Malg the Magnificent
Part 5: Of Stones and Souls
"No!" Wiggles-Her-Fingers screamed. "I came here because I do not want to be a monster! I will not become a different kind to avoid it!" She slumped, back to the wall, put her head in her hands, and wept.
Malg came over and knelt next to her. "It will not come to that," he assured her. "We will find another way to dispel the curse."
"I am sorry," Falion said. "I have put years of study into unlocking the secrets of vampirism. There is no other way. If there was, I would have found it by now."
Wiggles-Her-Fingers sunk to the floor, sobbing heavily. Malg pulled her into an embrace and held her as she broke down. He wanted to do more, but he could not think of anything. There had to be another way to get their hands on a filled, black soul gem. "Could we buy one?" he asked.
Wiggles-Her-Fingers shook her head violently. "No," she moaned. "We would be supporting the evil rather than doing it. It would not be any better."
A terrible silence filled the house. Falion laid a sympathetic hand on Malg's shoulder, "I wish I had something better to tell you, but that is what is required for the ritual. It takes a sentient soul to imbue a dead body with life." The mage made his way over to the hearth and began stirring the contents of the small, iron pot.
Wilkes came over and sat next to Malg and a still sobbing Wiggles-Her-Fingers. After a moment, she managed to catch her breath long enough to ask, "What am I going to do? I won't murder someone, and there is no way to buy it without tainting ourselves with blood."
"There are a lot of people who deserve to die," Wilkes suggested.
"But not to have their souls snared," Wiggles-Her-Fingers retorted. "No one deserves that."
"We can't buy it," Wilkes agreed. "But what if we steal one?"
All of them were quiet for a moment, then Wiggles-Her-Fingers slowly raised her head from Malg's chest. "Steal it?" she asked.
"Yep," Wilkes nodded.
That big, toothy smile came over Wiggles-Her-Fingers' face. "Yes," she said. "The energy from whosever soul is in the stone already. We cannot change that, but if we take the stone, we refuse to allow the killer whatever they wanted to accomplish from the murder. It might even allow the victim some kind of peace."
"Whatever part of their soul contains the consciousness is not within the gem," Malg said. "I doubt they would ever know. Vengeance, however, is something we can give to the departed, and it will calm the restless dead. It would be worthy of our efforts, even if we did not need the stone."
"Whatever works for ya," Wilkes shrugged. "Who's going to have one of those things lying around, though? I've never seen one."
"What about that assassin you sunk in the ocean?" Malg asked. "We keep running into them."
"Doubtful," Wilkes replied. "Most of them don't worry about magic and those that do tend to lean in my direction, illusion, rather than flaming blades. A dagger in the dark works well enough for them."
"Who then?" Malg repeated his question.
There was a silence for some time before Falion, who was seated at a small table over against the wall, cleared his throat loudly. "Necromancers," she grunted. "Those degenerates always have filled soul gems, and they almost always prefer black soul gems."
Wilkes turned toward the rogue mage. "Don't you dabble in the same kinda thing?" he asked. "Undead, draugr, zombies, vampires?"
"I do not, you deluded miscreant!" Falion yelled as he shot out of his chair. The mage was furious, and his unexpected outburst caused all three of his guests to flinch in surprise. "Do you see any of those things here? No! And another thing…" Falion's sentence trailed off along with his thought as he was enveloped again by the same incandescent swirls Wiggles-Her-Fingers had cast at him before. His eyes glazed over, and when they refocused on Wiggles-Her-Fingers, he said, "What can I do for you?"
Wiggles-Her-Fingers looked at him strangely, not expecting the question, but after Falion's awkward eye contact, she told him to sit back down and finish his meal. She backed away slowly. Falion never took his eyes off of her, staring intently at her even as he ate, like a dog expecting its master's command.
"Where are we going to find necromancers?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked. She had intended the question for Malg or Wilkes, but Falion answered faster.
"Had you come to Morthal a year ago, you would have found plenty of necromancers in Fort Snowhawk, just to the west," Falion said. "But the blasted legion came through, wiped them out, and set up a garrison there. Any of the illegal soul stones were likely destroyed. However, I happen to know through some of my contacts, that some strange things are happening around Wolfskull Cave, west of Solitude. The farmers nearby are upset and keep asking the Jarl for help. Unfortunately for them, all she does is send a few extra troops to the area, which last I heard, has done nothing to help. I suspect that you will find more than a few necromancers inside with plenty of black soul gems."
"Sounds good to me," Wilkes said.
"I guess we do not have any other options unless either of you knows any necromancers," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said.
Both Malg and Wilkes shook their heads.
"Very well," she said. She looked back at Falion, who had finished his meal and was now patiently staring at her. "We should leave."
Falion immediately stood.
"No!" Wiggles-Her-Fingers yelped. "Not you, Falion. You need to stay here."
The dejected look on Falion's face was almost too much for Malg to bear. It was as if the man had been told the location of his one true love only to find out it was a cemetery. He was heart-broken that Wiggles-Her-Fingers had told him to stay, and Malg briefly considered suggesting that Falion might be helpful until Wiggles-Her-Fingers expressed her opposition in a violent hiss. He did his best to avoid Falion's longing gaze as they quickly left his house.
Even though the mage was under a spell and his feelings were not real, Malg felt bad for Falion. He assumed the spell would wear off at some point but considering he had never seen that kind of magic before, he had no idea when. He was concerned about the lack of responsibility Wiggles-Her-Fingers had taken with the man, casting a spell out of instinct without considering the possible ramifications. The callousness of the act deeply bothered him. Since she had succumbed to the disease, his friend had become increasing cold-hearted. Perhaps it was the stress of turning. Becoming a creature of night and shadow that preys upon others had to have been traumatic, but Malg was worried it might be more than that. Was his friend becoming more and more the thing she sought not to be? So far, she had kept from feeding on sentient creatures, except for the incident at her initial turning, but what if that moral standard degraded as well? As they journeyed west out of Morthal, it was the first time Malg truly worried about what was happening to Wiggles-Her-Fingers and if his friend was slowly disappearing and becoming something else.
