A/N: Holy moly, this chapter got away from me.
Also, I've posted a link to a high-resolution cover image for Second Seed on my profile! Hope you enjoy! - K
III
Hall of the Elements
" … Any information as to the whereabouts of the previous group of apprentices would be greatly appreciated. As of yet, there has been no sign of them," Phinis Gestor said to the handful of scholars scattered around the hall. It was getting close to midnight, and everyone here—including himself—had been fighting sleep for some time.
"Now, then," the College of Winterhold's instructor of conjuration said, indicating the flame atronach that had been twirling gracefully in the air next to him for the duration of his speech, "who can tell me how this came to be?"
A very young Nord—hardly into her teens—raised her hand.
"It came through a portal to Oblivion," she said. "Falion told me it's a 'breach in the liminal barrier,'" she quoted, scrunching her face up as she tried to remember.
"Correct, Agni," coughed Phinis, "though perhaps our—your—previous master ought to choose his words more carefully, and I shall tell him such the next time I find myself passing through Morthal. The liminal barrier is not a static phenomenon, or even a 'barrier' in the traditional sense of the word, and thus it cannot be 'breached' as such. Rather, think of it more as a conduit—a river. How fast or slow you can make this 'river' flow determines the strength and duration of your summon."
Agni scribbled some notes on a sheaf of paper.
"Which brings me to my next question," Phinis continued. "Camilonwe of Alinor states that such a portal is only temporary, and can only be sustained for several minutes at a time before dissipating. How, then," he asked, his mouth curling upwards in a little smile as he pointed to the flaming daedra again, "has this atronach managed to remain tethered to Mundus since our lesson commenced more than ten minutes ago?"
There was silence from the assembly for a long moment, and then a smallish Altmer lifted her own hand. "A sustained transpontine circumpenetration of the limen is only possible though the aid of a hyperagonal, transliminal medium," she recited, without any indication that she was tired. "Only one such artifact is known to exist outside of theory: a sigil stone."
Silence. Phinis blinked owlishly. "Yes, well … you've certainly done your homework, Nirya," he commented.
"Camilonwe was a close friend of my family—and you can't even get into the Mages' Guild at Alinor unless you've memorized Liminal Bridges," Nirya said smugly. "And may I just say, I'd certainly like to know how the College was able to secure the sigil stone that helped make this atronach possible."
Phinis bristled. "I'm quite sure that if you have indeed read Camilonwe's work in its entirety, you would not need to ask that question," he coolly parried. "Suffice to say it was a generous donation by—"
BOOM.
Whoever had 'donated' the sigil stone remained anonymous; Phinis was interrupted at that moment by the noise of the great double doors to the hall slamming shut. He frowned.
"Arch-Mage!" boomed the voice of an old Imperial in a yellowish-brown robe sprinting into the hall and towards Phinis with remarkable agility. "I must see your Arch-Mage at once!"
Faralda and Colette Marence, the restoration instructor, hurried in his wake. The Altmer was panting with every other step.
"Sorry—Phinis," Faralda gasped out. "Tried—stop him—insisted—urgent—"
"It had better be urgent," Phinis said irritably, half to himself, "to barge in on one of my lessons." He nodded to the scholars. "We'll continue our lesson in the morning. Dismissed."
Once the last of the scholars had filed out, he turned to the elder. "Well, explain yourself!" he said accusingly. "Who are you, and why are you here?"
"My name is Lucius Anglinius," blustered the Imperial. "I'm a priest of Meridia. And if you do not take me to your Arch-Mage right now, then your College will be in grave danger!"
Meridia? Phinis wondered. The Daedric Princes were all expected to have their own priests and followers, true, but up until now he'd never heard of the Lady of Infinite Energies having any of her own, especially not in Skyrim.
Colette huffed. "Arch-Mage Grimnir is resting," she said scathingly. "And seeing as how you've practically broken down the College's front door, I don't think he'd be willing to talk with you until you're willing to calm down."
There was a brief sizzling noise from behind them, and everyone turned to look. The flame atronach had disappeared; it hadn't exploded, Phinis noted, as the lesser daedra were known to do. It had instead been dispelled, as though by some invisible wave of a hand.
His frown grew more pronounced as he contemplated this. "Then again," Phinis finally said, as he came to a conclusion, "perhaps he may be willing to listen."
He turned to Lucius. "We'll escort you to the Arch-Mage. I would suggest you choose your words carefully—that is, if he chooses to hear them," he added.
Lucius toyed with the hilt of a sword under his robe. "Are you threatening me?" he said, a hint of menace in his voice.
"Not at all," Phinis smirked. "But how long before you leave College grounds—and, more to the point, how you leave them—may well depend on it."
Lucius relaxed, and so—without realizing he was tense in the first place—did Phinis. "Apologies," Lucius grunted. "It's … been a rather long night for me."
The conjuration master silently agreed. "Nevertheless," Phinis said, "zeal for one's duty should not exceed the zeal for one's health. If you come to us in the dead of night again, please show some compassion, refresh yourself, and return in the morning when we are all awake."
Lucius grudgingly nodded, and the four adults made their way to the Arch-Mage's quarters.
When he came down an hour later, however, Lucius was far from tired, though he would not reveal it to the other three mages, who had stumbled from the room with various combinations of dread and surprise at what he had to say. Even so, Lucius would admit that Phinis had a point: he would have to rest well to perform Meridia's work to her satisfaction.
Therefore, he proceeded to the Hall of Countenance, where the instructors slept. Colette had been kind enough to point him to a spare bed. After praying to Meridia for her guidance in the task he would have to carry out tomorrow, he finally turned in for the night.
Merryfair Farm
"OW!"
Vinye and Cosette were unpleasantly roused from their sleep at Malys' shout, followed by the noise of an ice spike thudding into the skull of a skeever. The carcass of the large rat skidded across the grass where they had pitched their bedrolls, and hit Cosette in the knee.
"What was that all about?" Cosette grumbled as she stumbled from her bedroll, punting the dead rat into the field.
Malys was shaking her left hand, which was bleeding slightly. "Damn thing bit me," she said crossly, looking at the dead pest with loathing.
"You should get that looked at," said the Breton airily. "Ataxia does some pretty bad things to your hands. Actually," she added, a sudden thought coming to mind, "now that I think about it … "
Gingerly, she picked up the skeever by the tail, and bathed it in flames from her free hand for about a minute. Then, once the body had been sufficiently burnt, she skinned off a large piece of the hide with the tip of her Forsworn blade, removed the fur and fat, and threw the result dispassionately on Malys' lap. "Here—eat up."
