Malg the Magnificent

by Levi Buchanan

Malg has come all the way from the Dragontail Mountains to study at the College of Winterhold and is expecting to amaze his teachers and dispel the notion that orcs make poor wielders of magic. However, his life at the college does not go exactly as he might have expected.

3. Part 3: Shadows on the Sea

Malg the Magnificent

Part 3: Shadows on the Sea

When the sun rose the next morning, Wiggles-Her-Fingers was feeling much better than she had the night before. She did not remember much after the vampire had latched onto her throat, only that she felt cold and somehow strangely detached. It was unnerving, the idea that such a monster had tried to feed on her, seen her as prey, as food. The sensation of being fed upon was unnerving. She had no desire to relive it and so tried as best she could to think on something else.

Malg opened his eyes to see her standing at the window overlooking the cove. "Are you still you?" he asked.

"The morning sun feels warm on my scales," she replied. "I do not think that the taint persists." Wiggles-Her-Fingers turned to look at her friend. "It was foolish of you to stay here with me," she said. "If the potion had not worked, you might have been in danger."

"I have a lot of blood," he said. "You would have had a difficult time drinking all of it."

Despite herself, Wiggles-Her-Fingers let out a raspy giggle.

"Seeing as how you have recovered, I think we can be on our way," Malg said, pushing himself to his feet. "The Blood Horkers still need to pay for your brother's death."

A hard glint replaced the jovial gleam in the Argonian's eyes. "That they do," she agreed. "I will say here for the moment, Malg. I need to thank the alchemist for her work and settle with her. The jarl's ship is waiting in the harbor. If you would go ahead tell them to make ready, we can be off sooner."

Malg nodded and made for the door.

Wiggles-Her-Fingers called to him once more as he left the room, "Malg?"

He grunted.

"Was the vampire killed?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "Nothing remains of it."

She nodded, and he left.

It was a bright, clear morning in Dawnstar. Soft snow still covered the ground in a powdery, white blanket despite the warming rays of sunlight that tried in vain to reveal the stony ground beneath. A gust of wind blew in from the east, kicking fine bits of white powder all over the helm of Malg's black robes. He turned his face away, hiding it from the gale and looked to find the ship Wiggles-Her-Finger said would be in the harbor. It was there, tied up to the dock as members of the crew were loading the last few crates on board.

Malg walked around the water and up to the dock. He had never been on a ship before, and he was looking forward to the experience. The big orc walked out onto the pier but soon found himself feeling odd as he watched the motion of the water against the wooden post just below his feet. Disoriented, he fell to his knees on the pier. He managed to lift his eyes from the water and scanned the area around him, desperately trying to locate whoever had cast the spell, but all he could see were crewmen and a few of the mercenaries watching him with amused looks on their faces. The strange curse, however, was suddenly and inexplicably gone.

Malg continued to look around for a few more moments, unsure of what had happened to him. He had had enough experience with the school of illusion to know that just because you could not see an attacker did not mean there was none. Perhaps the shadowy assailant did not realize just how ineffective his witchery had been, and Malg took his opportunity, leaping to his feet and sprinting to the ship as fast as he could. The moment his foot hit the deck, the unfamiliar shift of the ship on the water sent the orc lurching, first backward and then forward, as he tried to keep his balance. Ultimately, Malg managed to keep his feet under him by grabbing the ship's gunwale.

"Where is he?!" he cried out in confusion.

The mercenaries, who up to this point were enjoying the show the orc was putting on, suddenly looked around. Several alarmed "who?" and "what?" responses from the mercenaries as they jerked their heads around, looking for some mysterious culprit. Malg ducked below the side of the ship for cover, desperately clinging to the wooden frame to steady himself, as several members of the crew and mercenaries took cover behind various crates and structures of the ship.

"What happened?!" one of the mercenaries yelled.

"I was hit by some spell!" Malg shouted back. "There is an illusionist here somewhere! I cannot see him. He hit me with something on the pier, and when I reached the ship, he nearly took my legs out from under me!"

The mercenary looked back at the orc, trying to decide if the mage was serious. Malg was keeping his head down and looking frantically around the ship for any sign of magical concealment. The mercenary stood up and made a small hand gesture that brought the rest of his fellows out from their cover. Members of the crew were still hiding, unsure of what to do as Malg attempted to convince the men to take cover again.

"What are you doing orc?" the mercenary laughed.

Malg looked at him in confusion, but he refused to give up his cover. "Get down!" Malg cautioned. "He might attack again!"

Some of the crew and the other mercenaries, who up to this point had been trying to locate the perpetrator, had begun to gather around the orc who was still maintaining an iron grip on the ship's gunwale.

"You have never been on a ship before, have you, orc?" another mercenary asked.

"No," Malg admitted. He recognized the man as one of the scuffling mercenaries in the jarl's hall, but he was far too focused on the soldiers' lack of battle prudence to care.

Several of the men swore, but most just laughed as they returned to whatever they had been doing before the crazy orc had run onto their ship. The Nord mercenary who had first questioned Malg gave a somewhat disgusted look and said, "It's not a bloody spell, mage. Once you get used to the way the water moves, you'll be fine." He offered his hand to Malg, who took it, and the Nord hauled the unsteady orc to his feed.