Malg, Wilkes, and Wiggles-Her-Fingers followed the road west from Morthal. They wanted to get to Wolfskull Cave as quickly as possible, but neither Malg nor Wilkes were interested in wading through the marshes or swimming through the ice-cold river separating them from Solitude's shore. In the end, they opted for a bit of comfort over speed and took the less direct route through Dragon Bridge. Wilkes briefly entertained the notion that Falion could be wrong about Fort Snowhawk, but once they got close enough, the legionnaires manning the walls of the fort put that notion to rest. They watched Malg and his associates pass with little interest. From what Malg knew of the legion, they were strong, capable fighters with unmatched discipline. While they were watching, Malg honestly expected more considering how close they came to the entrance, but perhaps they were not the first travelers to pass by that day.
The territory beyond Fort Snowhawk looked as if the snow had suddenly decided it had gone as far as it wanted to and just stopped, leaving the area beyond for the marshes and the pines. It was a welcome change for Malg, who had had enough snow for the time being, and was happy to give his boots the opportunity to dry. The leather had been completely soaked when the captain decided that he and his comrades were no longer welcome on the ship, and even though they had some time by the fire, tromping through the snow had revealed a few weaknesses, leaving his toes cold and wet.
Malg had hardly any time to enjoy the sound of the breeze blowing gently through the towering pines before a sharp barking caught his attention. The party walked along the road toward the sound and soon saw a dog sitting along the side of the road. It was a large, shaggy creature, with a thick matting of grey fur covering its gaunt frame. It had clearly not eaten well for some time. It was barking, but it was not barking at the three approaching travelers. Instead, the creature seemed to be barking at something on the other side of the road. Malg looked over in that direction, but he was unable to see what it was the dog was barking at. He looked back at the creature, who was still ignoring him and began to question the poor beast's sanity. Perhaps it was under a spell or had gone too long without food. Either way, it did not seem to be in its right mind. Wilkes whispered a word of caution, and the three attempted to continue along the road without disturbing the animal. This plan, however, failed miserably the next moment as the dog came bounding up to them the moment it noticed their presence.
Wiggles-Her-Fingers backed away quickly, obviously uncomfortable with the animal's instant familiarity, but it ignored her, choosing instead to nuzzle up to both Malg and Wilkes. Initially, the Breton regarded the dog with caution but quickly warmed up to the animal as it rubbed its head against his knee and licked his hand. Malg was equally charmed by the creature, despite its smell, and then the dog suddenly seemed aware of the third member of their party. It jumped away and attempted to look around the man and the orc over to where Wiggles-Her-Fingers had retreated on the other side of the road. The animal began to whine and back away, despite Malg's best efforts to convince it that everything was alright. A moment later the dog turned and shot off into the woods, yelping as if it was running from a hoard of angry hornets. Malg watched it run for a moment and then looked around, trying to understand what had caused the poor dog's violent reaction. Wilkes turned directly to Wiggles-Her-Fingers.
"Did you do something to that dog?" he asked.
"No!" she said. "Of course not. The smell was foul. I would not touch it with a spear, much less anything else."
"I would not have thought you would," Wilkes replied. "None of us have spears, but you might have cast a spell. You already put Falion under some kind of strange magic." He paused for a moment and then continued, "To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure what else you can do."
"I did nothing to the dog," Wiggles-Her-Fingers repeated.
Wilkes decided to let it go, but he shot a worried look at Malg, plain enough that even the orc could not have missed it. "Perhaps we should head north," Wilkes suggested. "It should not be too difficult to cross the river up by the Solitude Sawmill and climb the rocks back to the road, and it would be faster than going all the way around through Dragon Bridge."
"As well as keeping me away from people," Wiggles-Her-Fingers muttered.
Wilkes turned to the Argonian. "Do you really want to be found out?" he asked. "You already know how it could go if we walk through a town and someone recognizes that you're a vampire! The entire guard could be called down on us! At that point, it would hardly be an option not to hurt someone, if you could even manage to survive."
Wiggles-Her-Fingers did not answer. There was nothing to say. Accidentally revealing herself would cause nothing but trouble, and she knew it.
"I am sure the rocks are not that high," Malg said, trying to be helpful. "I could even carry you if you needed."
Both Wilkes and Wiggles-Her-Fingers shot Malg an irritated look, and the orc closed his mouth, unsure of how he had inflamed an already volatile situation. The two glared back at each other before Wiggles-Her-Fingers finally relented.
"Fine," she hissed. "We will keep away from the larger settlements."
Malg spent a good portion of the rest of the journey to Wolfskull Cave attempting to discern the rising tension between his two friends. Wiggles-Her-Fingers had been in favor of avoiding people before. Now she was angry at Wilkes' suggestion to do just that. If it had nothing to do with the difficulty of moving off the main roads, why was she so upset? Malg made the mistake of pondering the situation while they were crossing the Karth River, and it took enough of his focus away from the river to cause false step which swept him off his feet. The sight of his foot flying up over his head wretched him back to reality in time to suck in a lung full of air before the water closed over his face.