Malys pulled a face. "You're kidding, right?"
Cosette didn't even blink. "Any alchemist worth her salt knows skeever hides can cure just about everything if you cook them long enough," she said.
"You couldn't have put it in a potion, though?" Malys asked.
"Ugh—gods, I can't believe I'm even related to you," scoffed Cosette. "You elves are as spoiled as they come."
"You do know I'm right here?" Vinye pointed out from behind her. The half-elf rolled her eyes, but otherwise paid no heed.
"Just eat the damn thing," Cosette said exasperatedly. "Back when I lived in the Reach, I hardly had potions of my own. If I got attacked by an animal, I'd eat some juniper berries straight from the trees, and I'd be back on my feet in a few minutes' time."
She looked at Malys, who was staring at her with a slightly hurt expression, and relented—though only a little. "I'm sorry, Malys, but this isn't the College," she sighed. "There'll come a time when you're going to need more than your magic to survive—and in the wild, that time might be just around the corner."
The Dunmer stared at Cosette, then at the piece of hide cooling on her robes, and groaned. "Fine," she said, picking it up with two fingers as though it might bite her. "But I'll take that bet."
And without further ado, she lifted the skeever's skin to her mouth, squished her eyes shut, and began to chew.
The substance tasted every bit as foul as she had imagined, and only the prospect of a cure kept Malys from spitting the piece of hide out then and there. But immediately, she knew Cosette had been telling the truth. She felt more invigorated, now, and the skeever bite was slowly becoming less and less painful.
Eventually, she forced herself to swallow, and coughed violently. "Yecch," she gagged. "I suppose it wouldn't be medicine if it didn't taste bad."
She stood up abruptly, and headed for the farmhouse. "I'll be right back," she said over her shoulder.
Vinye watched her go with a concerned look. "You could have just gone to the docks outside Riften, picked up a mudcrab, and mixed that hide with some of its chitin," the Altmer commented. "Any alchemist 'worth her salt' would know that," she echoed.
Cosette shrugged. "Maybe. But better she learns that lesson now than finding out the hard way."
"Ah! You're already up—good, good!" The two women turned to see Tolfdir and J'zargo striding up the path that led to the city's docks. Both were clutching long lengths of rope, and both of their faces looked less than cheerful.
"Where is Malys?" J'zargo asked, frowning.
As if on cue, an angry scream came from behind the farmhouse, followed by a continuous thumping noise, then more incoherent shouting. Suddenly, one of the smaller trees beside the farmhouse—just barely visible behind the roof—toppled to the ground with a groaning crash.
Malys stepped out a few seconds later. Her black hair was a little ruffled, and she was breathing heavily, but she looked noticeably calm in spite of this.
"My word!" Tolfdir exclaimed. "What happened back there?"
"Nothing you need to worry about," said Malys evenly. "I just thought I'd take your advice from the other day, Tolfdir."
"Oh?" The Master Wizard inclined his head slightly. "And … how did it work?"
"It'll take some time," Malys shrugged. "But I think I might be on to something." She glanced at Tolfdir in a very meaningful way, while J'zargo, Cosette, and Vinye all shared looks of confusion.
"Erm … well, if you say so," said Tolfdir. "I'm afraid we'll need to leave earlier than we were hoping for, ladies. We may have a problem. I'll explain on the way."
Fifteen minutes later, the five mages had packed up, cleaned up, and left Merryfair Farm exactly as it had been before they'd arrived—except for the felled tree that, much to the consternation of the farmer and his wife, had been impaled by upwards of a dozen ice spikes.
South of Riften
"Is that Rkund up there?" Vinye asked, gazing up the mountains. The clouds hugging the near-vertical cliffs in the distance almost completely obscured them. But the curved domes of the Dwemer towers were unmistakable, and she could see at least one of them at the very top of the mountains.
"How in Azura's name are we going to get up there?" Malys groaned.
Tolfdir cleared his throat. "Well, our initial plan was to pass through Darklight Tower," he explained, pointing far off to an imposing-looking fort a little to the west of Rkund, buried into the cliffs. "But I've word from that guard at the gate that some … well, less-than-savory people have moved in."
"Not more bandits!" Cosette exclaimed.
"Mm, if only," Tolfdir said grimly. "There've been reports of some ghastly rituals going on at the summit."
J'zargo growled unpleasantly. "Necromancers."
A chill went through Vinye's spine, and Cosette shrank so far into her robes that she looked like a little girl. As mages, all five of them knew well that the study and practice of reanimation was a banned subject throughout most of Tamriel. Even the College of Winterhold, while tolerant enough to teach the basics, was clear to state that it did not encourage its practice on people.
"If it was only myself and J'zargo, I might be all right with giving them what for," Tolfdir said. "However—and not to doubt you three—I wouldn't forgive myself if they managed to get their hands on any of you. Divines only know what they'd do to you."
"Then how do we get up there?" asked Vinye.
"That is the problem," J'zargo said. "Fortunately"—he brandishing his length of rope—"this one may know another way up the mountain."
Cosette blanched. "No," she said. "No way. I'm not taking another of your shortcuts, cat—I'll remember that wispmother from the last one if I live to be a hundred."
J'zargo held up a claw. "Ah," he smiled, "but this time is different. If we are lucky, then we will not have to fight any monsters at all."
Malys looked skeptical. "And if we're unlucky?"
J'zargo was still smiling. "Then we will have to fight a dragon."
Everyone except him and Tolfdir froze in their tracks. "What," chorused the three mages.
Vinye made a noise like a skeever being stepped on; she felt like she might faint at any moment.
"The cliff slopes are most gentle there, around Lost Tongue Overlook," explained Tolfdir, pointing to a huge Nordic arch that appeared tiny in the distance. "But something about that place has attracted the dragons ever since they returned four years ago. I'd wager there's one roosting up there right now."
Malys found her voice. "You just finished saying you didn't want us to get killed by necromancers!" she spluttered. "Now you're suggesting we might get torn in half, or burned to a crisp, or … eaten by a sodding dragon?!"
Cosette was looking at the Khajiit with a blank look on her face. "You're insane," she said placidly, shaking her head. "I … I can't even be angry with you about that—that's literally all I can say. You're utterly mad."
Vinye was inclined to agree, but the confidence of that Khajiit was infectious, and the more she thought about it, the more she felt herself coming back to her senses. She remembered that just the other day, J'zargo had mentioned traveling with the Dragonborn of legend. Vinye had also been inclined to believe him then, and now was also inclined to believe J'zargo had seen a few dragons in his time—and he'd like as not already killed a few of his own.