Malg leaned heavily on his staff as he took his first few unsure steps. "This does not feel right," he said.

The mercenary shrugged, "Get used to it, or you're going to be miserable all the way to Japhet's Folly. I'm Harik. You can relay your orders for us through me, understand?"

The ship shifted on the water and Malg groaned. His stomach felt as if it was trying to float up and out of his mouth and then suddenly dropped back down into his gut. He felt weak all over as his eyes crossed, and then he was grabbed roughly back his robes and dragged over to the side of the ship.

"Look at the horizon!" Harik ordered.

Malg did as he was told and looked out of the ocean to where the sea met the sky. It was stable, unmoving, and as his eyes focused on the steady line, the sick feeling in his gut began to subside.

"Are you gonna live?" Harik asked.

After a moment, Malg replied, "Yes, thank you."

"Just remember," Harik continued, "If you're gonna lose it, lose it into the sea. You don't have to live with the fish."

Harik left Malg at the side of the ship gazing into the distance, terrified of taking his eyes off the horizon, and wondering just how long the voyage to Japhet's Folly would be. After some time, his stomach was no longer threatening to empty itself, and he was willing to release is grip on the gunwale. With a little bit of experimentation, Malg realized that he was able to keep himself together and walk around on the deck of the ship as long as he kept his eyes firmly focused on the horizon.

"Master Malg!" a voice called from behind him.

Surprised, Malg spun around and instantly regretted it. His stomach lurched, and it took quite a bit of effort to swallow it back down.

"Are you ready to leave?" the voice called again.

Malg looked up toward the voice and saw the captain standing on the quarterdeck. Malg looked back out to the horizon. "Is Wiggles-Her-Fingers onboard?" he asked.

"Aye!" the captain replied. "She is below deck!"

Malg nodded to the captain, who then began barking orders to the crew. The men scrambled to their posts and made ready to disembark. Malg took the opportunity while the ship was still relatively stationary to make his way across the main deck and down into the crew quarters below. As he descended creaky, wooden steps to the lower deck, the morning light disappeared except for the single column that shone down through the open door. Creaks and knocks echoed through the surrounding blackness, but Malg could not see a thing. He groped through the darkness, stubbing his toe and running face first into a hammock, which drew the ire of the sleeping crew member, before finally finding a strong wooden post to hang onto. The ship rocked in the water. Malg braced himself for the upcoming wave of nausea, but it never came. Malg continued to hug the post, his new friend, with all his might, struggling to keep the contents of his stomach where they were.

A moment later, Malg heard a familiar voice and felt the touch of a scaled hand on his. "Malg? Are you alright?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked.

As his pupils continued to dilate, he was able to make out her reptilian features and eventually saw the concerned expression on her face. He nodded slowly. The sound of her voice and the sight of a familiar face was comforting, despite his situation.

"Is it the sea?" she asked. "Are you sick?"

He nodded again.

Wiggles-Her-Fingers smiled. "That can be fixed," she said. She reached out with both hands, which had started to glow the characteristic golden glow of restoration magic. She placed a hand on each side of Malg's head, and soon he felt a warm sensation flowing into his ears. Moments later, the weakness had left his body, and he felt stable once again.

It was only once his body had been relieved of the infirmity that Malg realized his eyes were closed. He opened them and saw Wiggles-Her-Fingers staring into his eyes smiling. "Better?" she asked.

"Yes," Malg replied. "Thank you."

"Good," she said. "Come with me."

Wiggles-Her-Fingers grabbed him by the wrist and started leading him through the lower part of the ship. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, Malg could see that the ship's lower level was much bigger than he had originally thought. The vessel's ribs reached out wide to each side leaving a vast amount of space for numerous barrels and crates Malg guessed were filled with food, mead, beer, and whatever supplies a crew like this would need while they were at sea. Wooden posts, like the one he had only just recently held onto for dear life, were spread around the area, some holding the ends of the hammocks of sleeping crew members. He saw lanterns hanging from some of the posts as well, but they had been snuffed, likely to keep the area dark enough for the ship's night shift.

"Why are you down here?" Malg whispered, trying to be polite to the sleeping crew members.

"It's nice enough down here," Wiggles-Her-Fingers answered. "And I thought we could use a quiet place away from the crew to work out how we will invade an island. Did you speak to the captain?"

Malg shook his head, "Only the mercenaries."

Wiggles-Her-Fingers led him into a small room separated from the larger space by walls of wooden slats. Inside were three or four chairs and a rough sanded wooden table. Against some of the walls were dressers and cabinets, and a bed with an old, straw mattress took up space in the corner. Wiggles-Her-Fingers lit a large oil lantern hanging from a nail in the corner opposite the bed with a small gout of flame from her finger. She winced and swore under her breath.

Malg chuckled, "Forget how to cast spells?"

"Better than forgetting how to walk," she retorted, irritably, as she took care of her burned finger.

Malg flopped himself down on the bed's straw mattress sending bits of dust flying out in all directions and leaned back against the wall. The pillow was also filled with straw that poked out through the loosely woven cotton fabric, not the most comfortable, but far better than sleeping on the floor of the hold.

