan. Peakstar. Hort-Led. Ane Taria. The priceless artifacts their spirits had provided to aid in her journey were on Solstheim, safely secured in her underground was Taria's mace that she'd gifted to Gelebor, in a time that seemed so long ago now. A time her heart yearned for dearly.
But this was no time to dwell on the past. Soon enough the sun would fall below the horizon, and Nadene had no intention of being sealed inside the grim cavern until dawn. She had a promise to keep.
"Wake up," she ordered, kicking the base of the statue and sending up a cloud of dust. "Wake up, you miserable f'lah."
Azura offered no response.
"Oh, okay. Cute. You're talking to everyone else in Morrowind, it seems, invading their dreams and serving up bargains like a Blacklight antiques peddler. Do I have not anything you want? Are you busy talking to some guar herder in Necrom, or maybe a guardsman in Narsis? I'm sure you have a daily quota of souls you need to harvest."
Her fissured stone eyes seemed full of mockery, her open hands holding nothing but empty promises.
"By the gods, I was such a fool to ever follow your commands. You're no different from the rest of the Daedra." Nadene kicked the base again. Her foot was starting to throb. "Petty. Self-interested. Vengeful. Evil. Gelebor was getting better before you popped inside his head. We weren't happy, not yet, but we were nearly there. I guess you had to have your slice of the comberry pie, huh? I gave Vvardenfell, I gave you, everything I had. Everything I was. Now that I have something new, after all these years, you want that as well? Fuck you. Gelebor isn't going to die cleaning up your mess, and neither am I. Send the old woman if you want. At least you'll have company in Moonshadow. You're very similar, actually, in how you both make demands of me and provide nothing in return."
The cavern remained as silent and still as an ancestral tomb.
Nadene groaned in frustration. Good for nothing n'wah. She would have kicked the statue once more, but she was wary of chipping her glass boot. If Azura wasn't going to lend any aid, then she was going to need every scrap of armor she had in the battle to come. The seconds were counting down before dusk's end. There was no time. She put her helmet back on.
She hurried back to the door, preparing herself to pull the massive portal open and slip through before it could close on her. When the door was opened slightly, so that Nadene could see the last rays of sunlight splashing against the valley walls outside, a long-forgotten voice spoke into her mind.
"Incarnate. I have been anticipating your arrival for some time. Are you so eager to flee my presence?"
"You had your chance." The voice, cold and ethereal, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Sweat ran down her neck. Damn, this door is heavy. "I have to return to the village."
"Veloth's people will keep. Come, kneel before my statue, and hear my words. Much has transpired since last we spoke, Nerevarine. Fire and ruin across the land, and wars without end plague Morrowind's cursed people. Not all that was foreseen. Not all that could be changed by you or I alone."
"The mighty Azura admits she isn't infallible. Call the Black Horse Courier, it's a miracle." There was almost enough space for her to squeeze through, now. "Things to do, lady. You talk really slow."
"It was not I who whispered ill tidings to the Dunmer Sakani and Auriel's lost child. I have not spoken to any on Vvardenfell since the cataclysm."
Nadene's eye widened. "What?" She stumbled back, letting the door fall shut. Darkness filled the cavern. "That makes no sense."
Azura did not immediately reply. Nadene returned to the statue, watching her steps carefully in the darkness. The brief flash of sunset had reset her night vision, which was poor enough now already. After the Heart of Lorkhan had been destroyed and Nadene had staggered out of Dagoth Ur's crumbling citadel, the Goddess of Twilight had appeared to her in physical form: an avatar wearing the shape of a Dunmer spirit, her large eyes blank but somehow all-knowing, wearing a long blue dress sewn from a fabric not known to mortal minds. That was when Azura had spoken the lie that had destroyed everything.
"You said I was done with at all," Nadene whispered, as if she was fearful to let the words escape. "You said I achieved my destiny. That I was free."
Azura did not so much as step into view as float; from around the back of the statue she came, the same avatar from Nadene's memories. The dress was longer, this time, the sleeves so voluminous that her azure hands were hidden inside. A heavy hood was draped over her head, cloaking her face in shadow. The only light in the room came from the statue. A faint, almost ephemeral glow, like that of the nightshade that had grown in Nadene's tower garden so long ago.
"These were not lies. You have always been free to walk your own path, and the same is true for all the mortal champions I have chosen since the dawn of time. Without the choice to act, there is no meaning. You believed you were Nerevar Incarnate, and so you did become Nerevarine. You put an end to Lord Dagoth's madness and set the god's heart free, because you alone possessed the will to do so."