She mentioned this to him, and was pleasantly surprised to hear him laugh in spite of her trepidation. "Khajiit is flattered," he purred, smoothing his mustache. "But only the Dragonborn can truly kill a dragon. And in the time J'zargo knew him, he must have killed dozens of the beasts—perhaps even as many as a hundred."
Cosette didn't acknowledge the boast. "However, since none of us are Dragonborn, last time I checked," she said sardonically, "if we do get attacked by a dragon, then we're just about sunk."
"Which is why we are avoiding the dragon," J'zargo said patiently, "and will climb away from it. Khajiit are very sneaky—the great thief Rajhin could steal the scales from a dragon's beating heart in his day. Do as Khajiit does, and we will reach the Dwarven ruin with our lives and limbs in one piece, hmm?"
After considering J'zargo's words, Malys shrugged reluctantly. " … At least with a dragon, you'll stay dead," she said. "I'm for the idea."
"I suppose it's a quick way to go, too," grimaced Cosette, gripping her Forsworn blade a little tighter.
Everyone now turned to Vinye. The Altmer had no doubt that her olive skin was now white as a snow elf, and her feet felt like they were anchored to the ground. She looked once more at J'zargo. That was enough.
"All right," she said with a gulp. "Let's go."
Lost Tongue Overlook
An hour later, however, the bravado had worn off, and with every second they spent on the worn stairs that would eventually lead to the summit of the overlook—and the dragon dwelling above—Vinye felt her confidence dropping like an anchor.
The only obstacle they'd encountered had been a simple soul gem, on top of a pillar that the ancient Nords had constructed to dispose of foolhardy treasure hunters—as if the dragon wasn't enough of a threat. Only Tolfdir's quick reflexes had saved them; even then, the ice storm it had blasted them with had been so potent that it took every bit of magicka Tolfdir had to deflect it with his ward. A firebolt from J'zargo knocked the pink gem off its plinth, disarming it.
For the last fifteen minutes now, they had been resting under a crag—not only so the Master Wizard could replenish his strength, but also because they were fearful the dragon might have heard the trap's activation. The suspense had not been kind to any of them, but Vinye doubted anyone's nerves felt worse than hers.
Eventually, J'zargo was convinced that the dragon had not, in fact, been roused, and beckoned them out, lifting a claw to his jowls. Slowly, silently, everyone obeyed, taking care to look where they stepped.
The plan was thus: they would climb to a height predetermined by J'zargo, who would feed them the ropes as he progressed. From there, the rocky slopes leveled off further still, and could be passed without the aid of any climbing gear—though the unevenness of the terrain still warranted the utmost care and attention. As the Khajiit was best suited to climb the cliffs both quickly and stealthily—and they would need as much of both as they could spare—they had unanimously elected he would go first. Tolfdir, being the heaviest, would act as their anchor in case of high winds.
Once Tolfdir was in his place, J'zargo commenced his climb, feeding both lines over his shoulder, the other four mages holding on like their lives depended on it—which was certainly true.
It was a very strange feeling, thought Vinye, as she felt the vibrations of the thick lengths of hemp, one in each of her tightly clenched hands. Occasionally, they would jerk about as the Khajiit leapt from one crag to the next like a saber cat, shrinking into a fuzzy speck the further away from them he climbed.
A roar echoed in the distance, and everyone froze. But the suspense died almost immediately; whatever it was, it was much too far away to be the dragon lording over the Overlook.
"He's insane," Cosette murmured to herself again. "He's going to kill us all."
"You're not afraid, are you?" Malys said. She might have sounded taunting if not for the slight tremor to her voice.
Cosette shook her head, and wordlessly jerked her head in Vinye's general direction. The high elf turned away quickly when Malys looked back at her, but not quickly enough to disguise her shame.
"He'll make it," Vinye said under her breath, hoping J'zargo could somehow sense the urgency in her. He has to.
And sure enough, after a number of minutes that might as well have been years, everyone felt a sudden tug on the ropes.
"He's over!" Tolfdir reassured them. "Quickly, now—fasten your bags to the rope and do exactly as I say!"
As the mages did so, Tolfdir busied himself with tying the ends of the two ropes together. They would use the combined lengths as a pulley system, pulling one while feeding the other to J'zargo, who would do the same thing. Meanwhile, the mages set about securing each of their packs as tightly to the rope as possible. Once this was done, Tolfdir signaled to J'zargo by yanking on the rope once, and the supplies were sent on their way, bumping and bouncing along the rocks.
The mages' efforts were flawless, but not entirely coordinated; there were several occasions where Vinye thought she could hear the tinkling of glass over the rising wind, and she fervently hoped that none of those noises belonged to her potions. Once, the wind grew so strong that everyone had to strain to keep their bags from being dashed against the cliffs. The rough hemp burned their hands; Malys' palms in particular were not a pretty sight.
"Dagon's pits!" she hissed through the pain. But she held on, and eventually, their supplies made it over as well after another signaling tug from J'zargo. She immediately cast a healing spell on herself, sighing in relief as her scars resealed.
Now came the hard part. Each of the mages wrapped a thick strip of burlap around their torsos, and secured both ends of the rough cloth to the rope. Malys stepped forward against the rock, muttering oaths and prayers under her breath to every daedra from Sheogorath to Malacath.
"Hold the line behind you, and don't get too overconfident with your feet," Tolfdir instructed her. "Let J'zargo do the work. Keep as close to the rock as you can, and don't look down!"
" … Boethiah, inspire me," finished Malys. She nodded, tugged once on the rope, and J'zargo hoisted her upwards. There was some initial awkwardness as she stepped over the rocks, fumbling to keep the ropes untangled while simultaneously trying not to kick away from the cliff in a blind panic. She calmed down after around a minute, though, and the remainder of her climb suffered no setbacks at all.
Five minutes later, it was Cosette's turn. The Breton had also been mumbling under her breath the whole time. Vinye only caught " … This is not how I want to die … this is not how I want to die … " repeated over and over again like an incantation. She did not acknowledge Tolfdir's directions, or even look in his direction; still reciting her chant, she picked up the rope, started her climb, and was lost from view inside of a minute.
Another five minutes, another tug on the rope, and now Vinye vaguely felt her legs moving forward. Her entire body was numb, and she did not hear anything Tolfdir was saying, either. Her world had shrunk to this little—little only when compared to the massive mountains it was part of—slice of cliff in front of her, and two hemp ropes that might as well be cotton threads.