Wiggles-Her-Fingers grabbed one of the chairs and pulled it up to the table. "I think we need to decide on our plan of attack," she said.

"Agreed," Malg replied. "We should be fast. The quicker the attack, the better, the less chance they will have to mount any kind of defense."

"What if we are outnumbered?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked. "We do not know how many pirates there are, and if they have mages, it will be even more difficult."

Malg grunted and scratched at his unshaven face. "Perhaps," he conceded. He had not considered the possibility that the Blood Horkers might have numbers on their side. In fact, if they control their own island, they might have up to an entire functioning village concealed on that chunk of land right off the coast. Malg thought about it for a moment. "How is your illusion?" he asked.

"Not terrible," Wiggles-Her-Fingers replied. "Why?"

"Has anyone ever tried to make a ship invisible?" Malg asked.

Wiggles-Her-Finger stared at him incredulously. "Even if that was possible," she said. "It would take an absolute prodigy in the illusion school, someone even better than Drevis, to pull it off. However, I think you are going in the right direction. If they outnumber us, stealth is a far better approach than storming the beaches. We just need to figure out how."

"Let me think," Malg said. "It was not too difficult to sneak out of the college. I just had to wait until people were not looking."

Wiggles-Her-Fingers gave Malg a pitying look, but he never noticed it.

"We could sail in at night," he said. "It is not as good as being invisible, but it will be better than during the day."

"True," Wiggles-Her-Fingers nodded. "And if we come around the back of the island, away from where ever they have their ships, they may not see us coming at all."

"Sounds like a good plan," Malg agreed.

"There is still the matter of how to use the mercenaries, though," she said. "I have never commanded people in battle. I would not even know what to say to them."

"That is not a problem," Malg said. "Harik can command the mercenaries." He thought for a moment and then continued, "It might even be better that way. They could attack directly and help clear the way for us."

A mischievous smile slowly appeared on Wiggles-Her-Fingers' face. "That sounds like a very good plan, Malg," she complimented him. "I think it will work. We just need to make sure the captain is able to make a nighttime approach of the island."

"Then let's go tell him," Malg said, standing up from the bed.

"We do not have to go just yet," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said. "The winds are against us, and we will not even reach the island until tomorrow. We can tell him later tonight at dinner. Until then…" Wiggles-Her-Fingers trailed off as she walked over to a mead barrel and filled two mugs. She came back over to the table and slammed the mugs down. "Let's enjoy the time we have."

For the next few hours, Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers relaxed around the table enjoying the mead and telling stories. The mead was particularly good, and Malg enjoyed listening to Wiggles-Her-Fingers' tales of growing up near the city of Leyawiin in southern Cyrodiil and her decision to travel north to join the College of Winterhold rather than the Mage's Guild. It was a little difficult for Malg to follow. He had never been interested in politics. Even the minor amount of political maneuvering within his own stronghold was lost on him. Wiggles-Her-Fingers was telling him about some ongoing animosity between the Argonians, Dunmer, and Khajiit in the area she lived. Many Argonians, including some members of her family, were upset about the influx of Dark Elves who had moved to the area after the eruption of Red Mountain, and the Khajiit disliked the fact that so many other races were moving onto land they considered to be their territory. Apparently, the violence among these groups had been continually escalating, and the war with the Aldmeri Dominion had thrown the entire region into chaos. The Empire withheld necessary help and provisions from Leyawiin in favor of other cities, and many people speculated it was a deliberate punishment for Leyawiin breaking away one hundred and sixty years earlier. Many died and many more were left destitute. Wiggles-Her-Fingers was all too happy to have a reason to leave, but she feared Cyrodiil's Mage's Guild would not remove her far enough from her home, even if she went to a city other than Leyawiin. She was scared that the unstable peace between the Empire and the Dominion would break, and she would be sent to fight in a war that was "not her own," so she chose to make her way north to the College of Winterhold. It was only once she entered Skyrim that she found the province was itself embroiled in its own civil war. She considered going elsewhere, but she decided to stay when she learned that the College of Winterhold was committed to staying neutral in the war. When she finished her story Malg was more convinced than ever that politics were stupid.

That evening, Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers were invited to the captain's cabin to eat. Malg was quite hungry as he had hardly eaten all day, and his mind began conjuring all sorts of delicious foods laid out across the captain's table: salted pork, fresh fish, fruits, boiled crème treats, and piles upon piles of sweet rolls. His mouth began to water as he thought about what he wanted to eat first, but when the porter opened the captain's cabin door, he realized that all his anticipation had been in vain. There was indeed food on the table, and it was not what Malg had been expecting.

On a small, heavily stained wooden table was a bucket of cut potatoes and carrots with a stack of bread next to it. Malg barely noticed these, however, because his eyes were immediately drawn to the main course: three mudcrabs, piled together and nearly sliding off the large wooden platter in the center of the table. Malg eyed the boiled carcasses as the vacant, beady, black eyes stared back, wondering exactly how he should eat something that convincingly disguises itself as a rock and coming up with no conclusions.