When Malg surfaced, he was already several meters downstream, caught in the strong current coming out of the Reach. He had lost his staff, but that was the least of his worries. His robes were heavy and soaked, and he just managed to rip the hood off his head in time to grab a breath before being pulled back under the surface. He tried several times to put his feet down and stop himself, but the current was just too strong, tossing him head over heels before the river bottom fell away entirely. Malg struggled to get to the surface, cursing his lack of concentration in every language he could recall. Again, his head broke the surface, and he gulped in several full breaths of air as the river pulled him downstream toward the Solitude docks. He made for the docks, swimming as hard as he could, but it was nearly impossible to move in the sodden robes. When he was pulled back under the water, Malg began to tear at the robes in frustration pulling them up over his head and casting them into the current. He did the same with his boots, and only then did he start making some progress toward the shore.
As Malg got closer to the docks, he felt a sharp pain in his back. It was as if he had been slashed by a dagger. He whipped around quickly to see nothing in the water but his own blood. Before he could turn back to the shore, the same, sharp pain returned, this time on the underside of his right leg. Malg roared in pain and re-upped his desperate attempt to reach the edge of the river. He was hit again and again by the stealthy assailant without laying eyes on it. It was not until the slaughterfish's teeth slashed him across the face that he saw the shiny scales of the deadly aquatic assassin. Fear and pain had taken over as the orc howled and punched at the water, but it did no good. The water surrounding him was red with blood, and the current kept pulling him farther downstream. There was another slash and another and finally a jolt of pain that went through Malg's entire body before his vision faded, and he knew nothing more.
When Malg opened his eyes, he was looking at the Masser and Secunda surrounded by the stars and gleaming brightly in the night sky. He shot up instantly of the blanket, shouting and swinging his fists until he realized the sound of the river was coming from the bank several yards away. He turned around to see his friends looking at him assumed. After a short chuckle, Wilkes went back to tending to the slaughterfish roasting over the fire, and Wiggles-Her-Fingers put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Calm down, Malg," she said. "You are safe."
"What happened?" Malg asked. "The last thing I remember I was in the water and the fish were biting me. They felt like blades in the water."
"Have you never heard of slaughterfish?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked.
Malg nodded.
"That is what bit you," she said, pointing to the fish on the fire.
Malg walked over to them. He looked closely at the heavily muscled jaws and razor-sharp teeth and cringed as he remembered the pain of his wounds. The fish were monstrous, an abomination seemingly created to torture anything that set foot in a river.
"They would have at you for dinner if not for Wiggles," Wilkes said. "When we saw you screaming and bleeding like a stuck pig, she blasted the water with the biggest bolt of lightning I'd ever seen. It nearly knocked me over. The next moment, these fish came bobbing to the surface like apples all around you. It's kinda funny thinking about it now, less so while they were carving you up."
Malg turned and smiled at Wiggles-Her-Fingers who smiled back. "Thank you," he said.
"You have done the same for me and more, Malg," Wiggles-Her-Finger replied.
"I bet he didn't shock the snot out of you when he did it, though," Wilkes laughed.
Malg raised an eyebrow and Wiggles-Her-Fingers snorted as she tried to squelch a snicker. "Well," she said, after composing herself. "I did not have much choice. I did heal your wounds afterward, though."
Malg looked himself over in all the places he could see that he remembered being bitten. There were not ever any scars. "I suppose so," he said. "Did you happen to find my staff?"
Wiggles-Her-Fingers shook her head. "Maybe Wilkes can find another in Solitude tomorrow," she suggested. "And some clothes as well?"
"I'll hunt down something you can squeeze into, but you two are staying right here," Wilkes insisted. "If I walk into the city with an Argonian vampire and a naked orc trailing behind me, I might as well insist on being arrested at the gate."
Malg nodded. He did not want to parade himself naked through the streets either, and he trusted Wilkes to find him something good. He gave the scout what coin he had, and he disappeared over the rocks.
The next morning Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers slept in. Their camp was hidden from view of the road and the sawmill by rocks, and there was nothing on the other side of the river except a bridge. Malg figured if anyone did see his fire from there, it would only look like a couple of fishermen getting an early start. By the time Wiggles-Her-Fingers managed to convince herself to slither out from under her blankets into the morning sun and help Malg pack up the camp, Wilkes had returned with far more than Malg had expected.
"I ran into a spot of good luck," Wilkes said as he laid a wrapped package in the orc's lap. "Apparently, the court recently set a bounty to clear out Wolfskull Cave, and they didn't much care who took it." He showed the two mages the document signed by Falk Firebeard, Jarl Elisif's personal steward. "I'm sure the coin will be nice, and it couldn't hurt to get on the jarl's good side. From what I heard in there, the legion is getting ready to knock on Ulfric's door."
Wiggles-Her-Fingers looked over at him, suddenly more interested.
"It works fine for me," Wilkes continued. "I was never really at ease with those 'Skyrim is for the Nords' types. Made me want to keep an eye open while I slept."
"Agreed," she whispered. "The few I met on the way to the college seemed far too eager for a fight. It was disconcerting."
"The court mage also had several very nice pieces for sale," Wilkes added as he handed Malg a handsome staff carved into the likeness of a dragon. "She said this particular staff will incinerate nearly anything. I think I'd be careful with it. She seemed to know what she was talking about."
"Fire?" Malg asked.
Wilkes nodded, "I figured it'd be useful considering our quarry will probably be calling up hordes of rotting corpses. I snagged you a nice fancy getup as well. If I remember correctly, the robes have an enchantment. She said alteration spells should be easier to cast once you put them on, and you should recover faster as well. There's a matching hood and pair of boots, too. I hope they fit. I had to guess on the size."
"Wow!" Wiggles-Her-Fingers marveled as she pulled the orange robes and hood out of the packaging. "These are beautiful, and the enchantment is powerful! Here, Malg put them on!"
"Yes, please put them on," Wilkes said flatly noticing Malg's uncrossed legs.
