A/N: Wow. Just … wow, I didn't think I'd get this update released as early as I did, I've been so busy. Also, Terraria may be the most addicting game I've ever played.
New chapter below—a relatively short one this time. Originally, it was a lot longer than this, but it got so long that I decided to split it in two. Now to focus on my final projects for school and all that good stuff. I hope you all enjoy! - K
XI
West of Riften
Later on, in the early hours of the evening, that particular maxim was still ringing in Cosette's ears.
Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to block out the ringing in her ears that came from the blow to her head she'd suffered just now. This, combined with the shouting coming from Vinye, Malys, and the obstacle currently blocking their way, was giving her a massive headache.
She stumbled back up to her feet and applied some healing magic to her mangled nose. The Breton grimaced in pain as the cartilage reassembled itself; she was a little punch-drunk, but she would live.
"Agra!"
However, she wasn't sure how much longer that would last.
The giant standing between her and the Orc stronghold nestled in the Jerall Mountains was twelve feet tall—almost as large as that centurion she'd fought in Bthardamz—but was considerably more mobile than some antiquated golem. The enormous stone club in his right hand was taller than she was; if she looked, Cosette could see her own blood still leaking from where the crude weapon had just barely grazed her face.
Behind the giant, Vinye and Malys were blasting away at the giant with spell after spell. But giants were notoriously resistant to magic, more so than even Bretons; Vinye's lightning was doing nothing but making him madder, while a dozen of Malys' ice spikes were already embedded in the giant's leathery gray skin.
"Ayarg KUL!" The giant swatted at the missiles with his free hand, like they were nothing more than gnats. He stomped his bare foot down hard, shaking the earth in the immediate area and sending the mages to their knees. The fireball that Cosette had been building up destabilized in her hand, singeing her hair and knocking her further backward. Fortunately, this put her out of the club's reach, and its next swing hit nothing but air.
Cosette knew that trick wouldn't work twice. The giant was already bearing down upon her—she'd had the misfortune to be closer to the giant than either of the two elves—and she was only just now getting to her feet. She charged another fireball, backing away as fast as she could to give her more time.
She had to make this count—it might well be her last.
Suddenly, the giant stumbled to a halt. "Garag nur!" he bellowed, turning away from Cosette, seemingly focused on the stronghold—or more accurately, something behind it.
And then he stumbled again, and this time Cosette saw why—for just the briefest moment, she'd seen the thin black blur of an arrow streak from the watchtower of the stronghold, and catch the giant full in his face with a meaty thwack! She knew enough about archery to know that whatever bow had fired that arrow carried a punch like no other—the arrow sank through the giant's thick skin like it was a soap bubble, and continue on through the skull and the brain all the way to the fletching, and the Breton saw its forked tip emerge from his other end of his dreadlock-covered head.
By all the old gods …
"Gar … kul … ayar … " The giant lumbered towards the stronghold, but its footsteps were weaker and much less powerful, and Cosette instinctively knew that single arrow had proved fatal. His club slipped from his dying fingers as he spoke his last words, and he tumbled face-first to the ground with an impact that shook the earth.
The Breton sighed in relief as she clambered to her feet, and saw the two elves heading in her direction. "Are you all right?" Vinye asked her.
Cosette nodded. "I'll live," she said bluntly, giving her healed nose an experimental sniff—everything appeared to have healed right, which was a relief. "That's not something I expected me to be saying, especially after fighting a bloody giant."
"What are giants doing out here, anyway?" Vinye wanted to know. "I thought they didn't like being this far south. Don't they usually make their camps in Whiterun Hold?"
"What I'd like to know is how a single arrow can do what three of us can't," Malys said, inspecting the giant's body and lazily plucking off one of the ice spikes embedded in his back.
Cosette dusted herself off, and began walking towards the stronghold. "Let's find out."
The source of the arrow wasn't hard to miss—there was a lone figure still standing in the watchtower, covered head to toe in black spiky armor that, as the mages drew closer, was lain with glowing red filigree. A massive, bladed bow was slung over the figure's shoulder, and twin serrated swords—also glowing faintly red—hung from each hip.
Cosette gaped at the figure in astonishment. That's Daedric armor! Such trinkets were incredibly rare, and equally difficult to forge. There were legends told of the works of the Daedra—how only those few mortals who knew how to weave a Daedra's heart and soul into precious ebony could craft such works of art—and they were considered highly sought after all over Tamriel. A full suit like this—even with some wear and tear—was potentially worth an entire keep!
Suddenly, the armored figure leveled that huge Daedric bow at the mages, and all three of them stopped in their tracks. "Halt, outlanders!" a rough, scratchy voice bellowed; it took a surprised Cosette some time to realize that the Orc under all that armor was actually female.
"By the code of Malacath, this stronghold belongs to the Orcs!" the guard continued. "You are not welcome here!"
Vinye stepped forward, and held out the hand Cosette knew to bear the mark Urag had made on her palm. "We have every right to be here!" she cried, matching the Orsimer as best she could in volume—though, Cosette reflected, not nearly in sheer presence. "We have been named Blood-Kin by Urag gro-Shub of Winterhold!"