"Welcome!" the captain greeted them as he got up from his desk. "I am Captain Thalrig. I apologize for not coming to see you sooner. College mages like yourselves are treasured guests to have aboard, but these kinds of voyages can be very demanding of my time." The captain was a large Nord, powerfully built, with a full, bushy beard styled with several braids and long, brown hair. His eyes were a deep brown with a joyful quality about them that matched his large smile. "Please, take a seat," he offered, pulling one of the chairs out for Wiggles-Her-Fingers.

"Thank you," she replied, smiling.

Captain Thalrig took the seat next to her, and Malg took the seat on the other side of the table, all the while keeping an eye on the crabs. If steam had not been rising off the shells, he might have expected them to hop up off the platter and any moment and start grabbing at them with their claws.

"Have you ever eaten mudcrab before?" Captain Thalrig asked.

Malg shook his head.

"Do not worry," he said. "They taste much better than they look. It just takes a bit of effort to get to the meat." As he said this, the captain unwrapped a cloth napkin sitting next to the platter to reveal three small steel wedge hammers. "It is rather easy once you get the hang of it," he continued. "The little buggers' shells are really hard, so you won't be able to crack them off with your hands. Take the wedge to the front like this." Thalrig took a small swing, wedging the hammer up under the front of the shell and jerked it upward. The shell cracked, and a little juice sprayed out onto the table. He spun his plate around with the expertise and confidence of having performed this maneuver countless times. "Then do it again to the backside," he explained as he repeated the swing, and as he jerked upward, the crab's shell popped off onto the table. "It's that easy," he said and tossed the shell into the empty bucket next to his plate.

Wiggles-Her-Fingers took the second crab from the platter and began trying to wedge her hammer up under the shell. Malg watched her attempt to open the giant sea bug for a moment before opting to load his plate down with potatoes and carrots. The simple combination of roots vegetables was wonderfully spiced, and Malg happily continued to stuff his face with them until he heard another crack and the clattering of another shell onto the table. The sound, however, was not what interrupted Malg's meal but the wet spray of crab juice across his face now dripping down onto his plate and food.

"Oh, Malg, I'm sorry," Wiggles-Her-Fingers apologized. "I did not know it would be that juicy." She jumped up with her napkin to clean off his face, but Malg waved her off and used his own.

"It's alright," he said.

"Don't you want to give it a try?" Captain Thalrig asked Malg. "It really is quite good."

Malg was still a bit wary of the creature. He liked fish just fine, but this was not fish. This was something altogether different, and he was not very keen on the idea of chowing down on bug meat. However, the other two seemed very pleased as they picked little chunks of white meat out from inside the shell and popped them into their mouths. After a brief deliberation, he decided he would try the crab. How bad could it be? He stood up and reached over to pick up the crab, but as he did, it seemed so much more likely that the crab was going to suddenly spring to life and clamp onto his hand with its jagged claws. He hesitated and instead retrieved the hammer. He took a deep breath and again reached out for the crab, but the feeling of sticking his hand into a spring trap immediately returned and he retracted his hand.

Trying to help, Captain Thalrig grabbed the crab, and thrust it out toward him, "Here you go, Malg. The largest one, just for you, big guy."

Malg swallowed hard maintaining his composure, but he no longer had a choice unless he wanted to explain to the other two why he was nervous to touch a dead bug. He grabbed the edge of the mudcrab's shell and plopped it onto his plate.

"Enjoy!" the captain said.

Picking up the wedge hammer, Malg went to work. Two strikes were all he needed, and there would be no doubt the thing was dead. Carefully avoiding the legs, Malg positioned the crab at the correct angle and readied himself for the strike. He drew back the hammer and swung. The wedge bounced off the edge of the crab's shell like a sword off plate armor. It had not even left a mark. He sighed and drew back the hammer for a second try. However, as Malg brought the hammer back, something was nudged causing the legs to slip, and the mudcrab's heavy claw fell open. Reacting out of pure terror as his meal moved, Malg dropped his hammer and leaped back from the table. Letting out something between a roar and a wail, the orc swung his now empty fist down onto the top of the crab's shell, opening a small crack from one side to the other.

Wiggles-Her-Fingers jumped up from the table, and the orc's outburst nearly had Captain Thalrig toppling backward in his seat. Pain shot through Malg's hand from the impact with the rock-hard shell, but that only amplified the situation as his assault upon the deceased crustacean caused all of its legs to contract. Wiggles-Her-Fingers gasped and Thalrig swore as Malg's skin became ebony, and he brought his fist down on the mudcrab's shell a second time. The impact shattered the carapace, sending large pieces of broken shell flying across the room. The two largest and heaviest pieces slid to each side, revealing the tender white meat within. Malg stood over the mutilated carcass breathing heavily and looking for any further signs of life from the mudcrab.

Silence fell over the room until Captain Thalrig began to laugh, a rich deep belly laugh. Slowly, Malg raised his head to look at the captain, confused by his reaction.

Wiggles-Her-Fingers was looking back and forth between her two companions trying to understand exactly what had happened. "Xuth, Malg! What is going on?!"

"I stand corrected, Master Malg!" Captain Thalrig laughed. "It is indeed possible to shell a mudcrab with just your hands!

"It moved," Malg said simply, in an attempt to explain what he had done.