There was another roar, very far away. Vinye just barely registered it, and without any other thoughts, the high elf tugged on her rope and started her climb.
It was a climb she would remember for the rest of her life. Within seconds she had lost any sense of direction; the only colors were various shades of gray. The hemp rope was frayed and slippery, and she was constantly in danger of losing her grip. The rocks were no less so, and sharp in places as well; she could feel the edges ripping through her thin boots and into her heels.
How long it took her to make the climb, Vinye did not know. Time had stopped around her, and all she could hear was the scream of the wind in her ears. The gusts were bigger now, more frequent, and more regular.
Wait, a distant corner of her mind thought. Regular?
That's not the wind, she thought. That's ... Oh, no.
And then she heard it—an earsplitting roar that made the earth itself tremble in fear, for its source was older by far.
Vinye could not resist the temptation; she tore her focus away from the cliff—just in time to see the massive creature flying over the valley. Brilliant red and gold, with two leathery black wings the size of houses in place of arms, and bursting with bony spines as high as a man was tall.
But Vinye cared for none of that; all that she cared to know about right now was that there—before her eyes—was an actual, living dragon. And that dragon was heading right towards her.
It took every ounce of restraint not to scream—as fast as it was going, the dragon did not seem to know she was there. Neither did she want it to find out—so she turned back to the cliff, her heart slamming into her ribs, and resumed her climb. She went much faster now, and her pace was frenzied. The rocks tore into her robes and her flesh with equal resistance, but she did not care. All she thought about was one thing: get away now.
"Laan rotte, bahlaan gein," rumbled the monster. Vinye heard the words perfectly, even with the wind and the distance. Though she did not know what they meant—nor did she particularly care—the implications of this ancient beast being capable of speech turned her blood to ice.
It could only mean there was more than one.
Only seconds later, she heard a loud THUD, a screeching bellow, and another equally loud roar. Vinye glanced out of the corner of her eye for only the tiniest fraction of a moment, but that was enough to confirm her worst fears: a second dragon, purplish-black in color, had literally rammed into the first dragon, throwing it off course.
"Zu'u fen hon," hissed this new dragon. "Sulyeki nahkip. Krif voth ahkrin!"
The first dragon righted itself, and bellowed, "Yol … Toor SHUL!" A jet of flame erupted from its jaws.
A lesser creature would have been cremated instantly. But the dragons were creations of Akatosh himself, immortal and without any concept of weakness. Something so trivial as fire only blackened the purple dragon's scales.
It responded in kind—"Krii … Lun AUS!"—and released its own spurt of purple fire. This fire had far more of an effect on the red dragon; its scales immediately turned a sickly-looking pink. The other dragon was upon it not long after, tearing physically into the airborne bulk with fangs and claws.
Amidst all this, Vinye had been watching the battle slack-jawed. She had completely forgotten that she was currently a hundred feet above the ground and on a very exposed cliff, or that the rope hauling her upwards had stopped doing just that. She even forgot—though would discover later, much to her humiliation—the warmth that had been spreading across her groin ever since the very, very near miss. In all her life—or in any of her travels throughout Tamriel—she had never ever seen anything quite so awe-inspiring or terrifying.
The dragons, meanwhile, continued their deadly battle both in the air and on the ground. Whole trees lay felled around them as they wrestled for supremacy, and dust storms blew in full force as they took to the skies again.
"Yol … Toor SHUL!" roared the red dragon again, expelling a massive fireball. The purple dragon tackled it again right at the last word, knocking the blast far off its intended course—and straight for the mesmerized Vinye.
The next thing the Altmer felt was the hottest wind she'd ever felt in her life. Then, the cliff face simply exploded around her. There was a sharp pain in her temple as a large piece of debris slammed into her head, and the world around her faded to merciful blackness.
The air was on fire, choking the life from her lungs. Screams echoed all around her, and explosions both near and far echoed in her ears. Everything stank of thick smoke, of burning wood and flesh.
Shadowy forms of all sizes, silhouetted against the ongoing blaze, flitted in every direction. Some of them caught up with others—and those others disappeared into the inferno, crying out all the while, never to be seen again.
A voice, loud and commanding, drowned out the sounds of ruin and despair. She could not hear the words distinctly, but she understood them well enough.
It was a death sentence.
Another scream, louder and clearer than any before it, and then the world of orange and brown turned into a brilliant, bloody red—
Vinye opened her eyes suddenly, and immediately wished she hadn't—excruciating pain flared all over her face, and she instinctively closed her eyes again. She could not move her mouth at all, not even to scream; it was frozen in a half-open grimace.
She opened her eyes again, more carefully this time. The same cloudless sky was there, and the ground under her back felt softer, flatter. The chirping of birds filled her ears; there were no signs of any dragons.
Pain snaked through her body as she tried to take in her surroundings. She could barely see her body—or, rather, the caked mass of blood that felt like her body—out of the corner of her eye.
"Not so fast, my dear," a familiar voice wheezed, and her eyes flicked upward. Tolfdir was standing over her, and she could see J'zargo, Malys and Cosette circled around her. All of them looked worried.
It took a long time for reality to sink in. "I'm … alive?" she croaked.
"By the skin of your teeth," said Cosette shakily. "If that fireball had hit just five more feet to the right, you'd be charcoal."
"It took all three of us the better part of an hour to haul you up here and get you healed," Malys added. "When we saw your body come up, we thought the worst had happened." She shuddered.
"Is this one well enough to eat?" J'zargo asked tentatively. He was holding a wooden bowl; whatever was in it smelled absolutely wonderful, and Vinye slowly nodded. The Khajiit tipped a ladleful of the stuff into her mouth; it was vegetable soup, and it was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. She closed her eyes, bliss spreading over her in spite of her present state.
"The soup is good, yes?" smiled J'zargo. "Then you should see the view."
Any thoughts of pain or fatigue left Vinye instantly. She stiffly raised out an arm, letting J'zargo take it, while Tolfdir lifted her by the shoulders, helping her stand. Once Vinye felt like she could stand without their aid, she straightened up. Aches still shot through her back and her legs, but she ignored it; she had to see for herself.
And when she did, she forgot about the pain, about the dragons, and about their expedition.
She was standing on the cliff, inches away from the precipice, and could barely see their starting point hundreds of feet away, below and to her right. Past that was a wide, sweeping valley full of greens and browns, and at the other end stood a massive mountain with a ruined fortress at its peak.