The pitch-black helm, curving wickedly downward like the beak of a vulture, peered at Vinye's palm to investigate the mark. "I do not know this Urag," the female Orc answered bluntly. "But an Orc's word is as true as his blade." She holstered her bow, and leapt off the watchtower with a grunt and a dull thud, disappearing behind the wooden fortifications.
Before Cosette could wonder where she'd gone, the heavy gate creaked open, revealing the interior of the stronghold—along with the Orc, who—whether by virtue of her armor or her blood—was pushing the gate open all by herself. The Breton fought the urge to gulp—this was definitely somebody she did not want to face in combat.
"I am Borgakh, wife to Ugluk," the guard said curtly. "I bid you welcome to the stronghold of Largashbur, Blood-Kin of the Orcs."
Only then was Cosette able to tear her eyes away from the guard, Borgakh, and see inside an Orc stronghold for the first time in her life. It was very stark and utilitarian, which was not entirely surprising given the warrior nature of the Pariah Folk; several rough wooden huts dotted the wide space to her right, nestled in the sheer cliffs that served as part of Largashbur's wall. To her left was a wide, crescent-shaped construction with one large door in the center.
But what struck Cosette was the lack of any activity within the stronghold. Granted, the hour was late, and so naturally Orcs would have gathered in the longhouse as the evening came. But she had expected to see some signs of Orcs aplenty in this place: training dummies alongside racks that held all manner of weapons, freshly tilled soil, and livestock settling in their pens. Yet there were none to be found—the fields were barren, the animal pens were filthy with long-dried dung and rotted hay; indeed, the only sign of life in Largashbur appeared to be the wisps of smoke rising from the longhouse.
A small totem had been erected in the central area of the stronghold—a simple deer's skull propped up with a stick behind a flat rock and surrounded by pieces of Orcish-looking armor. Cosette guessed this must have been the shrine Urag had been talking about. But even this—the obvious centerpiece of their lifestyle—looked to be in a sad state of repair, although it was still in much better shape than its surroundings.
Vinye looked at the quiet scene uneasily. "Where is everyone?"
Borgakh's bitter voice was noticeable even through her armor. "The giants are strong by nature—and Malacath always favors the strong. But the giants also sense our weakness, and attack this stronghold. Ugluk and I are the only two left in Largashbur. All the others are long dead."
Cosette felt a pang of sympathy, and she saw that Vinye looked similarly stricken. Malys, however, sounded awestruck. "You've been fighting the giants all on your own—for all this time?"
"We have." Despite the somber tone, Cosette could hear a hint of pride in the affirmation.
"But why would the giants want to attack your stronghold in the first place?" Vinye wanted to know.
Borgakh was silent for a long while before she finally spoke. "I was not here to witness what happened to Largashbur," she said. "But my husband will tell you more. He ought to—in a way, much of this was his doing."
At this enigmatic reply, she headed for the longhouse without another word, and bade the mages go inside first.
As Vinye and Malys headed inside, Cosette made to do the same—but was caught completely off guard when the heavy gauntlet of Borgakh suddenly spun her around, pointing one of her Daedric swords right at her gut.
The Breton was incensed. "What's—?!" But she got no further; Borgakh's other sword was a dark blur, and before Cosette knew it, that blade was suddenly millimeters away from her throat, and any retaliation died on her lips.
"Before I met Ugluk," Borgakh growled, "I was the daughter of Larak, who led the stronghold Mor Khazgur in the northern Reach. We were neighbored by a mountain that crawled with the Forsworn, and they would always attack us without warning—but we would always beat them back."
Suddenly, Cosette felt as though her heart had just flooded with icy water. Oh no. Does she—
Borgakh's beaked helm leaned in close, and sniffed. "You stink of blood and briar-magic," she hissed.
The Breton swallowed as her worst fear was recognized. She knows.
But despite the sudden surge of anxiety, somehow she managed to stand her ground. "Those swords on my back are just hunting trophies," she shot back at Borgakh. That wasn't the complete truth; hunting trophies implied some amount of relish in actually taking them, but to Cosette, they were more than that. They were tools, weapons—but most importantly, they were symbols of her duty to the Reachmen. "You don't know anything about my life, pig."
That, at least, she knew was the complete truth.
Borgakh spent a very long time gauging Cosette's reaction before holstering her own twin swords on her hips. "If you were not Blood-Kin, I would paint Largashbur with your blood without a second thought," she snarled. "Consider yourself lucky—because I never waste second thoughts on filth like you."
The black gauntlets tightened into fists. "I'll be watching you while you're here, witch. Now get inside before I change my mind."
Cosette was only too relieved to agree.
The longhouse was squat, and Vinye had trouble standing upright on account of being taller than most mortal races on Tamriel. Her head was smarting after banging her head on the roof only seconds ago.
It was somewhat disquieting to the Altmer, being in a center of Orsimer society where the Orcs had been all but wiped out. But the power of Largashbur was still evident, and Vinye need not have looked further to see this than the weapons hanging from the walls of the stronghold. All of them were Daedric in make, and were so solid in construction that she doubted anyone but an Orc could hope to heft one in their hand, never mind use it in battle.
In the center of the longhouse stood the largest weapon of all—a massive war hammer, at least six feet long, whose every inch was covered in dark green spikes and bladed ridges. The head of the hammer, which was thicker around than both of Vinye's legs together, shone with a faint red light from somewhere within.