"Well," Captain Thalrig replied. "I suppose that does happen sometimes. I'm sorry I forgot to tell you, but I can guarantee you it is quite dead, even more so now."

"Alright," Malg said. Consoled by the captain's assurance, he sat back down in front of his mudcrab. He gingerly picked up the two large pieces of shell and dropped them into the bucket beside his plate. The meat did look tasty. He picked up the small fork and began to pick out chunks of meat from the body. He put the first one in his mouth, and he was surprised by how much he liked it. It was soft and sweeter than he expected it to be. He grabbed each of the large claws, broke them open, and sucked out the succulent meat within. Surprisingly, the crab became his favorite part of the meal, and after filling up on every bit of meat he could fish out of the crustacean's shell, he was too stuffed for anything else.

The next afternoon, Malg and Captain Thalrig stood at the rail of the quarterdeck studying the layout of a large island several hundred meters of the starboard side of the ship. Much of the near side of the island was covered in ice, and thick sheets of sea ice floated in the surrounding waters.

"Is that it?" Malg asked.

"I believe so," Thalrig replied, lowering his telescope. "When the Blood Horkers killed the Argonian, they fled east. Jarl Merilis ordered us to give chase, and we nearly caught them. We were catching up to them until they passed Winterhold and made for the Serpent's Stone. It was strange. A mist settled on the water, making it nearly impossible to see, but they never slowed. We had to turn back. It was too dangerous to continue the pursuit. The only way they could have continued at that speed was if they knew that place like their own home. After searching the area, this is the only island big enough to support a band of pirates. It's also the only one with a dock in good repair, so I'm betting you're going to find those brigands somewhere here, likely up in the towers at the top."

"Good," Malg said. "We will wait for evening, then."

"I suppose you have a plan?" Thalrig asked.

Malg nodded, "Somewhat, but I need to know if there is a way up that slope other than from the dock."

"It's possible," Thalrig answered. "There is a cave right at sea level around to right from the dock." He pointed, but the ship was too far away for Malg to have any hope of making it out. "They might unload goods there as well," the captain surmised. "But it is equally as likely that the cave is just a cave."

"I see," Malg said.

"I have a solution for you," a voice said from behind them. It was Harik. He had walked up so quietly behind them that neither Malg nor Captain Thalrig had noticed.

"What is it?" Malg asked.

"I have a couple of very good scouts," Harik said. "They could find out if the cave is a dead end or not."

"Are they as quiet as you?" Captain Thalrig asked.

"Oh, Captain," Harik smiled. "They're better."

"Can they be back by this evening?" Malg asked.

Harik nodded.

"Send them," Malg ordered.

Harik nodded again and left to find his men. The two men, a Dark Elf called Giras and a wiry-looking Breton called Wilkes, returned just after sunset with the news that the cave did indeed lead up into the bottom level of one of the stone towers.

"It looks like the ice collapsed and took some of the tower wall with it," Wilkes said. "They don't seem to have any plans to repair it anytime soon."

"Anything else they should know?" Harik asked.

Giras shrugged, "There are some mudcrabs in the cave."

"Alright then," Harik said. "What do you want from us, mage?"

Malg's mouth had begun to water at the mention of mudcrabs. He briefly entertained the notion of grabbing the crustaceans on the way out, but he quickly put it to the back of his mind. It was not the time to be thinking about food. "I will get Wiggles-Her-Fingers," he said. "Then we can go over the plan."

Harik nodded.

Malg walked over to the stairs leading down from the main deck and called down to Wiggles-Her-Fingers. She quickly emerged from the shadows, her facial scales reflecting the faint, pale light of Masser and Secunda. "Are you ready?" Malg asked.

"Very ready," Wiggles-Her-Fingers replied. "Have you told them the plan of attack?"

"Not yet," Malg said. "I wanted us all here first. Harik, we want you and your men to attack from the dock. Do not worry about making quick progress to the top. I just need you to get their attention and keep it. Wiggles-Her-Fingers and I will try to sneak into the tower through the cave with Giras and Wilkes. If we are fortunate, we will cut the head off the snake before it knows we're there."

"Very well," Harik said.

"I cannot get the ship right up to the cave, Malg," Thalrig said. "However, the four of you could take one of the boats." I will wait here until you land at the cave, and then we will make for the dock."

"That'll work," Malg replied.

Captain Thalrig gave orders to some of the crew, and soon the ship's oars were being quietly dipped into the water. "The crew will drop the boat for you. Good luck. I hope to see you back here soon," Captain Thalrig said and then ascended the steps to the quarterdeck.

Once the boat was dropped, the scouts climbed down the rope ladder and held it steady for the two mages. Wiggles-Her-Fingers descended the ladder almost as swiftly as they did, but Malg had some trouble keeping his balance on the rungs. At one point, the ladder swung out nearly horizontal. Giras quickly hopped out of the way, expecting the orc to fall the last several feet into the boat, but Malg held on to the ladder as it swung around wildly, eventually making it to the bottom.

Once everyone was onboard, Wilkes grabbed the oars and began rowing bringing the boat around. Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers got as low as they could in the boat, and Giras went to the front. The Dark Elf drew his sword and used the blade to push the large chunks of sea ice out of the boat's way.

"How did you two get over to the cave earlier?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked Wilkes.

