Chapter 41
Marcus had flown in jets before, of course. He'd even flown in smaller, twin-engine prop planes, known as "puddle-jumpers", when traveling between smaller towns that had no major airport close by. And the closest he'd gotten to personal flight had been a summer of hang-gliding off the dunes of Indiana near Lake Michigan.
But he'd been enclosed in a pressurized cabin, or strapped into wings of nylon and tubular aluminum on his back. He had never flown unsecured before, on top of something else moving through the air hundreds of feet above the ground at an alarming speed. On either side of him, the great leathery, scaly wings flapped ponderously to heave Odahviing's bulk into the skies above Skyrim, high enough for the dragon to catch the rising thermals and glide steadily eastward.
Holding on for dear life at first, Marcus soon pried open his eyes and glanced around. Though the world below them seemed stationary, Marcus knew the speed with which the great red dragon flew would quickly eat up the miles. To the south, the Throat of the World loomed, rising even higher than the dragon's flight. In the distance far ahead, a misty purplish-blue smudge on the horizon heralded the presence of the Velothi Mountains that divided Skyrim from its neighboring province of Morrowind.
It was towards that smudge that Odahviing flew now, leaving Dragonsreach and Whiterun behind. Glancing down, Marcus could see a glittering ribbon that was the White River as it flowed northward from Lake Illinalta far to the southwest. Twisting around backward, he squinted against the afternoon sun; Whiterun was fast becoming a speck on the horizon.
"How long will it take us to get there?" Marcus asked, raising his voice against the howl of the wind. He had to shout it at least twice more before Odahviing heard and answered.
"We dov are not as aware of the passing of time as you joore are," the dragon finally called back. "We live within time, and it is all alike to us. But I will have you at the Temple before the sun has set on this day."
Marcus remembered how long it had taken him to travel just from Whiterun to Riften, and he was amazed. A turbo-prop had nothing on Odahviing!
Half an hour later, they were passing over the Aalto Plain, and Marcus could see two more dragons circling lazily below them. One roared out a challenge to Odahviing, but subsided when the huge red firedrake roared back. Odahviing offered no explanation for the incident, and Marcus wasn't sure the dragon would have heard his question anyway. The roaring wind rushing past them made speech difficult, if not downright impossible.
To the east, the Velothi Mountains were looming larger, no longer a smudge on the horizon. Marcus could see the white-capped peaks jagged against the sky; clouds crowned the very tips, and in the valley below, shadows were beginning to gather as the sun sank lower in the western sky. He was feeling cold. Though Odahviing radiated body heat like a furnace, the chill wind at this altitude made Marcus shiver inside his dragon plate armor, despite the protective padding he wore beneath it. The thin air didn't help either, as he constantly seemed to be gasping to take a full breath. He didn't think Odahviing would cooperate if he asked him to fly at a lower altitude. He was here on sufferance, after all.
Eventually, however, Marcus noticed they were descending, circling around a peak he recognized as Northwind Summit on the southernmost edge of the Aalto.
"Problem?" he asked, as the wind subsided enough to make himself heard.
"I require rest," Odahviing said shortly. "It has been long since I have flown the skies of Keizal. This last part of the journey will require achieving lot lokom…great heights…to reach the Temple. I would recover my strength first."
"Sounds good to me," Marcus agreed. "I could use a good stretch of my legs."
No dragon challenged Odahviing's right to land. Apparently, none had claimed this area since Marcus had killed its previous resident. He walked rather unsteadily over to the curved Word Wall, now silent. At least it offered some shelter from the wind, which was more than the rickety shacks still standing would have done. He strode back and forth, stamping his feet and beating his arms, downing one of his stamina potions. As the icy, minty fluid slid down his throat, he felt the tingling sense of renewal course through him.
"Why do you do this?" Odahviing asked, curious in spite of himself.
Marcus grimaced. "I don't have an internal combustion engine inside of me like you do," he said, quirking a grin. "I get cold easily."