Then J'zargo took her by the arm, turning her around, and Vinye had to fight the urge to cheer. The Khajiit was now showing her three massive, golden-capped towers, some partially sunken into the ground, but no less the beautiful for the wear that came with thousands of years of disuse. One of the towers was carved into the mountain, and fitted with a set of bronze doors tall enough to fit a giant.
Rkund.
They'd made it.
The novelty of the scenery soon wore off, as did the warming effects of J'zargo's vegetable soup. But by that time, Vinye had largely recovered from her ill-fated climb, and cast a few more rays of healing magic as the five mages prepared to enter Rkund.
Almost immediately, however, they could tell something was wrong. A large-scale excavation was definitely underway here, judging by the tents and pickaxes lying all over the place. But there were several bodies strewn about the smoothly worn stone of the pavilion, and spatters of blood beside each one. One corpse was slumped over a water-filled structure that Vinye guessed had been a fountain in its day.
A pile of glowing ash was nearby, and J'zargo inspected it. "Another wispmother," he said after a while, pulling a telltale threadbare wrapping from the remains. "The other miners must have fled inside. We should follow."
"We're right behind you," affirmed Tolfdir.
With a heavy groan, J'zargo forced the massive doors open, and they stepped into Rkund.
The halls were an unlikely combination of metal and stone, and yet they still seemed alive to Vinye. Thick metal pipes, the same color as the doors, belched thick clouds of steam that obscured their vision. Everything hissed and clanked, and the sounds reverberated off the carved walls, nearly deafening the elf. And over it all, there was an ominous, rumbling hum that made her very bones shudder.
"So this is a Dwarven ruin," Malys commented, clearly impressed. "They look a lot different than in Morrowind."
Cosette was awestruck. "Incredible … "
J'zargo, for his part, was already looking into the nooks and crannies of the hallway. He'd already found a few trinkets made of the Dwemer metal, and stuffed them into his pockets.
"Four thousand years, the Dwemer have been gone," Tolfdir said reverently, as they strolled through the halls, which sloped further downward with every step they took. "And still this machinery runs like it hasn't been four months. Imagine if they were still around!" he exclaimed. "The secrets they would have been able to share with us—astronomy, arcanics, running water! Alas," he sighed, "Tamriel will have to live without such comforts and advances for a very long time, I fear."
Vinye doubted "comfort" was a universal term, in this case. They had just passed a small living space, and even the beds here appeared to be made of stone.
She stumbled suddenly as she approached a grating—the floor had slightly sunk when she'd put her foot down on it. Immediately, Malys tackled her to the wall. "Move!" the Dunmer yelled.
She was just in time—rows of spears, triggered by the pressure plate, had suddenly erupted from the metal grate, missing the two elves by inches.
Malys and Vinye looked each other in the eye, both feeling a little embarrassed. In Vinye's case, however, her embarrassment was being replaced by something else that she could not quite place—something like … curiosity? Was that the word?
She hurriedly cleared her throat. "Sorry," she apologized, and quickly moved away from Malys. "I'll … I'll try to be more careful in the future."
She wondered if the dark elf had understood her simple message of thanks. But in actuality, Vinye had seen something in those blood-red eyes—and deep down, it had scared her.
Malys Aryon of House Hlaalu … who are you? Vinye wondered.
Wait … House Hlaalu?!
"There!" said J'zargo, before Vinye could dwell on this any further. They had entered what must have been the city's grand hall; the entire College of Winterhold could have fit into a corner of this massive space. Cosette was lost for words: she had resorted to turning round and round on her feet like a child, taking in every angle of this magnificent structure.
Six tents had been erected in the middle of the room, Vinye could see, and several dozen people were clustered around them, sitting around fires, telling stories, and cooking food. The general mood was subdued.
Tolfdir approached the nearest fire. "Are you with the excavation?" he asked one of the men, a thin, seedy-looking wood elf.
"Yeah," grunted the Bosmer, as he tucked into a portion of pheasant. "I wish I wasn't, though. This whole venture went straight to Oblivion this morning."
"I assume that wispmother forced you all down here?" Tolfdir asked gently.
The wood elf nodded, still not looking up from his food. "That's what you call that monster, huh? Yeah. Dro'zaka and six others were dead before the mercenaries were even fully armed. They're all dead, too."
"How did the wispmother die, then?" Cosette looked concerned.
The elf was quiet for a few seconds as he chewed. "Solyn," he finally said. "He's the one who put this excavation together. I don't know what he killed that thing with, and I'm not keen to know. Those wizards give me the creeps."
"Where is this Solyn?" Tolfdir inquired, unabashed by the insult.
The Bosmer pointed towards the opposite end of the grand hall; Vinye could barely see a small recess in the wall containing a single golden lever. "He took the lift down that way," said the Bosmer. "Said he was going to study one of the deeper sections of the city—something called a 'Reliquary.'"
"Are any of you with him?"
The wood elf sighed sorrowfully. "I wish. We didn't decide until later that the safest place to be was right next to Solyn's side. About twenty of us went down after him a few hours ago. I'm the only one who made it back."
At the mages' expression of concern, he explained, "I think these ruins … I don't know … sensed Solyn was here, somehow. Maybe it's because he's a wizard, and we're just miners and lowlifes. But the lower sections of the city have ... turned themselves on. Metal creatures are patrolling the halls below in droves, and metal men as well."
"Animunculi," Tolfdir said knowingly, exchanging a glance with J'zargo.
"If you're looking for Solyn," said the elf, turning at last to the mages with a warning look on his face, "then you're on your own. None of us are fool enough to go down there—I've had enough of the Dwemer for one lifetime, thank you very much. Give me the branches of Falinesti for this thrice-damned ruin any day of the week."
The name stirred something in Vinye's memory. "You've been to Falinesti?" she blurted, before she could stop herself.
The Bosmer turned to look at her, and immediately his expression turned from sorrow to outright fury. "You?!" he bellowed, causing some of the miners around him to stop and stare. "What the blazes are the Thalmor doing here?!"
Vinye stared back at him, totally nonplussed. "Thalmor?" she repeated innocently. "What are you—?"
"What's the matter, elf?" taunted the wood elf, his voice rising to an anguished howl. Vinye instantly backed away. "Wasn't it enough when you brought your butchery to Green-Sap? I lost two whole generations of my family because of you demons in the Dominion!"
Malys made a noise that sounded more appropriate from a wolf than a dark elf. "Vinye is a good girl!" she snarled, in the same growling voice Vinye had heard during that bandit attack the other day.