"We walked on the ice," Wilkes answered.

"Seriously?" she asked. "That seems like it would be nearly impossible to keep your balance."

Wilkes continued to row the boat. "Difficult, but not impossible," he said. "The salt makes it bendable, so it will flex under your foot."

"Flexible ice?" Malg asked.

Wilkes nodded. "Seems strange, don't it?" he asked. "I thought so, too."

Giras made a nearly inaudible sound at the front of the boat. Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers looked first at him and then at each other, confused.

"Quiet now," Wilkes whispered. "We are getting within earshot. Don't need to give the buggers any warning, eh?"

Malg shook his head. He pulled his hood up over his head and did his best to stay as quiet and as small as possible for the rest of the trip. Wiggles-Her-Fingers huddled next to him, trying to do the same. The oars now hardly made a sound as Wilkes lowered them into the water and propelled the boat forward. Even the lifeboat itself seemed to move more quietly through the water, and soon they arrived at the sea cave. Wilkes motioned to Malg, and the two of them hauled the boat up inside the cave.

"There we go," Wilkes whispered. "Can't let are way out float off."

Once the boat was secured, the Breton whipped his hand up and several bluish-white sparks flew up like a fountain from his open palm. They fell around him and settled in a bluish haze around his feet. The Breton winked at the shocked mages and then scampered after the Dark Elf who was already making his way through the cave. Wiggles-Her-Fingers smiled and crept quietly after him. Malg watched as his friend deftly navigated the craggy structures of the cave and decided he better hurry if he did not want to be left behind.

Malg hunched down and tiptoed as quietly as he could after his companions. All seemed to be going well at first until the rough ice crunched loudly under his foot. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide in shock. Wilkes and Wiggles-Her-Fingers slowly turned to look at him. Embarrassed, Malg mouthed, "I'm sorry." Wiggles-Her-Fingers attempted to tell him that it was fine, but he could not understand what she was trying to say. Wilkes looked up ahead and satisfied that the sound had not given them away, shrugged and motioned them forward.

Malg was very careful from that point on to look everywhere he placed his foot. He did not want to ruin everything before Harik and the other mercenaries had an opportunity to engage and draw the pirates outside. The others had moved farther up into the cave out of sight. Malg did not like being the slow one, but he persisted and kept moving. Several more steps went perfectly well for the orc until his foot touched a bit of water on the ice and slid. Malg instantly felt the slide and tightened the muscles the muscles in his legs doing everything he could to keep them together, but one had found solid purchase on a bit of snow while the other found nothing on the slick surface of the wet ice. A long line of swear words shot through Malg's head like a bolt of lightning, and he stuck out his staff as a last-ditch effort to avoid falling. It failed, and the orc tumbled to the icy floor. He tried to collect himself only to look up and see Wilkes staring down at him. He motioned to Malg something to the effect of, "What's wrong?" but Malg could do nothing but shrug in response. The Breton helped him back to his feet but then motioned for him to wait a moment. Malg did as he was told. The Breton waved his hand, and the bluish haze settled around Malg's feet. The Breton cast the spell again on himself, and the two were off through the cave.

Malg found it infinitely easier to keep up with the others now that Wilkes had muffled the sound from his feet. The two of them passed a couple of dead mudcrabs which looked to have been dispatched with surgical precision. The creatures were laying in pools of their own blood without even having moved to defend themselves. Up ahead, the warm glow of torchlight shone through the breach made in the tower wall the scouts had reported earlier. Wiggles-Her-Fingers sat crouched on one side while Giras was peering into the opening. The Dark Elf signed something back to Wilkes, who nodded and motioned for Malg to proceed.

Once they were all together, Wilkes whispered directly into Malg's ear, "Giras will go first. You and the Argonian will follow him but keep a good distance back. I will keep to the rear. If he raises his hand, stop until he waves you forward."

Malg nodded, and the Breton went over to give Wiggles-Her-Fingers the instructions. Then Wilkes cast his muffling spell on Giras, and the elf proceeded into the tower.

Malg followed a few feet behind Giras up the dimly lit stairs. It may have been his imagination, but with the help of Wilkes' spell, the Dark Elf's mere presence seemed to add to the silence of the tower rather than take from it. It even seemed to Malg as if the Dunmer was sliding over the stones rather than actually stepping upon them, as silent as the surrounding shadows.

Giras stopped at the first corner, signaling for a stop. Malg obeyed, and the Dunmer disappeared around the corner to the right. Malg listened. He thought for a moment that he heard something like a gurgling, but it was quickly gone. Giras appeared again and motioned for him to follow as the Dark Elf went left and up the twisting tower steps and passed a large gate trap. As Malg followed Giras, he looked down the dead-end passageway to the right. Pushed up against the wall was the corpse of one of the Blood Horkers, a terrible gash inside of his neck and blood pooling around his legs.

Malg continued to creep along behind Giras, who never slowed, leaving a trail of bloody corpses in his silent wake, until he opened the door to a long hallway. Malg heard the voices of several men congregated in the room at the far end. Giras waited for Wiggles-Her-Fingers and Wilkes to catch up before he pointed down the passageway. "We will take them by surprise," the elf said. "They sound drunk, so I doubt they will put up much of a fight. Dispatch them quickly, and we'll move on."