This, Vinye assumed, could only be Volendrung. She grimaced—knowing what this Dwarven relic looked like didn't do them any favors for bringing it back to Winterhold.
Malys seemed to agree with her. "That hammer must weigh a ton," the vampire whispered, both eyebrows raised high as she appraised the ancient weapon. "Even I'd have a hard time lifting that thing."
Borgakh entered the longhouse just then; Cosette followed just behind her, and Vinye was quick to note how ghostly white the Breton's face looked. The girl looked like she'd been scared out of her wits—and not just by the giant.
The Orc removed her helm, revealing a smooth, olive green face and a tribal braid near the base of her skull. "Ugluk!" she called out.
A deep grunting noise—like a giant stretching his muscles—echoed in the longhouse. Vinye heard the sound of armored footfalls from off to her right, and turned just in time to see the door to the chief's bedchamber creak open.
Behind it stood the biggest and broadest Orc she had ever seen. Ugluk was easily seven feet tall—perhaps even closer to eight—and like his mate, he was clad in pristine Daedric armor. Blood-red tattoos covered his bald, greenish-brown head, and were it not for the horns on his head and brow, and the tusks jutting from under his lower lip, Vinye would have mistaken him for one of Mehrunes Dagon's dremora, even from so close up.
The presence of Ugluk was unmistakable; the already tiny Cosette was dwarfed in every way by this Orc, and Vinye saw that even Malys—who had appeared so confident that night in Whiterun after revealing herself as a creature of the night—was sizing him up with an odd expression that was either awed respect … or outright fear.
"That armor's enchanted," Malys said in a whispered aside to Vinye, when the Altmer asked her why. "I've never seen so many runes in one place. And the fact that I can see them at all means they must be very potent. Strength, magic resistance, renewal and revival—he must know the Telvanni very well if he could get his hands on this."
Vinye looked back at the gigantic Ugluk, and she suspected that the Telvanni knew Ugluk equally well, if that was the case. This Orc looked every inch the unstoppable juggernaut, and if Malys' vampiric eyesight was telling the truth, then that enchanted armor had been designed to play to his strengths. She gave an involuntary shudder.
"Borgakh." Ugluk's gruff voice sounded as though he ate rocks three times every day. "It is almost nightfall. You should be outside keeping watch."
"They wish to know about our curse," Borgakh answered, indicating the three mages. "And the giants are not so plentiful after sundown—Largashbur may hold its own for a time."
Dark red eyes flickered briefly in their direction, and the huge Orc gave a reluctant sigh in acknowledgement of his wife. "I am no wise woman," Ugluk said. He sat down on a chair, which creaked dangerously under the weight of his armored bulk. "Much of what I know of this curse came from the late shaman of the stronghold.
"I first came to this stronghold four years ago. All of Largashbur was fighting a giant—even the women and some of the older children as well—and like any Orc would, I joined them and helped to slay it. The wise woman, Atub, was grateful to me, and asked me for help in undoing what she called a curse.
"Yamarz was the chief at the time. He was a schemer, one who avoided battle—he did not think like an Orc should, and his character made him weak in Malacath's eyes. When Yamarz neglected the shrine in Giants' Grove, and allowed the giants to run rampant there, Malacath cursed him and all of Largashbur in his rage. Over the course of a few months, Yamarz became a recluse, and shut himself in the longhouse—leaving his tribe to fend for itself.
"But Atub convinced him to set things right, to slay the giants that had defiled Malacath's shrine. However, Yamarz needed a second—someone who would protect him so he could fulfill his duty—and I would be his second. We traveled to the grove, and slew every last giant inside. And that would have been that—except Yamarz turned on me, hoping to claim all the credit for what we had done. But he did not succeed. I slew him in front of Malacath's shrine, and I was given this hammer for my efforts."
He indicated Volendrung with a sweep of his arm, still resting on its mantelpiece as the longhouse's center of attention.
"So that was the end of the curse?" Malys asked.
Ugluk grunted. "I had hoped it was. Malacath installed a new chief in Yamarz' place—another guard, Gularzob. I went on my way with Atub's blessing, and I did not think of Largashbur until three years later. By that time, I had met Borgakh, and asked her to travel with me at her father's consent, and we passed by Largashbur in our travels."
"We knew we'd arrived too late when we saw the giant inside the stronghold's walls," Borgakh added. "The giant was finally slain, but the cost was high. Half of Largashbur lay dead or dying that night, including Atub and Chief Gularzob—and it began again the following morning. Some tried to leave, hoping to find refuge in the other strongholds of Skyrim, but the giants found them first. Over time, more and more Orcs died—until finally, Largashbur became what you see today—a shadow of the old days."
"Hell of a way to become the chief of a stronghold," Cosette commented. "Take it from me, sir"—Vinye bit her lip; the way Cosette emphasized that word sounded everything but respectful—"I know what it's like to get shafted by a Daedra Lord. For what it's worth, I'm sorry for what's happened to you."
Vinye did a double take. Was that genuine remorse she was hearing from Cosette, of all people? Or was she trying to save face in front of the Orcs? She kept stealing glances at Borgakh for some reason; the Altmer would never have suspected that such a tough little firebrand could look so terrified.