"I do not know what this enn jenn is of which you speak," the dragon mused, "but why do you not start a fire to keep yourself warm?"
"I didn't think I had the time to do that," Marcus said. "I figured you'd want to get going again once you've rested." Starting a fire with flint and steel, he had found out, was much more time-consuming than movies made it out to be.
Odahviing rumbled deep in his chest, and it sounded to Marcus like mocking laughter. "I thought you were the Dovahkiin," the dragon jibed. "Can you not breathe fire, as the dov do?" The great, scaly head turned to one side, toward a pile of rocks nearby, as a gout of fire spewed forth.
"YOL!"
Instantly the scorched stones radiated heat from the dragon's blast.
"Faad, Dovahkiin," Odahviing chuckled smugly. "A gift of warmth from me to you."
Marcus felt his face grow hot with humiliation. Why hadn't he thought of this? Because you're not a dragon, he told himself. It's like Odahviing said earlier. I might wear the bones of his brothers, but I'm not a dragon.
But Tamsyn's words came back to him: "You're the Dragonborn. You're the Chosen of Akatosh. Never forget that."
"Thank you," he told his companion now, with as much grace as he could muster. He'd be damned if he was going to let Odahviing intimidate him. He stepped closer to take advantage of the heat before the stones cooled. "My grandmother used to tell me that the day was never wasted if I learned something new."
"What is a – grandmother?" Odahviing asked. Marcus was beginning to realize that curiosity was one trait the dragon had in spades.
"She was the mother of my mother," he explained. "I'm sure you know we mortals have ancestors."
"Indeed," the dragon mused. "But I never paid much attention before to fronkenlik joore…mortal generations. When our servants grew old and died, they were replaced. They seemed to set great store by their lineage, but the concept is a difficult one for the dov, who are immortal, to comprehend. Mu dreh ni mindoraan."
"My grandmother was a talented woman, and very smart," Marcus said fondly. "She used to create the most amazing paintings. She was very successful in her field."
"You speak of her as though she is no longer living."
"She's not," Marcus admitted, a bit sadly. "It was a long time ago. I was very young when she died. But I remember her, and I miss her still."
"Mortals are strange," Odahviing commented, then shook himself out. "I am rested now, Dovahkiin. Let us continue our journey."
Reluctantly, Marcus left the residual warmth of the heated stones and climbed back onto Odahviing's neck. In a few moments, they were airborne again and headed east once more. It was perhaps a half hour later that Marcus realized they were climbing. The mountains were now looming very large in front of them, and they were far below the tree line, where the vegetation ended and the snow began.
"Look beyond my right wingtip, Dovahkiin," Odahviing called, climbing northward. "You can see the Temple perched on the side of the strunmah from here."
Marcus peered, and indeed, standing amid the grays and whites of the mountainside were regular, angular, man-made lines, outlining towers, spires and archways. Surprisingly, even at this altitude, there were spots of greenery within the walls of the Temple complex. Marcus shouted out his curiosity about it to Odahviing, who answered, "Heat from within the mountain allows for the trees and grasses to grow."
Several minutes later, they set down on an ancient dragon mound, outside the Temple walls.
"This is as far as I can take you, Dovahkiin," the great dragon said as Marcus slid off his neck. "Krif voth ahkrin. I will look for your return…or Alduin's."
With that, the huge wings pulled the dragon back into the air. Circling once around the outer edge of the Temple grounds, Odahviing turned west and disappeared into the gathering gloom of evening.
Marcus took several moments, standing there on the dragon mound, to survey the Temple grounds as well as he could from his vantage point. Directly in front of him was some sort of squared-off stone archway at one end of a bridge which crossed a small lake. To his left, a waterfall thundered into the lake; run-off from the glaciers higher up in the peaks. If Odahviing was correct, and the land in this area was geothermic, it was undoubtedly volcanic action that kept the ground warm enough to melt the snow and ice and encourage the trees and shrubs in this alpine valley to grow.