Malg took the clothes from Wiggles-Her-Fingers and quickly dressed. He instantly felt more powerful, and the boots were a near perfect fit. Wilkes had obviously had experience guessing sizes. "How did you find such things for the coin I had?" Malg asked.
"I gave him a bit extra," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said. "It was the least I could do after all you have done to help me."
"Indeed," Malg said, smiling. "Thank you."
"It still seems you found an incredible deal, regardless," Wiggles-Her-Fingers observed. "Was she trying to offload her inventory?"
Wilkes blushed slightly. "I might have added the hood and boots to the purchase after paying," he coughed.
Both Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers stared at the Breton, jaws hanging open.
"You stole these?!" Wiggles-Her-Fingers hissed.
"Kinda, a little," Wilkes said. "I was giving her a reasonable offer, but she wouldn't budge."
"You thought that was a reasonable offer for all of this?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked.
"It was all you gave me," Wilkes shrugged. "And I think the orange looks good on him."
Wiggles-Her-Fingers was about to argue but then froze. She turned and looked at Malg who was now completely dressed and holding his new staff. After a moment, she slowly turned back to Wilkes and nodded.
"Well, good," Wilkes said. "Now that the naked orc issue had been rectified, we should be going."
They spent the next couple hours making their way through the rugged, rocky terrain west of Solitude. They were worried at first about passing by the sawmill, but the laborers were far too busy cradling the large pile of fresh timber into the mill to take notice of them. Malg guessed that the workers probably saw travelers and adventurers somewhat regularly anyhow with Solitude being the seat of the Empire in Skyrim. From that point on, they were about to avoid the city stables and most of the road by climbing the rocks. Wiggles-Her-Fingers dug her claws in and scaled the rocks as if she was born on the side of a cliff. Wilkes traversed the rough terrain with only slightly more effort, but Malg, the only one of the three born in the mountains was breathing like an asthmatic mammoth by the time they neared Wolfskull Cave.
"Give me a moment," Malg wheezed, sitting down on the remains of a small stone wall across the road from the cave. "I'm not used to climbing so fast."
"Or at all?" Wilkes prodded.
Malg sent a scathing glare back at him and Wilkes' eyes grew wide.
"Sorry," he said, raising a hand in surrender. "We aren't there yet. I thought we were, but we're not."
Malg grabbed onto the head of his staff and pushed himself off the wall, irritated by the Breton's insinuation, and marched over to the entrance of the cave. He was focused so much on proving his capability to Wilkes that he almost did not hear the telltale creaking sound of ligament and bone. When he turned, the two skeletons were nearly on him. Out of instinct, Malg swung the staff at the heads of the approaching undead, crushing the first and staggering what was left of the skeleton as the second reached out for him. Malg pushed it back and brought the staff across the side of its leg, breaking the femur in two. He repeated the action against the skeleton's other leg, forcing the abomination to the ground. As Malg brought the staff up over his head for a final blow on his downed opponent, he suddenly remembered what he was holding. Feeling silly for needlessly taking on the undead in melee range, he hopped backward, leveled the weapon at the one skeleton still walking, and released the staff's energy.
The blast from the weapon was far more than Malg had anticipated. Staves do not have recoil. It is not how magic works, but this weapon seemed to leap out at the enemy as the flames surged forth from the dragon's head and engulfed the former human's animated remains. Malg had kept his eyes on his enemy, but the fire was so bright, he was forced to look away for just a moment. When he looked back, only the bottom half of the lowers leg bones remained above the feet, charred and smoking. Everything else was ash, which unfortunately for Malg, was picked up by a brisk, untimely wind and blown directly into his face. He coughed and sputtered but was able to recover in time to see the second skeleton still crawling toward him. Another flash of fire and that skeleton too was nothing but ash in the wind.
An amazed "whoa" was all Wilkes could manage after seeing the staff in action, but Wiggles-Her-Finger's response was far more reactive as she refused to come too close to the staff.
"What's wrong?" Malg asked.
"The fire," she whispered. "I don't like the fire."
"Ah," Malg said. "Don't worry. I will keep it pointed away."
Wiggles-Her-Fingers nodded, but she maintained a distance as the three entered the cave.
Malg felt a little uncomfortable as he led the way down into the depths of a cave he knew full well-contained necromancers and their undead minions. He thought back to his expedition into Saarthal, and he expected this underground lair to look somewhat similar to what he had experienced there. As they ventured into Wolfskull Cave, however, Malg was surprised to see that it appeared to be just a normal cave.
When they came upon a small chamber with an abandoned cart, Malg turned back to the others and asked, "Are you sure this is the right place? It doesn't look like anyone has been here in a long time."
Wilkes walked passed the confused orc and took a quick look at the cart while the other two watched. Wiggles-Her-Fingers took up position in the back, well away from the dragon head staff, and Malg began looking around the front of the small open space. Whomever the people that stayed here before were, they were strange, Malg thought, abandoning a cart in a cave and then stringing up the bones of dead animals. Maybe it was some kind of strange ritual they did before leaving or maybe it meant something while they were here. Curious, Malg poked the string of bones with his staff. They clattered far more loudly than he had anticipated, and he instinctively grabbed them to silence their song. Both Wilkes and Wiggles-Her-Fingers were looking at him, and his face flushed. Wiggles-Her-Fingers stepped forward quietly and helped to extricate Malg from the bone chimes as quietly as possible. Unfortunately, even with her help, the chimes rattled more, echoing through the cave in both directions. The group listened, but they did not have to wait long before their fears were confirmed by a deep, hollow cry echoing up from the deeper parts of the cave.
