She could not remember the last time her heart had raced so fast.
Nor could she remember the last time she had been so out of breath, so tired, her legs felt like they were weighed down by rock and mud. She dared not look behind her, as she ran, afraid that what might be chasing her would catch up. She had not seen it. Only had she seen Brynjar racing towards her, eyes wide with horror, screaming at her to run.
Screaming at her to not look back.
So, she had done as he had wished. Though, she would not be able to explain why. Perhaps it had been something in his eyes, the fear, or the way he had been so forceful when he told her. All she knew was she had to keep running, whatever was after them, if Brynjar was even still behind her, would surely kill them if they were caught.
She tripped over a loose stone in the path that led up the mountain slope. She did not know where it was going, or how far it went. She was uncertain about a lot of things, and she didn't like it. Not one bit. Curse that Nord for leading her here, on their way to Kynesgrove. It looked like there would soon be only one option.
For her to use magic so old, so forbidden, she dared not even consider it. For she knew, the moment she did, Alduin would sweep down from the skies in a bolt of fire and end her life.
In a mortal body, even the immortal could die.
Her chest seized up on her, but she dared not stop. She knew that she was over working herself. She had not seen much physical restraint before, but neither had she pushed herself so far.
Whatever was following her shrieked. And she fell.
Somewhere along the path, she lost her focus. Her vision blurred beyond the ability to make out shapes, and somewhere she tripped over the edge.
If it wasn't for her quick reflexes, she would have surely fallen to her death. But she spun around just in time, as she fell, to grab hold of the edge of the cliff. She gasped for air, and continuously blinked to try and clear her vision. To hopefully see if there was time to save herself before her pursuer caught up to her. And, she hated to admit it, hoped he had not heard her scream of terror as she had fallen.
However, as she looked back down the path she had just finished running down, she knew she was wrong. Had she turned the corner, she surely could have found somewhere to hide, but because of this simple mistake she was doomed. It had seen her. And it, was a dragonpriest.
Mind you, it was an undead dragonpriest. But a dragonpriest none the less. This scared her, she knew if Brynjar was not directly behind her, he had surely been incapacitated in the very least, if not killed him. Either way, it would be after her next.
"Xarxes backside!" she cursed under her breath as it locked onto her, its eyes glowing with the power it once held in its life. Though it wore a mask, very proudly, she could still see his undead eyes. They stared deep into her soul, and though she could not see his face, she knew he was grinning. "Brynjar!" she screeched out into the mountains, hoping he would hear her, that he had gotten away from this evil creature and could come to her rescue.
Though she knew this would be highly unlikely. After all, he had run from the priest before, which meant he would be unable to kill its old soul. She would have been able to, once upon a time, and perhaps had they combined their current skillset they could have defeated him. But Brynjar did not yet trust her, and had decided to scout on ahead. He 'had a feeling', and though she had one too, she had kept her mouth shut. She knew there were bad omens about, but had thought them to be of the draugr or, at the very least, a hagraven. Nothing as strong as a dragonpriest. Which begged another question, why was a priest so close to Whiterun? There were no significant tombs or dragon mounds near there, as far as she could recall. There was really no reason for it to be there, buried or otherwise.
"Falmer, of skin so fair. Why doth you travel with no escort of significant power?" the priest hissed at her in the dragon tongue. She glared at him, but bit her tongue. Though he spoke, she knew he was baiting her. He was dead, and still held all his power, he would have to kill her before she gave him any information to pass along to the king of shadows.
He stood above her, and she spit at his feet. He hissed again, jumping back in anger, and took his staff in hand, ready to strike. "Such disrespect for one of such power!" he raised his staff and the clouds above them grew dark.
"You'll not last long on this plane of existence. The dragonborn comes. He will destroy Alduin and any who follow him," she spoke back to him, stunning the creature momentarily. "The bringer of the end times will be beaten, bringing in a new era of peace. And there is naught you can do to stop it." She smirked as he starred at her, surely with his mouth agape, but she could not tell for sure.