Tolfdir stepped forward, putting himself between the angry elf and Vinye, who was teetering on the edge of tears. "I'm terribly sorry, I think there's been a misunderstanding," he soothed. "Vinye is a novice at the College of Winterhold, as are these two young women." He indicated Cosette and the irate Malys. "We've not had relations with the Dominion for years, and even then, it was only one—"
"I don't care," said the elf. He'd quieted down considerably now, but that made his rage all the more terrifying. "You elves have no business being in here—and neither do I," he spat through gritted teeth, looking daggers at Vinye. "I'm leaving this place, and I hope I don't have to see you again. There's enough blood on the ground already—but I don't think it'll mind one more dead elf."
And with that threat, the Bosmer rose up from the fire, spat in it, went to his tent, and did not speak any longer.
"Goodness," said Tolfdir after a while, before turning to Vinye. "Vinye, are you … all right?"
The Altmer was far from it. Her feet were rooted to the floor, her whole body was shaking, and her leaf-green eyes were wide open and streaked with tears.
"I'm … not," Vinye whispered, almost to herself, before she realized four pairs of eyes were staring right at her. She gasped.
"I'm not staying here," she said abruptly, wiping her eyes on her robes. "Let's just find this Solyn and get the hell out of here."
"Um … very well," conceded Tolfdir. "Why don't you three go as a group? J'zargo and I would like to explore some of the adjacent sections of Rkund." He pointed at several large double doors on either side of the hall.
"What about all those Dwemer machines?" Malys asked apprehensively, her voice—and her mood—back to normal.
"If this Solyn character is half the wizard that elf said he is," Cosette said, arms folded, "he'll have done most of the dirty work for us already. Besides, there's three of us, one of him, and we've both got a wispmother to our credit. I think we'll be fine."
Malys stared at Cosette for a long moment, and shrugged. "I'll remember that for the eulogy," she said dryly.
They hurried after Vinye, who had already stepped into the lift by the time they were halfway there. Thankfully, Vinye had mellowed out enough to where she waited a few seconds before activating the lever at her feet. Once she had, there was a whoosh of steam, and the lift sank further into the ruins of Rkund.
The Bosmer's warning had not been unfounded; almost as soon as the lift had stopped, three spider-like automatons had jumped out from their ports to meet the novices. Malys' ice magic was ineffective; every shard she fired at them simply bounced off the golden metal. The claws of the machine hurt like a scrib's bite, as she found out the hard way, but at least there was no threat of paralysis.
Cosette and Vinye were having much better luck; one spider fell to Cosette's firebolts almost immediately, littering the hallway with broken scraps. Vinye hit the other two with the same blast of lightning, finishing them off with a small growl.
"Nice one," Cosette said, with equal parts appreciation and apprehension. It was clear to both her and Malys that the Altmer was still angry about the earlier incident, and Cosette, abrasive as she could be, knew when to draw a line.
Malys, unfortunately, did not appear to have the same boundaries. "You want to talk about it?" she asked.
"Not particularly," Vinye snapped. "Unless you want to talk about that bandit … "
That silenced the dark elf. Cosette thought of a hundred ways to call Vinye out for rudely bringing up what she assumed was a sore subject, but something told her she wasn't in the mood for that, either.
Apart from a few more spiders, their expedition continued in silence until they reached a large bronze door. Further investigation, in the form of much pushing, pulling, and very colorful language from Cosette, showed that it was locked tight.
"I don't suppose anyone brought any picks?" Cosette ventured, once she'd taken out her frustration on the impassive golden bust beside the door (neither fire nor blade did so much as chip the stern face). Vinye and Malys shook their heads.
"Hang on," the Dunmer said, a thought coming to her. "I want to try something." She walked up to the door, bent forward to look through the lock, and pointed a finger right at the keyhole. A faint hiss filled the room for close on to a minute before she removed her finger, and experimentally pushed at the double doors.
To everyone's surprise, even Malys', they swung open.
"What did you do?" Vinye asked, forgetting for the moment how angry she was.
"I wanted to see if I couldn't use my ice to rust the lock," Malys said. "I didn't think it would actually work—I was counting on the Dwemer using the same metal in their locks as they have everywhere else." She shrugged. "I guess after you work your way through one lock, they all look the same to you."
And she strode into the next room, to bemused stares from her friends.
This chamber was unlike any of the others; it was a natural cavern—even larger than the city's grand hall—that glowed with unearthly greenish-blue light. Bizarrely, a great deal of it seemed to come from the house-sized rocks strewn all over the place, while the rest came from giant mushrooms with umbrellas wider than Vinye was tall. Some Dwemer ruins were built into the other end of this cave, making it all the more imposing.
It was strangely beautiful, they all agreed. Unfortunately, the pair of knee-high metal balls heading their way prevented them from appreciating it for long.
Suddenly, those spheres unfolded into something uncannily like a man, with a blade for one arm and a bow for the other. Before the mages could react, they had already fired a salvo of bolts at them. One of them caught Cosette in the shoulder, and she yowled in pain. Malys was immediately on her with her healing magic; not being able to provide any offense against the machines, she had resorted to playing the role of medic—which suited her just fine, for some reason; it was a role she felt more … familiar with.
With her assistance, the spheres were nothing but smoking piles of scrap one minute later, and they continued on.
"This feels like some kind of church," Vinye mused after another long period of silence, as they came to the ruins in the cavern. Rows of stone benches lined either side of the enclosed platform they had just entered. Four immense chandeliers were suspended above the space.
"The dwarves didn't believe in worshipping gods," Malys said, shaking her head. "At least, there's nothing that says they did. They preferred reason to religion. My predecessors, the Chimer, were the exact opposite, and they went to war over their differences four thousand years ago."
"Who won?" Cosette asked.
"No one," was Malys' reply. "The war only ended because all the Dwemer disappeared. The Chimer didn't get off easy, either. Azura cursed them all for what they did in the war—and they were changed into this." She patted her gray skin, and pointed out her red eyes.
The hum of the machinery seemed to grow a little louder in the ensuing silence—broken only by a sudden series of strange clicking and swishing noises, growing louder with each passing moment.
"Where's that coming from?" said Cosette, frowning.
Malys got to her feet, scanning the surrounding area. "I don't know," she said in confusion. "Sounds like it could be a blade trap—but I don't see any grooves in the floor."
"That's because they're not coming from the floor," Vinye said. She was pointing upwards, and looked fearful. The two other novices followed her finger.