"I am not the chief of Largashbur," Ugluk said, without addressing Cosette's offer of sympathy. "Not yet. But under these circumstances, I would have to challenge Malacath directly. And one curse is enough—I would not have Largashbur suffer another because of my ambition."
"Well, why not go back to Giants' Grove?" Vinye chimed in. "Ask for Malacath's help again? If he gave you Volendrung, then doesn't that make you his champion? Surely that would give you some favor with him. You could end the curse, become chief of this stronghold, and have it restored to its glory days."
Ugluk's red eyes narrowed. "How do you know of Volendrung?" he asked suspiciously.
Vinye's smile vanished as suddenly as a candle being snuffed out, and she cursed herself for her slip of the tongue. But her fear soon subsided—it was only fair she tell the truth. "We're searching for Dwarven relics," she explained, choosing her words carefully. "We were hoping to find Volendrung, and take it back to our College so we could study it for a time." She did not relish having to invent that last part, but it sounded more appealing than telling Ugluk about what little the College knew of their competition.
Ugluk growled. "Mages, hmm?"
He was silent for a long while, and for a while Vinye wondered if she'd said the wrong thing. Her eyes flitted from Ugluk to the array of weaponry around Largashbur. The brutal, serrated edges that they all had in common looked like they could rip through a dragon with ease. In fact, Vinye doubted the Orc even needed those weapons to kill her; that spiked armor looked so solidly built that a single punch from him would likely work just as effectively.
Finally, Ugluk stood up from his seat. "All right. I don't much like this idea, but it's as good a one as I can think of." He turned to Borgakh. "I'm heading to Fallowstone Cave. I'll need to pack heavy."
Borgakh nodded wordlessly, and disappeared down a nearby trapdoor. She returned a minute later with several small sacks in one hand, and only the second biggest hammer that Vinye had seen tonight in the other. This last was slung over her shoulder, and glowed with a fiery red-and-violet color. Vinye could see faintly glowing Daedric runes carved into the handle of the hammer, and cast a questioning glance at Malys, hoping she could translate them.
The vampire frowned as her eyes scanned the weapon. "'Cast by the God-King's hands, and in the God-King's eyes, ye free.'" She shook her head in confusion. "I have no idea what that means."
Ugluk had heard her. "This is not my hammer," he said simply, as he accepted the hammer from Borgakh. "It was made for one purpose, and only one—to kill in the name of Malacath without fear of consequence."
He retrieved Volendrung from its plaque, and, in yet another testament to the Orsimer physique, slung both hammers over his back. "Fallowstone Cave is the only way into Giants' Grove," Ugluk explained. "Before the curse struck Largashbur, it was a rite of passage for those who wished to be chief of the stronghold. Anyone who came out alive gained Malacath's favor, and he would then be free to make his challenge to the old chief."
"Is that what you're going to do?" Cosette asked. "Are you going to challenge Malacath to end your curse?"
"Not exactly." Ugluk strapped the two sacks to the chain over his waist that served as a belt. "Malacath favors the strong. I will prove myself worthy of him by slaying the giants there, but I may need your help."
Vinye blinked, certain she'd misheard the Orc. "What do you need us to do?"
"Make sure I get there in one piece," Ugluk grunted bluntly.
Vinye couldn't help but feel a tiny prickle up her spine. That sounded too good to be true—Ugluk looked like he could take on all the giants in Tamriel and still emerge the victor. Was there something he wasn't telling them?
"What happens if Malacath doesn't listen to you?" she asked. "Are you going to keep on defending Largashbur?"
Ugluk sighed. "No," he said after a very long while. "If he refuses to lift the curse, then Largashbur is lost. Borgakh and I will go to another stronghold, and we will do what we can there."
Vinye considered this. "All right," she said. "We'll get you as far as this shrine. Our price … will be Volendrung."
Borgakh made a harsh noise in her throat. "You go too far!" she growled. "A Daedric artifact is not some simple bargaining chip!" She drew her dual swords in a flash. "I would slay you right now for your words!"
Suddenly, Cosette's Forsworn blades had appeared in both her hands as well, and Vinye's own hand flew to her dagger, Kinsbane. The Breton growled as threateningly as she could at Borgakh—which might have been intimidating in any other situation.
But Ugluk was shaking his head and chuckling darkly to himself, earning a strange look from everyone inside. "I'm turning into a pragmatist," he said, as if Vinye's offer was the punch line to some off-color joke. "All I want is to see this stronghold restored again. Whatever happens to me in the process is irrelevant."
He straightened. "All right. I will give you Volendrung—if and only if Malacath should reject me," he added with a thin smile.
Vinye inwardly cursed at this, but she knew that was likely as far as her skills at negotiation would get her. "Deal."
And so, Ugluk turned to Borgakh. Each grasped the other's pauldrons tightly; they did not speak, and Vinye suspected they didn't even need to—this was a couple who had been through so much together, that they no longer needed words to show their love for one another.
"Let's go," Ugluk said brusquely, showing the mages out and following after them.
"Are you insane?" Cosette whispered to Vinye, once they'd left the longhouse. "How are we going to get Volendrung now?! There's no way Malacath won't say no to an Orc like that!"