At the far end of the bridge, another stone archway gave onto a cobbled path that led along a cliff that rose up at least a hundred feet to crumbled buildings farther into the complex, which must be the Temple proper. To his right, Marcus could see the rest of the lake, fed by another small waterfall. There appeared to be no spill-over, yet the sandy beaches on both sides of the water indicated the level seldom changed.
There's probably some kind of underwater crevice that drains the water away, he thought.
The sun behind him told him he was facing east, and at the far southern end of the lake, rising above it, Marcus could see some kind of blockish building with an entrance at ground level and two portals about halfway up. The plaza-like area in front of it was patrolled by draugr Deathlords. He recognized their horned helmets. The plaza included two flights of steps leading down to the lake, but otherwise was open, with a precipitous drop to the beach for the unwary. To the east, past the south tower, Marcus saw another flight of steps leading up to a double-archway. More draugr prowled the walls, and as Marcus turned his attention back to the bridge, he noticed two more flanking the archway at the opposite end of the bridge.
In addition to the draugr, Marcus caught sight of a dragon perched on the Temple wall above. He wouldn't have seen it at all, as it blended in with the stone so well, except it stretched its neck and shook out its wings.
Tamsyn had warned him it wouldn't be easy, and Marcus took a deep breath. He had never been very good at stealth, but now he had to try. Pulling the elven bow off his back, he nocked one of his glass arrows, preferring to save his few remaining ebony ones for the Big Guy himself. He only hoped he could pick off the two closer draugr without alerting the ones in the plaza, or the dragon just a stone's throw beyond.
The first shot went wide as the draugr suddenly, as if having developed a sixth sense, stepped to one side just as Marcus let fly. The Dragonborn cursed under his breath and slipped behind the column of the archway to avoid being seen. But the barking cough the draugr gave told him it was probably too late. The shuffling tread grew louder as the undead made its way across the bridge, investigating the source of the missile. Marcus readied his Unrelenting Force and stepped out from behind the stone, only to get skewered with an ice shaft from the second draugr who had come up behind the first.
Why hadn't he heard the other one coming? Damned waterfall!
Gritting his teeth, he barely blocked the Warhammer with his bow as it descended, the draugr obviously intending to crush his skull and anything contained therein. Marcus heard a warping sound behind him and realized the spell-casting draugr had summoned something, and if the icy blast that blew past him was any indication, it was probably a frost atronach. Cursing again, Marcus ducked under a swing from the atronach's glacial fist and came up behind it, releasing his Unrelenting Force.
The two draugr were blown over and lay on the bridge for a moment, struggling to get to their feet. That left the Atronach as the immediate problem, and Marcus dodged again as he hitched the bow back onto its sling and drew the Sanguine Rose. Pointing it at the other two enemies, still getting to their feet, he focused all his concentration into the thought, "GO!"
To his amazement, it actually worked! Another warping sound filled the air, and a massive, muscular figure armored in red and black stepped through.
"I smell weakness!" the Dremora Kynreeve growled in anticipation, and immediately went for the two draugr.
"Skuldafn fen kos dinok!"
The booming roar from overhead was no draugr, and Marcus spared a glance upward just in time to see a large bronze dragon inhale. There was no time to react.
"YOL TOOR SHUL!"
What little grass existed around him was immediately crisped, and the atronach was reduced to a damp spot on the stones – the only good thing to come from the dragon's attack. Whatever exposed skin Marcus still had between his gauntlets and the sleeves of his armor blistered immediately, and he hissed in pain. His throat was too raw to Shout again, and the dragon flew out over the plaza to come around for another attack. Marcus prayed it wouldn't bring the Deathlords with it. He was having enough trouble as it was.
"I honor my lord – by destroying you!" the Dremora yelled, bringing its two-handed sword crashing down on the first draugr, splitting its skull. The unholy blue light went out of its eyes, and the summoned daedra turned its attention to the second undead. Marcus couldn't spare further attention, however, as the dragon was back. Unfortunately, it brought a friend along for the ride.