I nstead of questioning her on this knowledge, he snarled at her. "Foolish mer! None can destroy the great black dragon!"
He raised his staff high and lightning flashed in the sky. The storm around them began to build up, and she could feel the strength of its power. Surely, he thought she must be frightened. Truth be told, she should have been. But, she had a feeling that this was not where she was meant to have her life taken from her. The gods had more in store for her, and would not let her fall so quickly.
His snarl grew into a torturous laugh and his eyes became fierce with his confidence. He felt he was going to succeed in his mission here, and then return to whatever he had been up to beforehand. But, before he had the chance to strike her, though she had closed her eyes expecting to feel his wrath, he was tackled to the ground by Brynjar. He let out a great howl as he pulled his sword from his tunic belt and swung it at the priests face. The mask cracked and the priest fell backwards, lost his footing, and hit the back of his head off a boulder, knocking him out momentarily.
"You alright Falmer?" he said gruffly as he picked her up and placed her down beside him on the cliff.
"If you don't start using my name I won't be," she said as she gritted her teeth and pulled her bow off her back and nocked an arrow into the notch. She pulled back on the string and eyed the priest as he began to stir. "This is going to be difficult, you do realize."
"Aye, I do," he said with a smirk as he held his sword tighter and pulled his shield off his back. "You goin' t'be able to handle it?"
"You'll see," she said as she darted off behind him. He turned to follow her with his gaze, to find out where she was slinking off to, and saw she had climbed the rock wall the priest had fallen against, and was currently using to lift himself up off the ground, holding his balance. Here she sheltered herself between two boulders, ones that hid her perfectly from view. And, with a nod of his head in understanding, he waited for the moment to strike.
She shot her first arrow just as the priest lunged towards Brynjar. He snarled and lost his footing once more, the arrow stuck out from his left shoulder blade, which would cause any mortal being a great deal of pain. However since he was dead he felt next to nothing. He started to turn to face Ilumé but before he got the chance Brynjar struck. He threw his dagger right at the mask, which had already cracked in several places, and it stuck right between the eye slits. Brynjar smirked as Ilumé moved with the shadows of the rocks and fired another arrow at the priest. His snarls grew angrier and angrier with each blow they hit him with.
He was no match for the pair, which both shocked and unnerved the Nord.
"I'll have you both dead before the next sun sets!" the priest shrieked at them, though to the Nord it sounded not much different than a serpents hiss. The undead's voice was muffled by the mask, and his lack of skin covered lips beneath it, so it was difficult for Brynjar to make out much. But Ilumé could hear. Her elven ears could make out every single word spoken in the ancient language of dragons, and it made her blood boil.
"Let us end this Brynjar!" she called out, bringing the priests attention her way. She fired off an arrow into the eye socket of the mask, and once more the priest shrieked. This time, she could both feel and hear its pain. Brynjar could see what she was planning on doing. Though he did not necessarily know why.
Break the mask, they would break his power.
He gripped his ax tighter in his hands and lunged forward, bringing it into contact with the creatures face at the exact same time Ilumé fired off another arrow into the second eye socket before the priest had time to remove the first and attack. He fell backwards shrieking so loud the villagers and farmers in Whiterun would have certainly heard it if the wind had not been directed off towards Falkreath. It was then that Brynjar used the broader end of his ax to knock the remaining arrows even deeper into the mask. It cracked, split, and eventually shattered over the undead's face.
The near empty eye sockets looked up at the Nord, shock and fear evident in what little features the creature still held on its face. For a moment, Brynjar just stood there, unable to do anything. Had the creature more time to recover he certainly would have been cut down right there. But, thankfully, Ilumé was there and she called him back to the planes of Nirn as she raced towards him.
"Quickly! Remove his head! Brynjar!" she could see he was shocked by the sight before him. Knew if he could not move in time, she would certainly not make it to him before the priest could attack. But, luckily the nord was no fool. He pulled his ax back and with one, smooth, arc of his weapon, he decapitated the dragonpriest without further hesitation.