High above them, the chandeliers were coming to life; metal panels were sliding, unfurling, and reconfiguring into vaguely insectoid shapes, almost like giant wasps. What passed for wings were made up of two double-ended blades that rotated so quickly they were almost a blur, and its body terminated in a "stinger" composed of a single levitating soul gem.
"Run!" Malys shouted, throwing up a hasty ward not a moment too soon: two of the wasps had blasted lightning bolts straight for the trio. One harmlessly hit the stone pavilion; Malys' imperfect ward was enough to deflect the other, but the shock of the impact left her arm numb. A third bolt caught her full in the chest, and she staggered back with a yelp.
Okay—that hurts a lot more than a scrib bite, she decided, as she healed the burn, hissing in pain through her teeth.
Vinye, glowing blue from the effects of her regenerative powers, released her own lightning magic at the airborne automata. Three bolts hit the rotor of one of the wasps, destroying the mechanism and causing the machine to drop like a stone. The severed blades, still turning in midair, only stopped after they became embedded several feet into the ornate walls around the platform.
It was still three against three, and Malys knew that if they split up, they would be badly overmatched. She whirled in Vinye's direction. "Now would be a good time for one of your atronachs!" she hollered.
Vinye shook her head frantically, and barely missed blocking a bolt from a second wasp with her head. Malys didn't know whether to interpret that as "I'm too scared to try," or if that lightning daedra from three nights ago really had come from a badly written scroll instead of her own magickal reserves, as Cosette had claimed.
The Breton grunted. "All right—next best thing," she said, muttering a complex incantation that Malys wasn't able to hear. The Breton's left hand blazed purple, and she slammed her palm onto the ground.
The violet, flaming sphere that constituted a portal to Oblivion burst out of thin air before her, revealing a slim, elegant flame atronach. The daedra wasted no time in flitting about the cavern and firing at will; Malys silently cheered when she saw that the wasps appeared to focus their fire on the atronach instead of its conjurer.
Dwemer machines were certainly efficient, but they lacked the minds of men.
The atronach managed to down one more wasp and disarm another with its firebolts before a blast of lightning blew it apart with a sizable BANG. Cosette took a long draft from a potion to restore her lost magicka, and then summoned another atronach—or the same one again, for all she knew; daedra did not value distinction from one another.
Vinye finished off the damaged wasp with ease, scattering bits of metal all over the pavilion. The remaining automaton seemed to understand that it was outnumbered three to one, and attempted to turn tail. But three firebolts—two from Cosette, another from her summon—followed by a parting shot from Vinye made sure it didn't get very far.
Without the noise of the wasps, the ever-present murmur of Dwarven machinery felt unsettlingly loud as the mages turned to ascend a stone staircase. Most of it had been ruined by the collapse of one of the massive stone pillars that helped to support the high ceiling of the cavern, and it took a few minutes to navigate the piles of debris left behind.
Eventually, after climbing a winding ramp that took them nearly a hundred feet above the ground, the mages were faced with another huge bronze door. There were a large amount of pipes lining the walls.
Something about them didn't seem right to Malys, and she motioned for everyone to stop.
"What is it?" Vinye asked.
Malys pointed to the pipes. "See those?" She pointed to the flat, segmented ends of a number of them. "Those look like ports for more Dwemer machines to me. And I wouldn't be surprised if opening this door somehow opened them all. What do you think?"
Cosette frowned. "It's a risk we can't afford to take." She balled her hands into fists, and both were enveloped in fire. "I think I might know a way through, but I'm going to need some time to prepare."
She pointed behind the two elves. "There's some mushrooms on the walls right there. Those might be able to help."
While Vinye and Malys busied themselves with collecting the bright green fungi, Cosette fished in her pack for more potions, looking for one particular color of label in particular. Eventually, she found a small bottle with a turquoise-colored slip of paper on the stopper. She drank this; and felt her magickal reserves expand a little.
Then, once she had a sizable supply of the fungus, she consumed some of them. They tasted bitter, almost inedible, but the effect was immediate; the fire crackling in her hands was burning that much brighter. Not wasting any time before the mushrooms' effects wore off, Cosette went to work.
"Meht, hekem, quam, iya … tayem-hekem, seht, cess, payem … hefhed!" she chanted, resting both of her flaming fists on the stone floor.
The smooth, worn surface beneath her feet glowed in a blaze of orange light, and then solidified into a complex series of curved lines and spiky sigils. It wasn't a perfect rune by any means, but hopefully it would be enough.
"All right," she finally nodded. "I've done what I can. On three, we open the door and make like a Nord after his mead. Everybody ready?"
The two elves nodded their assent.
"One … "
They took a collective giant step backward, nearly pushing their backs against the door.
"Two … "
Malys and Vinye each raised a hand, prepared to push the doors open at a moment's notice.
"Three!"
With all their might, the two elves pushed, and the doors groaned open. At the same time, true to Malys' prediction, every single aperture lining the pipes burst open, and at least a dozen automatons—mostly spiders, but with some deadly spheres near the back as well—sprang from their ports.
"Go, go, go!" Cosette herded them into the hallway on the other side of the threshold.
"Close it close it close it!" she barked seconds later.
Malys and Vinye pushed … and the doors didn't budge one inch. Nothing moved at all, save for the advancing wave of machines on the other side.
Malys swore under her breath. "Leave it to the dwarves to double-trap their own door," she murmured.
"Wards up, everyone!" Cosette cried, knowing they all had about a few seconds before they either survived or died. "Brace yourselves!"
She barely remembered to form her own magickal shield when the rune went off with a colossal BANG that showered the trio with golden shrapnel and burning gusts of wind. The shockwave from the detonation knocked them all back several yards, even with the full strength of their wards.
Once the noise from the explosion had faded, Malys stirred.
"Unh … " she groaned. "Was that a big enough rune for you, Cozy? I think J'zargo's starting to rub off on you."
Cosette did not stir—more out of choice than anything. "If I had the strength, I'd strangle you right now," she mumbled. "Even with those mushrooms and that potion I drank, I didn't have enough to make a perfectly contained rune—and even that sapped almost all of my strength. So if you don't mind," she said, voice dripping with tired sarcasm, "I'd just like to lie here for a moment and look at all the stars in my eyes."
There was a long pause. "What stars?" Vinye was heard to say.
"Yes, may J'zargo see them, too?"
Everyone sat bolt upright at the familiar voice.
J'zargo and Tolfdir strode into the hallway as if they were simply enjoying a refreshing walk. The grinning Khajiit looked particularly stout around his robes, which jangled noisily with every step he took. Clearly he had been having the time of his life in stripping Rkund to its rafters.