"You could have mentioned that it was all for nothing." Nadene suddenly wanted to punch the figure standing before her. Only the barest scraps of remaining self-preservation kept her hands by her sides. "That I was buying Morrowind six years of peace. The Oblivion Gates, the moon falling and destroying everything, the Argonians rushing in to tear at the remnants. Why didn't you tell me?!" She was overcome by a wave of dizziness, and had to lean on the statue just to stay on her feet. I'm losing my fucking mind.
Azura's expression was as devoid of emotion as the stone walls surrounding them. "The tides of fate and time are uncertain, prone to change. As are the hearts of mortals. Mehrunes Dagon did not sunder the walls of reality alone. My agents are few in the heartland, and the doom-driven designs of Mankar Camoran and his followers were not known to me until the eleventh hour. Any action I might have taken against Dagon would only have brought further ruin to Morrowind. Of that, have no doubt. He is a vengeful beast. Baar Dau was a situation I thought to be handled. A pact had been forged with the Prince of Bargains. A wicked device, the Ingenium, fed by the souls of both the living and the dead, staying the rogue moon's fall indefinitely. The love between two Dunmer led to the failure of the device. What happened after was inevitable, and irreversible."
"Oh, no. Don't lie to me. You knew Baar Dau was going to fall." There was a grim satisfaction in this, Nadene could not deny. "I've heard the stories, these past two centuries. You warned some of your priests away. Were the rest of us not worthy of surviving? The blood of thousands is on your hands."
"I foresaw that speaking of the forthcoming crisis to all my cursed children would only provoke chaos across Morrowind." If Azura was perturbed by her accusation, she did not show it. "The young trampled in the streets, the old left to rot in their beds as the fires spread closer. Boats sinking into boiling waters, heavy with desperate mortal cargo. This would have only been a different manner of apocalypse. Prolonged, stinking of hopelessness and despair."
"You could have warned me, at least." There was no use. Getting angry at Azura seemed about as effective as shouting at a wall. Her explanations made a frustrating amount of sense. "Did I not earn that?"
"I knew that if you wished to, you would survive Red Mountain's ruin." Was it Nadene's imagination, or was there a faint note of pride in her otherworldly voice? "And if you were prepared to finally rest, I stood ready to welcome you to Moonshadow. But now here you stand, in the cavern in which you were born two hundred years past. The Moon-and-Star is not with you, but no matter. You know in your heart you can not shed fate so easily. As I said before, it was not I who visited your companion Gelebor and the leader of the last Ashlanders. Another speaks with my voice, turning these mortal souls towards deeds of darkness."
"Who?" Nadene fell to her knees, looking up at the passionless avatar. "Namira? But...why would she set the Ashlanders and the Balmorans against each other, if she controls them both? Sakani could have had Gelebor sent up the mountain days ago."
"I do not sense the work of my depraved sister here. Namiira exists in the shadows, not the light of day. Hers is the form of corruption, gradual decay. Destroying cities, poisoning the minds of so many? Grand prophecies and the gathering of powerful artifacts? No. She is not so explicit or blundering. What is happening on Vvardenfell is not the work of your ancestors, or those who are not your ancestors."
"Then what n'wah is whispering in my Snow Elf's ear, damn it?" But even as Nadene said the words, she knew. A part of her had suspected all along. The desecrated shrine on Solstheim, the voice speaking in the minds of the vulnerable and afraid...who else could it have been?
"The signs of the truth litter the path that brought you here. You need only cast your mind towards the past. Watch, listen, and remember. All that has been shrouded in shadow now should be clear. The decision of what to do with this grim knowledge, Nerevarine, is once again in your hands. The fate of Morrowind, of all Tamriel, may hang in the balance."
"If Namira isn't here...is there any truth to the prophecy Eola speaks of?" Nadene's mind was buzzing with half-formed ideas, plots that would take days or weeks to set into place. I have only hours. "Is Gelebor still in danger?"
"That is not for me to say. My vision of the future is clouded, indistinct. If you choose to return to Red Mountain, it will not be as a hero. This is no champion's quest. Of one aspect, I am certain: this is to be our last conversation. We will not speak again, incarnate."
"I understand." A suicide mission. Ever since arriving on this cursed island, Nadene had suspected it would come down to this. "I...I think I know what I have to do. Can you deliver a message for me? To another Prince?"
This gave Azura pause. The avatar's expression did not change, but there was a shifting in the cavern's atmosphere.
"Speak your message, and the name of the recipient."
Nadene told her.