Wilkes whispered an intelligible string of colorful language, and they hid at the edges of the tunnel, waiting as the moaning grew closer and closer. Malg could hear the clattering steps of bony feet on the cave floor, and he cursed himself for his lack of caution. He brought his staff up but felt Wiggles-Her-Finger's hand on his arm.
"Not that," she said. "I'm too close."
Malg nodded and put the staff down, but he was determined to clean up his own mistake. As the draugr appeared from around the corner, Malg immediately paralyzed the abomination and caught it before it could hit the floor and cause an even greater racket than the bone chimes had.
"Now what?" Wilkes asked as Malg stood holding the incapacitated undead.
Only then did Malg realize that he had not thought his plan all the way out. He looked helplessly at his companions and shrugged. He put the ancient skeleton down as quietly as possible and handed the weapons and armor to Wilkes, who put them in the cart, and as he did so, he got an idea. When he had removed the final piece of armor, he began breaking off the limbs of the draugr where the brittle ligaments held the bones together. There was nearly no noise, and soon Wilkes was making a pile of bones next to the weapons in the cart. Eventually, the unholy gleam in the eyes went out, and they set what remained out of the way.
"That was close," Wilkes said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Well done."
"I think you should lead the way now," Malg whispered. "Since it is clear that this place is not abandoned."
Wilkes nodded and quietly led the party deeper into the cave. It was not long before he signaled them to stop, and the reason was clear when Malg peeked around the corner. Since he had first walked into Wolfskull Cave, he had been disappointed to find what appeared to be a normal, underground hollow. However, the notion that this place remained unaltered was dispelled the moment he saw a wooden door, surrounded by lit torches, set into the far wall of a room, which appeared to have been carved out of the cave's rock walls. The work was centuries old, but the fresh wooden door and lit torches confirmed that it was not only the dead who walked here.
"Malg," Wilkes whispered. "Stay here and cover us while we clear the room."
Wilkes and Wiggles-Her-Finger crept silently out toward the fire burning in the far part of the room, and Malg stepped out just far enough to see their silhouettes and those of the robed figures they were sneaking up on. It was quick and quiet. Wilkes made quick work of the first, covering his mouth and drawing the bladed edge of his ax's backspike across the man's throat. Wiggles-Her-Fingers slashed the other's neck open with her claws. He was worried for a moment when she fell out of sight, but Wilkes only turned away. Wiggles-Her-Fingers soon reappeared, and it was clear she had taken the opportunity to feed. Malg felt a little sick, and he noticed Wilkes was doing his best not to show he felt the same way as he checked to see what the necromancers were carrying.
They were on their way back over to him when the door burst open. A large, undead warrior stood wielding a massive greatsword followed by two men in black robes. Before they could fully manage to clear the doorway, Malg let loose the fire from his staff. The draugr fell instantly, its dry, dead flesh consumed by the flames. The men behind cried out in pain for only a moment before they fell to the fire as well. When Malg drew back his staff, everything that could be on fire was. The corpses were smoldering heaps of ash, and what was left of the door was slowly burning. Moments later, nothing was left of the door but the iron fittings.
"These necromancers didn't have one," Wilkes said. "I'd say that thing is coming in handy," he commented as he stepped through the smoldering remains of the wooden door.
Malg smiled and then nonchalantly motioned for Wiggles-Her-Fingers to follow Wilkes through. He instantly regretted his blasé act as he saw his friend trembling before the aftermath of the fire. It had been clear for some time that she was afraid of fire, and now he was the wielder of her greatest fear. In that moment, he got the faintest taste of what his friend must have been feeling when she became another's nightmare. "It is alright," he said. "I'll go first." The look of fear in her eyes was replaced by a moment of reluctance and then finally appreciation, but all this was offset by the bit of blood still smeared across her lips. It was hard for Malg to grasp of uneasiness he felt he walked through the door, but the unease was strangely not for what might be ahead. It was for what was behind him, so silent her could not even hear her footsteps even when he listened for them. He shook his head. What was happening? She was his friend, right? She was still his friend? The hair prickled on the back of his neck, and he nearly turned around before swirling channels of purple energy caught his eye and a hollow voice called out from beside a strange glowing from atop the ruins of an old, stone tower.
"Wolf Queen," the voice called out. "Hear our call and awaken. We summon Potema!"
A chorus of other voices echoed the final statement, "We summon Potema."
"Long have you slept the dreamless sleep of death, Potema," the voice continued. "No longer. Hear us Wolf Queen! We summon you!"
"Who is the Wolf Queen?" Wilkes asked the mages.
Malg shrugged.
Once again, the chorus took up their chant, "We summon Potema!"
"Whomever she may be," Wiggles-Her-Fingers replied. "I doubt we want them to finish summoning her."
Malg shook his head. "No, I don't think I want to meet her," he said.
"It sounds like the ones running the ritual are up on that tower where these channels of conjuration energies are coming together," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said. "If we can get up there, we can interrupt the summoning. That should earn us the bounty, and someone in here is bound to have a black soul gem."
"Agreed," Wilkes said.
"We should proceed quietly?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers suggested.
"I don't think so," Wilkes disagreed. "I'm sorry, Malg, but you are just terrible at sneaking anywhere. Even if I muffle your steps, you still might get heard trying to get through these ruins. I think, however, it might work just as well if we startle them."
"What?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked. "You want to alert the entire cavern?"
Wilkes was looking at Malg. "Yes," he nodded. "Malg, those necromancers are not wearing any armor. I think it might work out very well for us if you got angry."
Malg lowered his head. He looked down over the edge of the rocky cliff to see several necromancers walking around in robes. As the words of Wilkes' suggestion echoed in his mind, they seemed fragile, delicate. He set his jaw, sighed, and girded up his loins.