"We thought it was high time we caught up," Tolfdir said. "Sorry that we didn't meet up sooner—J'zargo wanted to take his time."
"So. We. See." Cosette was grating her teeth so hard she was in danger of turning them to powder.
"It is amazing what one can find swept away in the corners of Dwarven ruins," J'zargo said happily, oblivious to Cosette's fury. "Many powerful trinkets … many of them small enough to fit in one's pockets as well."
"Would that include your arse?" Malys heard Cosette mutter under her breath. "'Cause I can think of one pocket where I'd like to fit my sword … damned lazy cat … "
"I think this might be the Reliquary," Vinye said, studying the door for a long moment.
"What makes you so sure?" Tolfdir asked.
"A 'Reliquary' might mean something particularly significant to the Dwemer … or particularly valuable to anyone else," Vinye amended, suspecting that would entice J'zargo more than anything. "I can't imagine why any other door would be so heavily protected."
"And yet three mages made it through," Cosette said boldly. "If that's what the Dwemer call heavily protected, then clearly they weren't as advanced as everyone thinks."
"I should very much hope you don't end up eating those words, Miss Ionsaithe." Tolfdir's voice was unusually apprehensive as the five mages delved further into the ruin.
Vinye's assumption about the Reliquary soon proved to be correct. There was nothing to explicitly suggest it, of course, seeing as how none of them were any good at reading the Dwemer runes engraved here and there into the stone. But the layout of the chamber they had just entered—after disembarking from another lift that took them even deeper than the first one—could not be anything else.
The room was dimly lit, with only a single chandelier providing illumination. The shadows made it impossible to gauge the exact size of the room; there was no hint of walls, and only the barest indication of an immensely high ceiling. Three raised platforms were arranged in a circle around the exact center, which was raised slightly higher than the platforms were; there was nothing on them except ruined books.
"Something smells foul," J'zargo whispered, paws wrapped in fire.
Malys agreed—the air was stifling, much hotter than it had any right to be. It was almost impossible to breathe.
"We must be very far below the surface indeed," Tolfdir ventured. "It's quite possible that even the Dwemer couldn't dig any deeper then where we are now. The heat under this stone must be unbearable."
"I'm going to risk some more light," Vinye said. Her hand glowed with a blinding white color. Before anyone could stop her, the Altmer had fired a slow-moving ball of magelight at what she could only hope was the nearest wall. Within ten seconds, the magelight had found one.
The wall moved.
Suddenly, massive golden gears began to turn. Stone ground against stone as formless shapes moved in the darkness beyond. Fires leaped up in braziers, bathing the entire chamber in blinding light.
And Tolfdir, J'zargo, Vinye, Malys, and Cosette stared in awe at no less than three titanic Dwemer centurions—created in their masters' image, but more than twice as tall and infinitely more durable—plodding out of their gantries within the walls. Each of them had a hammer the size of an anvil built into one enormous arm, and an equally large halberd implanted in the other. Steam billowed out from their shoulders and all of their joints.
Beneath their bulk, spheres and spiders skittered about, leveling their own weapons at the five intruders, while more of the infernal mechanical wasps buzzed over their heads. The mages were surrounded within moments, and any possible exits—seen and unseen—were now completely cut off.
Cosette's beady eyes darted from one machine to the next. "I won't take back what I said earlier," she said ruefully, bringing her Forsworn blade to an attack stance and readying a firebolt in her free hand.
"No one's blaming you for anything," Vinye rebuked her, lightning spells at the ready. "I was the one who rushed in here, you know."
Malys chuckled in spite of herself. "First to ten buys first round at the Frozen Hearth. Sound good?"
"J'zargo will take that bet," said the Khajiit, lightning in one paw, and fire in the other. "These trinkets will buy much mead for us, he is sure."
Malys hefted her own fists, ice magic at the ready—even though she knew it would do nothing whatsoever. "Then let's get—"
A new, unexpected noise echoed through the chamber, like a giant engine slowing to a halt.
"—started?"
The automatons shifted in their stance; the centurions and spheres sagged forward, arms hanging limply at their sides. The spiders and wasps continued to hover, but now there was no indication that they perceived the mages as intruders—or even that they were even aware of their existence.
And then another, even more unexpected, noise emerged.
"Fascinating, aren't they?"
The mages whirled around, looking for the source of the voice.
"No one knows how they've survived for as long as they have," said the voice: a deep, gravelly baritone that seemed to meld with the droning of the distant machines. "And yet, they are only the least of the Dwemer's creations."
Malys heard footsteps. "Who are you?" she said on reflex. "Show yourself!"
A sharp intake of breath came from the shadows, and the footsteps grew louder. "Ah. You must be the mages of Winterhold. I'm glad you could join me here today."
And finally, the owner of the voice stepped out into the main chamber, almost as though he'd walked right through the walls. He pulled back the hood of his modest, dirt-brown robes over his head, revealing himself to be a bald Dunmer with a grayish-black beard tied into a knot. His face was wizened, and yet charismatic as well—there was no telling if he was thirty years old or three hundred.
But Malys was especially drawn to his eyes. Where most Dunmer had eyes that were stained like blood from the eternal curse of Azura, his burned like fire. They were unquestionably the most dangerous-looking eyes she had seen on any race, let alone on a Dunmer, and she instinctively knew that this person was a very powerful wizard indeed—perhaps even on the level of the Telvanni masters.
"My name is Solyn," the Dunmer introduced himself. "Welcome to the Reliquary of Rkund—a hidden city that even the fastidious Dwemer did not know existed. It is here that the greatest artifacts that the Dwemer had ever created were to be sealed forever—after they were stolen from the hands of Lord Kagrenac himself."
"Is that so?" Tolfdir said, raising a bushy eyebrow. "And how would you know all this, Mr. Solyn?"
Solyn laughed. "Solyn will do, thank you. But if you wish, then you may call me Mr. Aren."
Tolfdir started. "Aren?" he said, instantly alert.
"Now you're beginning to see why, of all the institutions devoted to the research and practice of the arcane in Tamriel, I called the College to this incredible discovery," Solyn said. "They and I have something in common. Or, more to the point, used to have someone.
"You see, the predecessor to your Arch-Mage of Winterhold—the late Savos Aren—was my father."
Next chapter: Solyn makes a lucrative proposition to the mages of Winterhold. Meanwhile, Malys and the College each have an unexpected—and unwelcome—guest to deal with.