Vinye couldn't help but agree. Even now, she wasn't sure if she'd made the right decision. But it least it would buy her some time to make a contingency plan.
"Follow me," Ugluk told them impatiently. "We will catch the giants by surprise while the night is still young."
And without further ado, he launched himself eastward with the speed of a berserk dragon—leaving Vinye and the mages slack-jawed behind him before sprinting after him.
By the time they arrived at Fallowstone Cave some hours later, Vinye was cursing her elfin body with every step. High elves were made to excel in the magickal arts—not in something so rough as cross-country running. A thousand stitches tore through her torso, and her mouth was very dry even after taking her umpteenth drink of water.
Cosette looked much less winded during the journey, though her fatigue was still noticeable—Vinye suspected all the time she'd spent in Cidhna Mine had toughened her up in more ways than her attitude. Malys hadn't appeared very tired at all—although Vinye could see she was making a great show of acting like she was out of breath, she also had a feeling that vampires rarely got tired, if they ever did at all. It probably helped that they'd elected to run at nighttime as well—any other time of day, and Malys would be much worse off than she was.
Meanwhile, even with the massive Volendrung slung over his back—alongside his own heavy hammer as well—Ugluk had barely even broken a sweat; whether it was because of his enchanted armor or his physique, Vinye wasn't sure. Whatever the case, he'd even taken the time to tell the Altmer a bit about himself as they crossed the Rift under the stars, saying the conversation would help to take her mind off the fatigue of the journey.
Not only had it seemed to work—her condition now could well have been much worse—but Vinye had learned a lot along the way, too. Ugluk was the son of a blacksmith in the Imperial Legion, who had served in the Battle of the Red Ring thirty years ago with such distinction that he'd been elevated straight to the rank of Quaestor by Emperor Titus Mede II himself. His father's knowledge of the fire and forge had made the legionnaires' weapons stronger than even the moonstone and malachite crafts of the Thalmor troops. After the commendation, Ugluk's father had retired a hero in Cyrodiil, where he proceeded to instruct his son in the ways of the forge as soon as he could walk.
The Orc had an equally interesting story to tell of his mother, too; she was descended from an enchanter with the Mages' Guild of Orsinium. In fact, Ugluk had claimed, the same Daedric hammer he carried alongside Volendrung was the same one her ancestor had used to slay the famous Orc necromancer Ulliceta gra-Kogg, and had been a family heirloom since. And like his father, Ugluk's mother had similarly taught him her own tools of the trade.
After that, Vinye had put two and two together. "You're telling me you made those weapons in Largashbur all by yourself?" she had said incredulously, as they sprinted past a half-collapsed fort not long before passing the north gates of Riften. "Smelted and enchanted it from scratch?"
Ugluk had nodded. "I was a traveling merchant in Hammerfell before I came to Skyrim," he'd explained. "People would come to me for weapons, armor and jewelry, and I would make them. This is my best work yet," he had added with a hint of smugness, indicating his own enchanted Daedric armor.
Even now, as they stood outside the yawning entrance to Fallowstone Cave, Vinye was impressed at Ugluk's talents. Perhaps if Malacath refused his challenge, she thought, Ugluk could come to Winterhold and study there. The chances were if he knew that much about enchanting, he could even be an instructor.
Ugluk stepped first into the cave. "There's giants here, all right," he said. "They mark their territory so people don't get funny ideas." He indicated a crude series of pictograms scored into the rock walls. "There's a good deal of them here, too," he added. "At least three, probably four."
He turned to the mages. "I'll take point, and you lot give me covering fire. You don't bring down a giant on your own—I didn't make this armor just to show it off."
And with that, the group set off into the cave, and they were quickly swallowed by ink-black darkness.
As they meandered through the fissure, Mistress Malys had to wonder how giants, of all creatures, would be able to squeeze their way into a passage like this. The rock walls were barely a meter wide, and barely twice as tall as She was—a giant would have to be bent double just to make it through.
ugluk turned a corner, and the tunnel suddenly opened up into a massive cavern that could have easily housed the entirety of the College within its rock walls. It even seemed to have its own climate, too; the loud rushing noise of a massive waterfall echoed in Her ears, and at the far end of the cavern were several trees.
She heard an appreciative whistle from cosette. "Don't see that every day," she commented on the scenery.
The bones of dozens of creatures—wolves, bears and even sabercats—littered the area. And as a gleam of soft orange light caught Her eye, Malys saw what must have been the reason for them all: a giant, bigger than the centurions She'd fought in that nameless ruin, was silhouetted in front of an equally enormous campfire. It was clad in furs and bones, and the skull of a troll decorated its waist. She could see a huge club in its hand—and if the firelight wasn't playing tricks on Her vampiric sight, it looked like a broken stalactite.
She grimaced. If that hits Me, it's going to hurt.
"There's some high ground over there." cosette pointed to a crag overlooking the cavern. "we can get his attention from there."
vinye shook her head. "That's too far away," she said. "my lightning will break up over that distance."
"Tough," said the breton. "i'm still feeling that giant's club on my face. i don't want this one anywhere near the rest of me."
Malys studied the crag, looking from there to the giant and back again. An idea was taking shape in Her mind. "Let Me try," She said, making Her way to the overlook.