This time, Azura was silent for what seemed like a long while. Nadene's knees were starting to hurt, pressed against the flat rock. Breathing the trapped air was leaving a foul taste in her mouth. I wonder if anyone else has ever left a Daedric Prince speechless before. Shame Gelebor isn't around, he'd probably get a laugh out of it.
"As a final token of my love, I will do this thing for you," Azura finally responded. "But know that most who have put faith in this Lord have been left disappointed or dead. He is not an entity to be relied upon."
"I know." Nadene rose, brushing the dust from her pants. "I'm hoping he can't resist my request. Well, this is goodbye for us, then. I'm guessing I haven't been your favorite champion, over the millenia."
"A mother does not loathe her child for petty transgressions."
"Used to sit on my porch with a bottle of wine, looking up at the sky and cursing your name."
"I was watching. I watched as your home was cloaked in flame, as it fell to the ground."
How had she been so blind? Sakani's worship of Azura, the fire and fury, the ultimatums and declarations of war and holy vengeance; these were not the tools of the goddess before her. Nor was she some murderess bargainer, to offer Gelebor his lost race in exchange for a cannibal bloodbath.
Azura watched, and Azura spoke softly to the people who most needed to listen. To those wise enough to carry out her will, in the way they best saw fit. It was little wonder that Moon-and-Star's enchantment was made to kill those who were not Nerevar. The power was in the hero, not the Prince.
"Goodbye." Nadene turned away. "I hope whoever you choose to speak to next is a better listener. Morrowind is going to need a true champion, when the Dominion comes knocking."
"Nadene Othryn?"
She glanced back over her shoulder. Azura was fading away, like moonlight at dawn. "Yes?"
"Fear not. Your tower will rise again."
The avatar vanished. Nadene took a deep breath and found a comfortable place to sit down. It was difficult to rest for long. The cavern door wasn't going to open until sunrise, but the burden of Nadene's discoveries sent her heart racing. Hold on, Gelebor. Just hold on a little while longer. I'm coming as soon as I can.
Thrice did the cultists of Namira attack during the night, and twice the Ashlanders pushed them back.
"You may look like an Altmer, sera, but you fight like a Velothi." Niranil grinned fiercely at Gelebor, his teeth stained with blood. His helmet had been lost in the fighting, and one of his chitin pauldrons was only hanging on by a few fibrous threads.
"Do not let your guard down." Gelebor wiped the sweat from his face, his eyes searching the darkness of the inner valley. They hadn't anticipated an attack from within; the cultists must have found an underground passage somewhere, leading to an opening deeper inside the Valley of the Winds. "We have been strangely fortunate."
He held the line with a dozen Ashlanders, spread to either side of him like the wings of a falcon. The tribals wore armor of hide, chitin, and bone; nothing that could compare to the Snow Prince's bulwark. Four cultists lay motionless in the ash, darkness spreading from their fallen forms. They were the ones who had been brave enough to test Gelebor's armor. His mace had made short work of them. Only one Ashlander had been killed. An older elf, who had possessed more courage than he had skill at arms. The others had moved his corpse to sit against the valley wall, behind the fighting line.
"The fetchers will take him for meat if we leave him out there," Niranil had grimly explained. "Promise you won't let that happen to me, snow elf."
Footsteps, from behind. Niranil raised his spear, but Gelebor shook his head. It was only a runner.
"Your Khajiit companion holds the mouth of the valley," the mer reported, between panting breaths. "Three of the enemy fallen. One of ours."
"Very well." Gelebor's sense of unease did not abate. Kharjo and his fighters had experienced fighting nearly as bloodless as their own. "They may be testing our strength, preparing for a final assault before the sun rises."
"Hmm. Tricky." Niranil thrummed his fingers on his spear shaft. "I don't like tricky."
"I've been in battles like this before. They're trying to draw us out, slip through the gaps in our defenses." Time is a circle. If I don't look too closely, these cultists could almost be the Betrayed. Will I be able to hold the wayshrine, this time?
Three innocent souls. He had foolishly assumed Eola had meant the souls of the prisoners kept under Red Mountain. Now two Ashlanders were dead, and they still could not rest easy. One soul remains. By the gods, Nadene. Where are you?
Dawn was an hour away, at best. Countless scratches and score marks covered Gelebor's breastplate, a testament to the raw ferocity of their foes. The cultists had aimed their weapons to maim and incapicate, not to kill, but it seemed that they had given up their wish to acquire him entirely whole. Good. I have no wish to be captured alive, by people such as these.