"We need to find out which one of them killed my brother," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said.

"If we kill them all," Giras replied. "We will have found him."

Wilkes reapplied his muffling spell to each of them, and they continued down the corridor, staying as close to the walls and possible. Malg went last, keeping his distance, his staff ready in case the pirates their approach. He need not have worried, however, as the pirates seemed much more interested in listening to and correcting one of their own's loud and somewhat slurred version of a raid in which they had all apparently participated in.

"That's not how it happened, Stig!" one the men yelled. "The pipsqueak pissed himself first! That's why I was laughing when I stabbed him. He wouldn't have made a good slave anyway, too small."

"But we sure sold his goods to the reavers for a decent haul, eh?" Stig laughed.

"Where are we going next?" another asked. "Dawnstar? Solitude?"

"Irlof, you idiot!" the first one shouted. "It is too early to go back to Dawnstar, the guard is still looking for us!"

"Only for you!" Stig yelled. "Maybe next time you get a lust for blood inside a city, you stab yourself instead of ruining a good time!"

As the pirates were arguing, Wilkes and Giras took up positions on each side of the entrance with the mages behind them. It was going to be quick. The pirates would likely be dead before they knew why, but justice would have to be satisfied with that.

Wilkes drew the war ax from his belt and the two scouts entered the room. It was scary how quietly it happened. Giras' blade pierced the back of the first only seconds before Wilkes' ax split the skull of the second. The two dead bodies were already falling to the floor when the realization of the attack dawned on the faces of their companions. Stig and Irlof attempted to mount an attack but were instantly thrown to the floor by bolts of lightning from Malg's staff and Wiggles-Her-Fingers' hands. Irlof cried out in pain just before a second jolt from Malg's staff struck him in the chest. The pirate fell flat on the stones twitching, and Wilkes make doubly sure he would never rise from them again.

Giras was not as merciful. The Dark Elf stood back as Wiggles-Her-Fingers grabbed Stig and sent lightning coursing through the man's body.

"Who killed my brother?!" she hissed, after releasing him.

"What happened?" Stig asked, terribly confused. "Who in Oblivion are you?"

Wiggles-Her-Fingers sent another bolt of lightning through his chest, not enough to kill but enough to hurt and keep the captain debilitated. "Which one of you killed the Argonian in Windpeak Inn?" she asked again.

"Go take a leap, milk drinker," Stig replied.

Wiggles-Her-Fingers made to grab him again, but Wilkes put a hand on her shoulder and whispered something into her ear. She looked at the captain, then back at the scout and nodded. Wilkes stepped forward, and before Stig Salt-Plank could say another word, a green spark leaped from Wilkes' hand. The captain's body visibly relaxed and his eyes dilated slightly.

"Alright," Wilkes said. "Ask him again."

Wiggles-Her-Fingers knelt down in front of her prisoner. "Which one of your men murdered the Argonian in the Windpeak Inn in Dawnstar," she asked. "We are here for him."

Stig nodded. "You want Alding then," he said, pointing over to the corpse laying on the floor with its skull split in two. "He's a big pain in the backside, but he doesn't look so lively anymore." The captain sighed, "I knew that was going to come back to bite us. I should have left the sod there to hash it out with the guard on his own."

Wiggles-Her-Fingers stood up and began to walk away, and Wilkes stepped in to continue the questioning. "Who is the leader of the Blood Horkers?" he asked calmly.

"That would be Haldyn," Stig replied.

"Where is he?" Wilkes continued.

Stig shrugged, "Probably upstairs playing with some magic something or other. That Redguard don't care for nothing but magic. That's all he does when he ain't takin' a cut of our raids."

"Why not kill him and take over?" Wilkes asked.

"Do you want to take on a destruction mage?" Stig asked. "Because I don't. He'll blast you just for suggesting he don't deserve most of the haul for himself, kinda like your lizard just did."

Wilkes stood up and stepped away from the prisoner. Stig seemed like he was about to say something more when Giras stepped forward and thrust his sword into the captain's open mouth. Captain Stig Salt-Plank twitched violently, and then his wide eyes glazed over.

"Alright then, one crazy mage, and then we can go home," Wilkes said. "This would be more your territory, wouldn't it?" he asked looking at Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers. "Any thoughts on how we should approach it?"

Malg's brain was suddenly devoid of ideas. The scouts had led them the entire way through the tower, even passed the point of exacting vengeance for Watches-the-Waters' murder. He had not expected to be asked about anything at this point. He looked over at Wiggles-Her-Fingers to see his friend calmly considering the situation, her face hardly visible under the shadow of her hood.

"We should continue with stealth. That is our strength," Wiggles-Her-Fingers replied. "If the mage is as consumed with his work as the pirate said, Giras may very well drop him before he knows we are there."

"And if he sees us?" Wilkes asked.

"Then you will die!" a voice called out from across the room.