She crouched down on one knee, and scanned the area below. The giant was crouched before the immense fire in front of him. Several skeevers were impaled on roasting spits over the flames, and he was dutifully turning one of them. She therefore began charging up an ice spike, before the giant had another chance to move.
Malys manipulated the spike differently than She'd previously done with Her ice magic; a random memory had surfaced in her head, from when She was very young—a trader in the Suran marketplace had been selling strange arrows that twisted and warped along their lengths. The trader had claimed this spiral-style arrow made it fly farther, and demonstrated the craft by shooting one of the arrows from his bow. The arrow flew so far that it disappeared from her sight, and a short journey later saw it lodged on the flagpole in front of the town temple. The guards had been so impressed with that feat of archery that they let the trader off with a mere warning.
As Malys concentrated more ice magic in Her fingers, She siphoned off a little from the crystal that was taking shape in Her hand. Slowly, She rotated her hand, keeping the sliver of ice perfectly still, scoring tiny, curved grooves in the surface. Finally, She concentrated as much magic as she could into the front of the crystal, tapering off the ice spike to a very long, razor-thin point.
Let's see how he can take this, She thought—and fired.
There was a flash of blue light as the icy spear streaked from her palm. The magickally-created grooves in the construct increased both its speed and its accuracy, and Malys instinctively knew her aim was straight and true. She watched as the modified missile enough pierced through the giant's tough skin and right into his lower back, and gave a silent cheer.
But it had not been enough—although if nothing else, they'd certainly gotten the giant's attention now. The behemoth immediately leapt up from the spitted skeevers and roared in agitation, searching for the source of the annoyance digging into his spine. A second, much closer bellow answered him, and Malys turned round in surprise just in time to see ugluk's armored bulk disappear over the waterfall, Volendrung and all, and drop like a lead weight. There was a heavy splash from below one moment later.
A moment after that, the mages saw a black-and-red form emerge from the water and launch, like an arrow from a bow. ugluk shoulder-checked the giant with a meaty thud that Malys could hear from where She was, and cringed. But the impact cost ugluk a lot of his momentum; the giant had only stumbled, and even now was rearing back to strike the orc with its heavy stone club.
ugluk was ready. he held Volendrung high, and the sturdy handle met the jagged rock with an audible clang. But the giant was still not discouraged, and continued whaling away at the orc.
Malys' opening shot had taxed Her greatly—She had neither the time nor the reserves to support ugluk and get him back on the offensive. "Cosette!" She cried.
The breton was already strafing the area around the campfire with one firebolt after another. Several came narrowly close to missing ugluk, but an equal amount also impacted the giant with enough force to distract him from his assault.
That was ugluk's cue. he lunged up with a grunt, and swung Volendrung with a mighty heave, and the Oblivion-forged artifact hit the giant square in the chest. There was a clap of thunder, and Mistress Malys watched in undisguised shock as the giant was propelled away from ugluk with the speed of a rock from Red Mountain's eruption. He flew straight through his campfire, scattering lit logs and half-eaten skeevers everywhere, and smacked into a rock wall with enough speed to spread cracks through the stone.
Yet the giant—incredibly—was still alive. But he was only just; that blow from Volendrung had been very severe indeed—perhaps even mortal. ugluk was not taking chances, though; as the giant stumbled to his feet, the orc reached for his other hammer—the one that had been passed down from his mother—and smashed it right into the giant's face with a roar. Blood pooled from his crushed skull, and the giant toppled to the ground.
Suddenly, the giant began to glow with a bright purple fire that rapidly spread over his body and leapt into the air. The flames then whirled around like a cyclone, and were sucked back into the hammer as quickly as they'd erupted. Malys thought She could hear one final roar in the air, and She trembled in spite of Herself.
A soul trap, She realized. That hammer was enchanted with a soul trap—and if those flames had acted the way they did, then ugluk must have a gem to contain the giant's essence somewhere on his person. Sure enough, the orc pulled out a bright blue crystal from one of the sacks borgakh had given him, and he touched it to the Daedric hammer. Both objects glowed briefly, then the crystal fragmented in his fingers and fell silently to the ground.
vinye came up behind her; the altmer sounded just as awestruck as She was. "Is that what happened to ulliceta?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice. "Is that how she was killed?"
"Yes," ugluk said simply. "Her soul was trapped, and used as fuel for the hammer's soul trap, so the stories went. She was given a fitting death for her crimes."
Malys shuddered as She recalled the runes engraved on the hammer. Cast by the god-king's hands, and in the god-king's eyes, ye free. Trapping the soul of any fellow man or mer was a capital offense in Tamriel—and ugluk had recalled this ulliceta's fate without any trace of guilt whatsoever. Her thoughts went to the necromancer malkoran, imprisoned in that black soul gem of lucius', and how She had destroyed it, and his soul, without a second thought.
Was ugluk like lucius? She wondered—someone who was willing to kill in a Daedra's name? How many other people had he killed with that hammer? How many souls had he trapped—and how many others in Tamriel had been swayed by the power of the Daedra?
Her eyes flitted towards Volendrung, and She recalled how easily it had treated that giant like a pitiful rag doll. If it could do that to something so big … what would that hammer do to Me?
She shivered again as the group continued on.