The first dark conjurer barely raised his head in time before the raging orc smashed into him. Malg remembered his eyes, as big as dinner plates, just before his shoulder impacted the man's chest. His slender form crashed against the stone wall behind him and crumpled unconscious to the ground. Malg crashed through the skeleton next to him and charged down the stone steps, through a doorway and up through a tower. At the top of the steps above the tower, a draugr stepped forward to meet him, ax in hand. As Malg raged, even the idea of injury or death seemed foreign, as if it could never happen. He was too strong, empowered by the very essence of fury. He caught the ax by the haft and wrenched it from the bony fingers, dislocating several joints in the process. The dusty corpse continued its attack, undeterred by the loss of its weapon, but crumpled to the stones as Malg crushed its skull with his own. The subsequent blow of the draugr's ax cut down through the ribs and the spine, and Malg kicked what was left off the ledge beside him.
A necromancer came running down the steps and summoned two nearby corpses to the feet to fight. Malg did not even slow down as he ascended the steps and all three fell in flames. Malg charged along the stone path between the ruined towers to the base of the tower upon which the ritual was happening.
"Something is wrong," the same voice from before called out. "There is an intruder."
Another undead corpse, clad in the ancient armor, stood blocking the way into the tower. Malg hardly noticed it as he smashed it in the side of the head with the ax. It toppled over the edge of the wall and crashed into pieces on the stones below. He rushed up the steps to the shouts of alarm raised by the cadre of necromancers at the top. When Malg emerged onto the roof of the tower, the first necromancer screamed, but it was cut short as Malg buried the blade of the ax in her head. Blood and brains splashed across his face as he roared in victory. The channel of energy from the necromancer broke, and the ritual began to fail. The other two necromancers, finally acknowledging the eminent threat broke their own connections to the ritual and the glowing, purple conduit faded. Malg growled as he turned upon them, ready to rip the conjurers apart. They fell back, fearful of the enraged orc, and began to summon their own undead warriors. The spells were never completed. A blast of lightning cracked across the top of the tower reducing both of the necromancers to ash. Malg turned ready to attack the new threat until he saw Wiggles-Her-Fingers and Wilkes standing by the tower stairs.
His enemies gone, Malg turned away from them. The adrenaline was still pumping through his body and he began to pace angrily back and forth across the tower roof. He grabbed the necromancer with the ax still firmly embedded in her head and slung her body off the tower. He heard the crunch and clang of the steel when the weapon hit the stones below. Malg roared again and smashed his fist into the raised wooden drawbridge in front of him. The mechanism holding up the bridge broke, and it fell to its lowered position. Malg rubbed his eyes. As the adrenaline was dumped from his body, he was suddenly very tired.
"It is done, Malg," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said. "They are all gone."
Malg sat down on the bridge and lay down backward on it, breathing heavily. Cautious of the post-rage orc, Wilkes walked over and sifted through the ashes of the necromancers. A moment later, he lifted a dark-colored gem from their remains.
"Is that one?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked.
"It certainly seems so," Wilkes replied. "I'm glad, too. I didn't want to have to go back down there and look through the rest of his wave of destruction." He turned to Wiggles-Her-Fingers. "I know what you told me, but I honestly was not prepared for that level of destruction. Makes me wonder how Orisium ever fell, or how orcs have ever lost a battle for that matter. If something like that ever came at me, all I could hope for was that I emptied my bladder before the battle started."
Malg pushed himself up off the wooden planks of the bridge. "Do we have what we came for?" he asked.
Wilkes replied, "Yes, I believe we do."
"Good," Malg said. "Because I think I tied this wrong." He stood up and untied his robes from around his legs. "They rubbed the inside of my legs raw."
"A small comfort for the obliterated, perhaps," Wilkes chuckled.
Malg ignored the comment. "How do we get out of here?" he asked. "I've had enough of this place."
Malg and Wilkes were able to secure an audience with Falk Firebeard before the Jarl Elisif's court retired for the evening. The steward was shocked to hear about what the necromancers had been up to so close to the city, and unlike Malg and Wilkes, he very much knew who Potema was. The thought of the Wolf Queen being raised into some unholy abomination instantly drained the color from his face and doubled the bounty promised. After the steward dropped the heavy purse in his hand, Malg asked where the court mage was. Falk pointed him toward Melaran, a high elf, saying that he just inherited the job after a bit of unpleasantness with the former court mage. Malg looked at Wilkes who shrugged, and the two left the Blue Palace. Malg still felt a little guilty about wearing stolen clothing, but he could hardly pay back someone who was no longer there, and the way Falk had stressed the word unpleasantness made him suspect that the previous court mage had probably not left on good terms.
Malg and Wilkes met up with Wiggles-Her-Fingers where she had made camp outside the city. They spent the evening eating and telling stories before finally going to sleep. The next morning, they made the trek to Morthal, and when they knocked on Falion's door, the mage did not seem surprised to see them.
"I figured you three would turn up again," Falion growled. "However, I am not sure why you think I would help you after what you did to me. I do not like having my mind toyed with, vampire, and…" The word slurred as green glow swirled around his head, and the mage suddenly became much happier to see them.
"Is that going to cause some lasting damage?" Wilkes asked as the mage begged them to come in.
Wiggles-Her-Fingers shrugged, "I do not know."
"Do you have the black soul gem?" Falion asked.
Wilkes handed the gem to the mage.
"Excellent," Falion said as he gazed into the gem. "It is indeed full." He turned the gem in his hand and continued to stare at it. "Do you ever wonder about the souls of the people?" he asked. "Where their consciousness goes?"
"This is the only one I've seen," Malg said.