Erandur had volunteered to come with the defenders, to heal their injured, but Gelebor had ordered him to stay behind in the yurt. The priest had acquiesced with little trouble. The same could not be said for Eldrus, who wished to fight on the front lines and serve as Gelebor's squire.
There had been no time for niceties, with Namira's forces at the metaphorical gate. He had bellowed at the boy to return to the guest yurt and guard over Erandur. Eldrus' expression of hurt flashed through his mind. No. Can't afford distractions, at this stage. They'll both be safer inside the village.
Sakani was leading the noncombatants in a chants prayer around the central bonfire. From Gelebor's position deeper in the valley, the echoes of their chants sounded like the mournful songs of spirits long gone. He shivered.
From the darkness came a drumbeat.
"Here they come," Gelebor called out, and his men scrambled to readiness. "Do not let them pull you away from the line. We must be a chain unbroken!"
"The old ones are watching closely!" Niranil yelled, raising his spear. "This valley belongs to Azura, to the Velothi, to the Nerevarine! Let's cut out this rot from the land of our ancestors! For Resdaynia!"
"For Resdaynia!" The others took up the call, yelling and then screaming the words as the drumbeat came closer and began to shake the ground. From the darkness came the riders. In their arms they carried the murderous tools of a vanished race.
Three cultists mounted on guar rushed the line, heavy dwarven crossbows held high. The first bolt flew to Gelebor's left, tearing an Ashlander's head from his shoulders. The second went over Niranil, and the third took Gelebor in the stomach.
It was like being punched by a giant. His breath left him in one short gust, and the stars danced above him like distant swaying lanterns. He hit the ground at speed, rolling and tumbling in the gray. Blood and ash filled his mouth. He heard shouts, groans of pain, and clashing weapons, but they did not register as anything worth getting up for.
Finally the world stilled. For an eternity Gelebor looked up at the sky, lacking even the strength to gasp for air. The stars. At least I get to see them, one last time. Then he last the capacity for thought, and resolved simply to go to his death with a pleasant image in his mind. A guar leapt over him, a momentary annoyance. Several figures rushed after it. Blackness crept in at the corners of his vision.
And then Eldrus screamed.
Gelebor returned to life all at once, rolling on to his hands and knees and vomiting blood on to the ash. His eyes blurred with every movement. Eldrus. The boy. Ashlanders passed him, carrying weapons. There was no time to waste. He picked up his mace, the weight an anchor keeping him in reality, and staggered towards the village.
There were no more screams, now. Was that a good sign? He couldn't remember. There were many shapes crowded around a yurt, the yurt Gelebor was bound for. They were beating a Dunmer covered in black markings, wearing the armor of a Redoran guard. He wore a sickly grin on his face, an expression of depraved satisfaction.
"Move," Gelebor mumbled, but the shapes did not hear or did not care. He passed through them like a ghost, past the elf with the bad face, and nearly fell into the yurt. A Khajiit was in there, kneeling beside a small shape covered in red. On the other side of the yurt was another shape, all alone, lying on the floor in a wet pool. It called out to him.
"Erandur," Gelebor said, his mind clearing somewhat. He sat down next to his friend. "Are you hurt?"
"This will be the end, I believe." Erandur smiled, but blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. His eyes locked on Gelebor for a second, but lost focus in the next moment. "Lady Mara calls to me. No, please. Don't shed tears for an old priest."
Gelebor felt wetness on his cheeks. Oh, so he was crying. When did that happen?
"I'm quite pleased." Erandur took a deep breath. "To hear her voice. I feared I hadn't done enough. To make up for the wrongs. I'm still Casimir in my head, you know. I still love my brothers."
"No. Wait." Gelebor put a hand on Erandur's shoulder, but when he pulled it away, it was wet with blood. "I'll get help for you."
"Don't trouble yourself, son. I'm ready to go. Maybe I'll see Veren and Thorek again. I so dearly miss them."
"Just hold on a moment. Nadene is coming." She was, wasn't she? She had promised.
"Give my love to Habi." Erandur's hand found his. The priest's skin was so warm, so alive. How could he be dying? "Tell her I'm sorry I didn't get to see her trial. I'm certain...she'll make a wonderful guard."
"I don't understand what's happening." Gelebor watched Erandur's chest rise and fall, more slowly each time.
"Tell me," Erandur spoke, his voice a whisper. "Did I save the child? Did I save Eldrus? In the fighting, I could not see."
Eldrus. Who is Eldrus? Gelebor looked up. Across the yurt, a Khajiit was kneeling beside a small form. Kharjo.