It was over. They were safe. They had won.
"Thank the eight!" she said when she finally reached her companion. Her chest was still sore, and she clutched at it a moment before realizing they had both suffered wounds that would need tending sooner or later.
"Let's get us somewhere safe, set up camp for the night," the Nord said before she could say anything further. He could tell his wounds were not too severe, and aside from looking a little paler than normal, the Falmer seemed fine. She nodded in response and held her cloak tighter around herself. He would have allowed her to follow behind him, but after she stumbled trying to reach him he forced her to lead the way.
He told her to weave around trees, to watch out for the rocks that lay hidden along the pathway so she would not trip. He helped her up some embankments, and as the light grew fainter, any wounds she may have held he grew blind to. It wasn't until she fainted and nearly fell off a cliff that he realized she was not okay and would not make it to the campsite he had hoped to reach before night overtook them.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath as he picked her up and felt the damp patch on her side. "Stupid falmer. Stupid, stupid falmer. By Akatosh if you don't make it through the night I'll kill you myself."
And into the dark edges of the cliffs he took shelter for the night, building a fire and tending to his injured companion. He had hoped she would have been a better fighter, a smarter fighter, than that, and had hidden herself somewhere out of the dragonpriest's line of sight. But it appeared she would be a hindrance to him after all.
He tore off a piece of his shirt to try and mop up some of her blood. By the light of the crescent moon and the fire it was difficult to tell exactly where it was coming from, and he had no water to wash it away with. He tore off another piece and pressed it against her skin, and immediately she awoke. "What in the name of the eight are you doing?" she gasped as she pulled away from him, wincing as she did so. "And where are we?"
"Not far from our attack," he said as he took another piece of clothing and once more tried to tend to her wound. "I 'ave not much to clean it with, but looks to me like a scrape o' some kind."
"Do you have any ale?" she said as she pulled the soaked shirt away from her side, trying very hard not to scream when parts were stuck to her and she had to rip it away. When that was an issue she merely bit down, hard, on her tongue, and closed her eyes to keep the tears at bay. "That will clean it better than any water ever could."
"Aye, I've a bit, bu' not much left," he replied as he finished a swig of the bottle he had slowly been drinking as he had tried to tend to her wound.
"Pass it here, then," she said and held out her hand, waiting for him to give her the bottle he held onto rather tightly.
"Alright, bu' I want you to be careful with it, eh."
Ignoring him, she poured a little bit over the wound, and took in a hissing breath. She examined the wound closely, to the best of her ability, and when finished she placed the cloth back to it, applying some pressure. "Bad luck, it's worse than either of us thought," she said as she took a deep drink of the ale. "I must have cut myself on one of the rocks when I fell off the ledge earlier. Do you have any needles or twine?"
Brynjar looked at her a moment, he thought he had heard her wrong, but when she waited for him to respond without indicating she had misspoke, he nodded slowly. "Aye, a bit o' fishing twine and a patchwork needle for when I've ruined my clothes and no' enough money to buy new."
"Good," she said as she pulled herself closer to the fire. "Then I'm going to need you to close my wound, since I can not see it very well." She lifted her shirt off of her as best as she could and turned her back to him, allowing him to see only the wound at her side and her back. For a moment, the Nord stared at her, uncertain of what to do.
"Are ye mad?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied.
He took a deep breath and leaned in close to her. She poured a little more of the ale over the wound to clean it, then took another drink. He waited a moment, and looked up at her eyes. She nodded once, slowly, and as he let out the breath he pushed the needle through her delicate skin.
That night, all of Skyrim heard the Falmer's screams and wails of pain and torment. Come the morning, all had barely left their beds, and those that had ventured out into the light of day spoke of the ghostly wail that had kept all up the night before.
They referred to it as the Nótt Gráta of the mountain Banshee.
None wandered the night, not even those of the night, for several nights after. Afraid they would not return home, or see the light of day again.