"Right, of course," Falion responded. "The ritual to restore the soul of an undead creature must take place at dawn, so we will have to wait until then. You are certainly welcome to remain here."
Wiggles-Her-Fingers nodded, and Malg agreed. It seemed safest to wait, especially if Falion would have to be convinced to help again, which of course did happen several hours later. In the middle of a late dinner, Falion suddenly leaped up from the table yelling and cursing at them and ordering them out of his house. The outburst surprised Malg in the middle a big gulp of spiced wine causing him to spew the delicious beverage all over Falion's face. The mage sputtered and tried to continue his tirade until Wiggles-Her-Fingers reapplied her spell. Falion then apologized profusely for upsetting Malg and went about wiping the stunned orc's face, even as his own dripped with wine and spittle. Malg, unsure of how to respond to the man's attempt to clean him, looked for help to Wiggles-Her-Fingers and Wilkes who were both doing their very best not to laugh.
In the early hours of the morning, just before dawn, the group followed the once again freshly swayed Falion into the marshes north northwest of Morthal. It was a dreary, unsettling place at night. Malg could hear the sounds of all sorts of creatures scurrying through the wispy grasses and off into the murky water. He did not mind rats, he even considered the surprisingly intelligent rodents charming in their own way, but the things scampering out of their way did not sound like rats. Despite the unsettling, distinctly nonrodent-like noising scuttling out of their path, he kept trying to think of rats. It did not work, and he eventually started talking to Wiggles-Her-Fingers in an attempt to take his focus off the unnerving sounds.
"It will be done soon," Malg said.
"Yes," Wiggles-Her-Fingers agreed. "It feels like only yesterday I was bitten, but at the same time, it feels like ages since I have even bothered to breathe."
"You haven't been breathing?!" Malg asked, disturbed at the prospect.
"No," Wiggles-Her-Fingers replied. "At some point, I realized I did not need to anymore. At first, it was an odd feeling, like holding your breath. The disturbing part came when I realized there was no pressure to start again. A couple of days ago, I realized I had not been breathing at all, and I could not remember the last time I had."
"Did it bother you?" Malg asked, hoping for an affirmation.
"A little," Wiggles-Her-Fingers replied. "I had to keep telling myself it was only for a time. As terrible as I felt, as dead as I was, I had to keep reminding myself that I did not want to remain dead. I want to be alive, not just a walking, talking corpse, especially if I am always going to have this odd taste for blood. I want to really be alive. I know I do not have the power to do that on my own, but if I choose life, there is something more powerful than me that can restore me. This can be my rebirth."
Wiggles-Her-Fingers stopped as she said the final words, and Malg turned to see Falion standing near the center of an old carved stone circle surrounded by ancient monoliths. "The sun is about to rise," Falion said to Wiggles-Her-Fingers. "Come stand in the center of the circle, and once you are ready, I will begin."
Wiggles-Her-Fingers smiled. It was the first time Malg had seen that toothy grim in a long time, and he could not help but smile, too, as she left his side and took her place in the center of the circle.
"I need the rest of you outside the stone pillars," Falion said. "I don't think anything will happen, but it is best to be sure."
Malg and Wilkes hurried out of the ring of tall stones and made sure to keep well beyond them. Wilkes even went so far as to stand on a different island. Malg could not blame him, and he even found himself backing up into the water as Falion began to speak.
"I call upon the Oblivion realms, the home of those who are not our ancestors. Answer my plea! As in death, there is new life, in Oblivion, there is a beginning for that which has ended. I call forth that power! Accept the soul that we offer!" Falion called out, raising the black soul gem up toward Wiggles-Her-Fingers. "As the sun ends the night, end the darkness of this soul, return life to the creature you see before you!"
As Malg watched, an aura began to radiate from the soul gem. He could not help but notice it was similar to the conduits of purple energy he saw in Wolfskull Cave, but somehow this was brighter and softer at the same time. Then, all of a sudden, that aura was surrounding Wiggles-Her-Fingers as well, and a shadow seemed to fall away from her. Malg never saw where it went, but when it fell away, the aura grew brighter for a moment and then softened so gradually that he hardly noticed when it was no longer there.
Wiggles-Her-Fingers gasped, drawing in a deep breath and filling her lungs as if for the first time. She opened her eyes and looked to the east as the sun rose over the horizon. "It is warm," she said. "And so much more beautiful."
"What is happening?!" Falion screamed. "You! You entranced me and forced me to help you!"
Wiggles-Her-Fingers nodded. "Yes, I did," she admitted. "But it needed to be done, and we were having a rather difficult time convincing you." Falion looked around angrily to Malg and Wilkes who both nodded in agreement. "Hmm," he said. "Perhaps I was being difficult, but it still does not give you the right to play with my mind!"
"I am sorry it had to happen that way," Wiggles-Her-Finger said. "But thank you anyway for what you did."
Falion waved her off, grumbling something incoherent as he trudged off into the marshes. He did not seem to be headed back to Morthal. Malg called out, reminding him of the way back to the city, but the mage just told him what he could do with his directions.
When Malg turned back, he saw Wiggles-Her-Fingers basking in the warmth of the rising sun, the light shimmering across her now bright green scales. Every aspect of her seemed now more joyful and aware of the beauty around her. It was as if she had shed the old, pale, dead skin that was keeping her trapped within a withered husk of herself and was finally free.
Malg was so entranced by Wiggles-Her-Fingers' transformation that he had not noticed Wilkes walking up to stand next to him. "That really was something," the scout said.
"It was indeed," Malg replied.
"I have to say, I wasn't sure if we were chasing a fairytale or not," Wilkes said. "Dead things don't just come alive again for no reason. Although, before today I would have said that didn't happen at all."