Only minutes later, the cave abruptly opened into a snow-covered expanse. They could dimly see mountains all around them in the night sky, and the grove echoed with the scream of the wind. It was incredibly cold.
A grisly sight greeted them as they rounded a corner: dozens of Orc skeletons were littered around a gigantic statue of a figure that could only be Malacath; the sheer size of the sculpture, coupled with the Orc-like appearance of the figure and the enormous claymore he wielded in a killing blow, told Vinye enough about this Daedric Prince.
Slightly less impressive in stature were the three giants between them and Malacath's likeness; they were mere forms of shadow thanks to the massive campfire they were gathered around, but their presence was still unmistakable. The biggest giant of the lot was about a head and a half taller than any giant they'd yet seen. But his bare back—he wore only a crude cowhide loincloth—was turned to the group, and close enough to where Vinye could see the ridges of his spinal column. That gave her an idea.
As a child, she had learned from her lessons in Alinor that the human body was controlled by signals from the brain, like tiny little lightning bolts of influence. If these signals were disrupted, then the body was helpless for a time—even the simple act of walking could prove impossible, never mind lifting a sword or firing a bow. And with the right control over her lightning, Vinye had learned to employ it in her numerous encounters with Thalmor troops.
But a giant was still several times larger than an Altmer, and much more resistant as well—which meant she would need to use just the right amount and strike in just the right place to make her attack, or it would fail.
She studied the spine—she would make her first strike there, but where specifically should … There, she thought, the second thoracic vertebra. That ought to have the most effect. She raised her arm, charged a bolt, and fired.
It was a small bolt, and not very damaging, but it was far brighter than any bolt she'd yet produced in her brief time at Winterhold—and if the giant's very loud reaction as it hit his spine was any indication, it was painful to match. His body briefly glowed bright blue, and he moved to attack—only to have his arm jerk about, flinging his club to the far side of the cave, where it flattened a nearby bush. He bellowed in confusion—and his leg fell out from under him, jerking about as though it had a mind of its own.
She could feel three pairs of eyes looking back at her in bewilderment. "That lightning bolt scrambled his nervous system," she explained. "As far as he's concerned, his arms are his legs, and his legs are his arms." She smirked. "How's that for getting attention?"
But her gloating fell upon deaf ears; the others had wasted no time in setting upon the subdued giant. Vinye got over her annoyance at being ignored quickly, however, and a few more disruptive lightning bolts on her part ensured that Ugluk had a clear path again. Down the giant went, and the soul trap on Ugluk's ancestral hammer ensnared yet another victim.
The other two giants charged forward—but Ugluk didn't seem to care. To him, they were merely more enemies to slay in battle—obstacles blocking his audience with Malacath. He ran out to meet them, hammer in hands, shouting battle cries all the while. Volendrung swung once—and one of the giants sailed out of sight with another thunderclap, disappearing over the misty mountaintops within a matter of seconds.
Vinye, Cosette, and Malys were already hard at work on the second giant; they were spaced out evenly, neither of them letting up in their siege upon the behemoth. The giant's primitive brain was too confused by this united assault—he could not figure out which one of the mages to attack first. He growled in agitation—which quickly turned into a gurgle as Ugluk swung his ancestral hammer spike-first into the giant's throat. The soul trap activated before the giant had hit the ground.
The four figures surveyed the scene around them. Thinking of something Ugluk had said earlier that night, Vinye asked, "This chief—Yamarz, was it?—did he die here, too?"
"Yes," said Ugluk, as he walked to the statue of Malacath, unhooking Volendrung from his back. "I burned him with his armor until nothing was left of either. Yamarz was a fool—but he was still an Orc, and a worthy kill. He deserved some measure of honor in spite of all his folly."
"So what now?" Cosette trotted up alongside him. "Now that all the giants are dead, is that the end of it?"
"That was just the easy part," Ugluk grimaced. "Now that I have slain the giants in this place, I will prove myself to Malacath, and ask for the restoration of Largashbur. The petition is not what most civilized people would call 'clean'; therefore, I ask that you stand back."
The mages frowned at this in confusion, but they eventually took several steps backward as they watched Ugluk begin his ritual.
First, the Orc laid the blood-soaked Volendrung at the foot of the statue with the utmost reverence. Then, he reached into more of the sacks Borgakh had given him; from one, he pulled out a foul-smelling mass of off-white mush—troll fat, the mages recognized; it was commonly used in potions that protected against poison. From the other, Ugluk produced a crimson-glowing heart: the fresh heart of a Daedra, Vinye knew. Those were incredibly rare, and were the main reason why Daedric artifacts, both forged and otherwise, were as powerful and prized as they were.
Ugluk laid the fat in front of Volendrung, and carefully nestled the heart inside it. Then, he stepped back, and with a mighty bellow, swung his ancestral hammer downward, straight for the heart. The organ was hit head-on, and its contents splattered all over the fat and the stone beyond, mixing the blandly colored mess with vivid red blood. The ritual done, Ugluk took another step backward, and unleashed a deep, guttural roar that seemed to make the very bones of the earth—and all three of the mages besides—tremble with fear.
"I am Ugluk of Largashbur, son of Lurtz gro-Lugburz, and chosen of my God-King!" thundered the Orc, his voice echoing off the mountains surrounding the shrine. "I slew the coward Yamarz, and spilled his blood on these very stones! I destroyed the stronghold of Bag Shubthurz, and took the armor of their traitorous leader as an offering to you, great Malacath!"