"I see someone," he told Erandur, but the light had left the priest's eyes. Don't worry. Nadene will be here soon. Gelebor gently closed his eyelids, so he could rest, and went to the Khajiit's side.
"There's too much blood," Kharjo said, his voice teetering on the edge of madness. "We need the Nerevarine. By the moons, where is she?"
"I don't know." Kharjo was right. There was blood everywhere. How could a body so small be filled with so much? Gelebor brushed the back of his finger against a small, pale face. Vyrthur. I killed you again. You poor little soul.
He rose.
"Where are you going?" Kharjo's fur was matted with red, and he was still desperately attending to the child. "Do not leave!"
"Red Mountain." Gelebor turned away. He had his mace; he needed nothing else. "It's time."
"You fool. Giving yourself to them will not put an end to this!"
"I'm not surrendering." The machinations of his fate had been reduced to a simple calculus. There were mere hours before the cannibals would strike again. No one else will die for me. "I'm going to kill them all."
She entered the yurt shortly after dawn. Kharjo's arms had long since gone numb, but he maintained the pressure on the wound. More than I could do for my sweet kittens. Why is this world so cruel to the young?
"Help me," Kharjo said weakly. "Please."
Nadene gently pushed him aside, her hands already aglow with magicka.
"Rest, Kharjo. You've done all you can, and you've done it well."
Her words barely reached the realm of comprehension, he was so exhausted. He stared up at the kreshfibre canvas of the yurt, eyelids flickering.
"Where's his grandmother?"
"Khajiit believes...they are burning the one who did this." The scent of burning flesh had permeated the air, even here.
She nodded grimly, pulled off her helmet, and bent over the child. Kharjo succumbed to the tides of sleep.
He awoke several hours later.
"He will live?" Kharjo crawled over to them, looking down at a bandaged Eldrus.
"It was a close thing." Nadene ran her fingers through the boy's black curls. "Too close. I should have been here."
"The Knight-Paladin...he has gone to Red Mountain."
"I suspected as much." She stood and walked over to Erandur. Kharjo joined her, and together they covered him with the softest blanket they could find.
"Without his help, we never would have made it this far." Nadene sighed. "Give me your sword, Kharjo."
He wordlessly passed the weapon to her. She replaced her helmet, and they left the yurt.
Nadene paused abruptly outside, and knelt down to search through the ash. When she rose again, there was a gleaming six-pointed ornament on her finger. Moon-and-Star.
They found Sakani and the Ashlanders gathered around the bonfire, a charred corpse before them. Kharjo noticed several faces missing, elves he had commanded at the southern pass.
"The Nerevarine returns," Sakani crowed. "While you conferred with Azura, blood was righteously spilled upon the ash. At last, we taste true battle. What did our goddess have to say? How shall we strike back at Namira?"
Nadene was silent for a long time. Her masked visage offered no hint as to her thoughts. The villagers were deathly quiet, glancing between their wise woman and ancient champion.
"I know who you are." Nadene's damning words echoed in the silence. "Let this folly end. We're both far too old for such nonsense as this."
All expression fled from Sakani's face. She regarded Nadene with cold, sober eyes. Then she withdrew a dagger from the folds of her robes.
"I'm coming for you," Nadene said. "I'm coming to Red Mountain."
"You will find there wisdom." Sakani plunged the dagger into her own stomach. The Ashlanders gasped. "A firm friend." Again she stabbed, blood washing past her hand like a crimson river. "And all the power you need, to set the world aright."
Nadene stepped forward and swung the sword. It was a clean cut. Sakani's head fell to the ash, and her body crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut away.
"Sakani!" Someone screamed.
"No," said another. Niranil, the elf who had stood with Gelebor. "No, I don't think so. Not anymore. We were misled, my brothers and sisters. 'Twas not Azura's voice in our poor wise woman's ears, was it?"
"No. It wasn't." Nadene handed Kharjo his weapon. "I'm going to Red Mountain. I'm going to save Gelebor, and my granddaughter, and rid Vvardenfell of this madness forever. Kharjo, will you stand with me?"
"Always, Nadene." He sheathed the sword. "Let us go rescue our friends."
"And who else?"
No one spoke up at first. And then Niranil came forward.
"Ho, Nerevarine." He beat the bottom of his spear against the ground. "Ho, Nerevarine!"
The warriors joined him, their shouts and yells stoking the flames of passion, and then the others, the women and children, the old and the weak. "Ho, Nerevarine! Ho, Nerevarine! To fire and war! Ho, Nerevarine!"
"Let's go."