A short time later, Wiggles-Her-Fingers walked over to them. Even her stride was different, more energetic and happier. That same quality was in her voice as well. "It would seem I am finally me again," she said.
"How are you feeling?" Malg asked.
"Wonderful," Wiggles-Her-Fingers replied. "It is hard to stop smiling. It is like the world is alive again, as I am."
"I suppose we should be heading back to the college, then," Malg said.
Wiggles-Her-Fingers balked. "I nearly forgot about the college," she admitted. "Do you think they expel students for missing too many classes?"
"I doubt it," Wilkes said. "Especially after what you've been through. In fact, if you tell the professors your story, you might even get some credit towards graduation. People graduate from the College of Winterhold, right?"
Malg nodded.
"Yes, of course," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said.
"Well, there you go then," Wilkes said.
"Do you want to come?" Malg asked.
"What?!" Wilkes sputtered. "Me? No."
"Why not?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked. "You are clearly gifted with illusions. You could do well there."
"Perhaps," Wilkes said. "But that isn't me. I'll find a crew to get on with and make a little more coin. After the bounty Solutide's steward paid, I have plenty of time."
"Well, if you are in the area, stop by," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said. "It would be nice to see you."
"Yes," Malg agreed. "We'll share some stories."
"Sounds good," Wilkes said. "I think I'll head south. Whiterun always has some work that needs doing, and I am rather fond of the Bannered Mare. You two have a safe trip back, as uneventful as possible."
Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers stayed on the roads all the way back to Dawnstar and then took the ferry to Winterhold. They were stopped by Stormcloak guards at the landing but as they were wearing college robes, the guards let them by when Malg offered to prove that he was indeed a mage.
"So," Faralda commented. "You aren't dead. I suppose I owe Tolfdir a drink."
"Sorry to disappoint," Malg replied.
"Go on," she said. "They way is open. We haven't had a chance to give out your beds yet, so you might as well have them back."
Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers were greeting with smiles and hearty handshakes from most of the rest of the college's students and staff. Edwyr was the first to shake their hands and welcome them back. He did not say much beyond that, but he seemed genuinely glad that the two were safe. There were a few new students, mostly Nords, but Malg did not manage to catch their names in the commotion. Even the twin managed quick, insincere greetings. The professors quickly began asking which kind of spells they found most useful until the Archmage came out from the tower to welcome the two students back personally. Mirabelle was extraordinarily relieved that Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers had returned and asked that once they got settled back in to come and make their report in person as she was very interested in what had happened. Tolfdir was overjoyed to see them both and excitedly pestered them with questions about their adventures. When Malg mentioned the Wolf Queen, it became impossible to keep the aging professor quiet. He wanted to know every detail about the encounter and was hinting at the idea of writing a book.
Malg made sure not to mention anything about vampires. He really did not feel it was his place to talk about something like that, and he honestly would not blame Wiggles-Her-Fingers if she kept that part of the adventure a secret. It was not exactly the kind of thing you want everyone to know. You never know who might hold the past against you.
Within a few days, Malg and Wiggles-Her-Fingers were back in classes. Malg took a greater interest in conjuration for the expressed purpose of learning how to more effectively combat it. This did not sit well at all with Phinis Gestor, and Mirabelle would have to help resolve several confrontations between Malg and Phinis in the future.
Wiggles-Her-Fingers focused as much as she could on the restoration school, and it was not long before Colette Marence had taken on the enthusiastic Argonian as an assistant. The two began to develop a very close relationship, and one evening Wiggles-Her-Fingers told Malg that she had confided in Colette what had happened to her in Dawnstar. Malg was not surprised. He had seen the relationship blossoming, and he was glad Wiggles-Her-Fingers had a good motherly figure in her life.
It was about a month after their return to the College of Winterhold that Malg received an unexpected letter. The letter was left by the courier on the table in his chamber and bore the seal of the Steward of Solitude. When he saw it, Malg just stared at the letter, unsure of what it might be or if he even wanted to open it. What could Falk Firebeard write that he wanted to read?
It was while he was staring at it that Wiggles-Her-Fingers came up behind him. "What is it?" she asked.
"A letter from the Steward of Solitude," Malg said.
"Are you going to open it?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked.
"I suppose I should," Malg replied. He grabbed the letter, tore it open and read: "Malg, Over the last few days we have had some disturbing information come to light regarding the events at Wolfskull Cave and the summoning and binding ritual you interrupted there. Given your involvement with that event, I am asking you to return to Solitude to help us once more. I am wary of putting all the details in print. Please come see me at the Blue Palace. Sincerely, Falk Firebeard."
"Do you think someone else finished the ritual?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked.
"I don't know," Malg said, his face grim. "But I cannot think of another reason why he would write to me."
"I want nothing to do with it," Wiggles-Her-Fingers said. "I have had more than my fair share of undeath, and I will not expose myself to it again."
Malg understood. She knew undeath intimately, and he could hardly blame her for her feelings toward it.
"You do not have to answer it either," Wiggles-Her-Fingers continued. "It is not your problem. For goodness sake, they can send a legion back to the cave if they want to."
"True," Malg said. He crumbled the letter and threw it into the corner of his room. "They don't need us."
"Do you want to get something to eat?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked.
"Sure," Malg said. "I could eat."
Malg returned to his chamber late that evening. He had eaten far too much and was halfway to his bed, ready to fall into a very satisfying food coma went he stepped on the crumpled piece of paper. He did not have to open it to know what it was. It was a call for help, and he was here sitting behind stone walls, getting fat and comfortable. What good was he doing here? What good was any of them doing? He wanted to prove that he was capable of great magical power, but what good was power if it was not used for good? There was need out in the world. One was sitting crumpled right under his foot.