Malg turned to see where the voice had come from. Under the large, stone arch leading to the stairs up to the top of the tower, stood a Redguard clad from head to foot in heavy, plate armor. He was old, with braided gray hair, but held himself with the confidence and vigor of a man half his age. Before Malg could react, the Redguard mage sent a bolt of lightning streaking across the room. The sound was terrible as the energy electrified the air around it. The bolt struck Giras' sword and funneled all the energy through the blade into the Dark Elf like a lightning rod. He stiffened, his body sizzling, and then fell limply to the floor.

The rest of the party scattered as Haldyn filled the room with lightning so powerful, the blasts were loosening the stones in the tower walls. Wilkes rolled under Stig's corpse and used the body as a shield to ward off the mage's attacks. Wiggles-Her-Fingers found other cover and Malg overturned a small table and mead keg to find a place away from the cacophony of violence the mage was now visiting upon the room.

"We need to do something!" Wilkes yelled as Stig's corpse took another blast of electricity.

Wilkes was right, Malg thought. He was trying to counter the mage's attacks, but he had lost his staff in the chaos and lightning strikes were keeping him huddled as low as possible behind the table. Even with casting these powerful spells, the mage did not seem to be tiring, and it would only be a matter of time before he tore through everything they were hiding behind. Malg took a deep breath and cast his own spell, one he was becoming more and more reliant on, and his skin darkened into hard ebony. With all his might, the orc mage picked up and hurled the table he was hiding behind at his enemy. Haldyn staggered backward as the hardwood slammed into his shoulder, but he did not fall. The Redguard smiled, a wicked cruel smile, at the failed attack, but it only lasted a fraction of a second as the keg of mead that followed it crashed into his chest.

Haldyn tumbled to the floor, cursing loudly, and Malg took the opportunity to charge. Unfortunately, for him, the Redguard was not truly injured by the impact, the steel plate absorbing the majority of it. Haldyn sat up and unleashed a bolt hitting the big orc directly in the chest. Malg cried out as pain coursed through his entire body. He was suddenly unable to move, and it felt as if he was being stabbed everywhere at once with blades of fire. As his vision cleared, he saw Haldyn streaming in terror with Wiggles-Her-Fingers latched onto his back, her claws hooked under the man's armpit and dug into his face. Haldyn, however, was ignoring the claws, instead attempting to keep the Argonian from sinking her four massive fangs, that Malg was quite sure she never had up to this point, into his neck.

This was no time to balk, however. The mage was still a threat, and Malg did the first thing he could think of. He paralyzed the man. As the green orb touched Haldyn, he dropped, stiff as a board, to the floor with Wiggles-Her-Fingers still on his back. With the mage no longer resisting, Wiggles-Her-Fingers pulled back, twisted around like a snake to the other side of his head, and bit into his unprotected flesh.

"Vampire!" Wilkes gasped. "You never said she was a vampire!"

"I-I didn't know," Malg stuttered.

Her hunger sated, Wiggles-Her-Fingers seemed to notice for the first time what was happening. She gasped and pushed the pale, blood-drained corpse away from her. She looked at Malg for some comfort. "Was I drinking his blood?" she asked meekly.

Malg nodded.

"Then the potion did not work," she murmured.

Malg noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and quickly stepped in front of Wilkes who was advancing on Wiggles-Her-Fingers with his ax raised. "That will not be happening," Malg informed the scout.

"Malg," Wilkes said. "We have far too many of those things in High Rock. They are a plague both here and in my homeland. Her hunger for blood will overtake her senses like it just did, and next time there might not be a crazy pirate mage for her to drain."

"I don't want to be a monster," Wiggles-Her-Fingers whispered. "But I don't want to die either. There is a way to cure this."

"Death," Wilkes said.

"No!" she cried out. "There is a mage in Skyrim who claims he can rid the body of this curse! I will go to him! I will do whatever it takes!"

Wilkes shook his head. "What if it doesn't work?" he asked. "What if the hunger overtakes you before that? Who will bear the wrath of your bloodlust vampire?"

"I will!" Wiggles-Her-Fingers said. "I know what if feels like. I will not feed upon another human or elf. If I must I will feed on animals."

Wilkes lowered his ax. "I don't want to kill you," he said. "But I do not want you near me or anyone else. I also doubt Captain Thalrig would be too keen on welcoming you back aboard when he sees those eyes."

"You plan to leave us here?" Malg asked.

"Not you, Malg," Wilkes said. "But I do not see what else there is to do about her."

"Maybe it is what needs to happen, Malg," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said. "I do not want to hurt anyone."

"I am not leaving you!" Malg shouted. "There is another way. We just have to figure it out."

"I am not sure there is, friend," Wilkes said. "Not without risking the entire crew."

Malg hung his head.

"I will give you time to say goodbye, but do not linger," Wilkes warned. "I will take the boat. The ship is waiting at the dock, but it will not wait forever." Wilkes cast one more wary look at Wiggles-Her-Fingers. "I am sorry," he said. Then he left back down the hallway toward the cave.

Malg looked sorrowfully toward the tower on Japhet's Folly as the ship made ready to leave. He was glad that justice was served for Watches-the-Waters, but he wondered exactly how justice would be done for his sister. She did not ask to become a vampire, and she did not deserve to be left in such a remote and desolate place only to become more and more a monster. Malg bent down and grabbed the rope ladder. Looking around to make sure no one was paying him any attention, he tossed it over the edge.