Cosette, Vinye, and Malys stood there, rooted to the ground and deaf as posts by the sheer volume of Ugluk's boasting. If that wasn't a challenge worthy of the gods, the Breton decided, she didn't know what was.
"You again?"
If Ugluk ate rocks to develop his gruff voice, thought a thoroughly startled Vinye, then the voice that had just boomed out of nowhere could devour entire boulders. Once she got over the rumbling echoes of Malacath's query, though, she was quick to note how the Daedra Lord sounded almost like a particularly grumpy old man who'd been roused out of bed much too early for his liking. The phrase "waking a sleeping giant" came to mind—an ominous portent, thought the Altmer, but all the more appropriate for the occasion.
"What do you want, Ugluk?" Malacath grumbled. "Speak up while I'm still in a good mood!"
Ugluk took a step forward. "I come to end the curse upon Largashbur!" he shouted. "There are none who remain in your stronghold now. But where they have failed, I have succeeded! I have slain a hundred giants in Largashbur in your name—I have proven myself a worthy warrior in your eyes, great Malacath!"
Vinye's heart pounded as she watched the shouting match unfold. This was it—this was the moment.
Malacath made an unpleasant rumbling noise. "Ugluk … you're an idiot. Did you think that just because Gularzob was killed, that my curse had never been lifted?"
Ugluk's face faded a little in his confusion. "What?"
"I told you that I was willing to give that rabble Yamarz called a tribe a chance to prove themselves!" Malacath spoke with the thinly veiled exasperation of a father telling his young son that two and two did not make five. "Those giants were meant to test Largashbur to see if they would be worthy again, you simpleton! If there aren't any Orcs left in there—well, then I guess they weren't, were they?"
Vinye didn't think it was possible for an Orc to look fearful, but even from this distance, she could see the emotion written all over Ugluk's face. "Then … I have failed?" he asked.
Malacath did not answer him for some time. When he did, his disembodied voice was almost at a reasonable volume, and Vinye heard a touch of what almost sounded like grudging admiration. "I watched you kill Yamarz, Ugluk, and weak though he was, I consider that no small task. I watched you as your hands as you shaped orichalcum and ebony in my name. But while an Orc may judge himself by how weak or strong he is, an Orc chief must judge himself by how weak or strong his tribe is."
There was a pause. "I'm willing to give you one more chance. If you can prove yourself to me, then I will restore Largashbur to be worthy of my name once again—and you will be their new chief."
Ugluk's tattooed face brightened, and he nearly tripped over himself in his haste to reply. "T-thank you, Malacath," he stammered, clearly not expecting this turn of events. "What do I need to do?"
The Altmer wasn't sure if it was a trick of the firelight, but she could almost swear the eyes of Malacath's statue were staring right at her and the elves.
"I don't know why you brought mages here, and I don't really care—I hate mages," Malacath said. "Whatever help they've given you, you don't need them anymore. Kill them all, and we'll talk about Largashbur's future."
The bottom dropped out from Vinye's stomach. Did he just say what I think he said? She looked at Ugluk; the Orc was staring back at them all, and his face was unreadable. He looked almost pleading—in and of itself, an unthinkable expression for an Orc.
"I would have been content with being with my wife and tending to my forge," Ugluk said evenly, but Vinye heard the piteous tone in his voice. "But I have a chance to make things right now. I can restore Largashbur to what it once was now—and more!"
Cosette looked wounded. "Is that what Yamarz told you?" she growled through gritted teeth, inching her hands towards the swords on her back. "Right before he betrayed you like you just did now?!"
"Do not speak that name!" Ugluk spat, his voice harsher than any of them had ever heard it tonight. They backed away; Malys' hands were already covered in icy vapor. "Yamarz cared nothing for the plight of his tribe—only for his own skin!"
Vinye now saw Ugluk reach into one of the sacks, and he produced three large dark crystals from within that made her stomach shrivel. Black soul gems. Sparks leapt up in her hand, and she readied Kinsbane in another; out of the corner of her eye, she could see Cosette bringing her twin blades to bear. Those dark gems in Ugluk's hand proved that he was being serious now—deadly serious.
"These were not for you," Ugluk said, breathing heavily in and out as he pocketed the gems. "Many come to watch me work. Some want to buy. Others want to learn. But some want to take my skills by force—and I show them how I make my treasures from the inside of a soul gem.
"You are different," Ugluk told the mages. "You have played your part, and you are no longer necessary—but without you, I would not be here. I will forge new weapons with your souls—powerful weapons—and I will display them in my longhouse to honor for all time what you have done for me … and for Largashbur."
The Orc unhooked his glowing hammer—the soul trap was at its full strength, and Vinye wondered if perhaps it sensed the essence it was about to imprison inside those gems, where it would rot until they were destroyed on the enchanter's table to fuel some new weapon. That this was his way of "honoring" them did little comfort at all.
But none of them had any time to further ponder the situation; Ugluk raised his hammer aloft, and crouched down, putting all his weight onto his foremost foot.
That was all the warning the mages had before the gigantic Orc charged at them with a roar.