"Skuldafn fen kos dinok!" both dragons roared.
Marcus knew dinok meant "death". He didn't need a translation to figure out the rest of it.
A gagging sound behind him told him the Dremora had expired – one way or the other – and he was on his own once more.
One dragon – the bronze one – belched out a column of fire. The second one launched a stream of frost at him as white as its scaly hide. He managed to dodge the fire breath, but the frost caught him in the back, and literally sent chills up and down his spine. The Sanguine Rose dropped from nerveless fingers, and he couldn't take the time to see where it landed.
Shuddering, he turned to locate the draugr while the dragons flew off to coordinate another strafing run. The scourge was over by the archway, down on one knee. Drawing his sword and sprinting, Marcus made it over to the creature just as it got to its feet. His momentum carried him through and past the draugr as he lopped its head off with the dragonbone sword and ended up halfway through the arch. He paused to take a breath and peered out to see where the dragons had gone.
The white one had flown out over the Temple area, while the bronze one was out of his line of sight. That made him nervous. Marcus turned back to the dragon mound just in time to see the bronze dragon landing on top of it.
Crap!
"YOL TOOR SHUL!"
There was no place to go to avoid the attack. Marcus bore the brunt of the Fire Breath, and while the amulet Tamsyn had given him helped, it still hurt. He had no time to rummage through his pack for a potion, however. The dragon looked like it was winding up for an encore performance. But his throat eased suddenly, and he knew he could Shout again.
"JOOR ZAH FRUL!"
The Dragonrend caught the bronze dragon full in the face, and it choked on its own Shout. Before it could have time to react, Marcus leaped forward with both swords drawn. Avoiding the snapping jaws, he swung and thrust with precision at the weakest points on the dragon: the joints of the wings, the underbelly and the soft spot just under its jaw. In desperation, the dragon attempted to get airborne, but Dragonrend held it in its death thrall, and all it could do was shuffle aside to try and avoid the perilous bite of Dragonbane and the sword made from the bones of its brothers.
The deadly flap of wings alerted Marcus that he was still in a very exposed position.
"FO KRAH DIIN!" the white dragon Shouted, catching not only Marcus, but the bronze dragon as well with its frost breath.
"Hefhah!" the bronze dragon snarled at the white one. "Lingraav fos hi dreh!"
"Fey tir do dii ven, wuth sein gein," the white dragon sneered.
The bronze dragon flared the spikes along its neck ridge and cried out, "Fod Zu'u los drehlaan voth mok, Zu'u fen krii hi!"
Marcus had no idea what they were saying, but clearly there was no love lost between the two. It didn't matter. He could see Dragonrend was nearly spent. He Shouted again to keep the bronze dragon grounded. Perhaps he could keep this one between himself and the white dragon, at least until he could kill the former and could concentrate on the latter. He was profoundly grateful the other draugr Deathlords had yet to investigate what was keeping the dragons so preoccupied.
As the white dragon circled around for another strafing run, Marcus continued to whittle away at the one grounded in front of him. When the next frost breath came, he was ready, and leaped to one side, away from the bronze. The icy blast caught the firedrake in the side, and a great shudder went through it. A final blow from Marcus stilled it forever, and the soul poured forth. It was the matter of a heartbeat for Marcus to unlock haal, "hand", which he intuitively knew to be part of the Disarm Shout.
He had no time to rest, however. The white dragon was coming around again for another attack, and Marcus hit it with a glancing blow of Dragonrend, as it swept past. The frost breath chilled him once more, but the dragon didn't land on the mound. Instead, it clawed its way back up into the air to land beyond the wall of the Temple, out of Marcus' line of sight.
"Dammit!" he muttered. He didn't want to have to chase the damn thing down; not with draugr Deathlords between him and the dragon. There was no help for it, however. He couldn't stop Alduin until he could get to the portal, and from the looks of the column of eerie light streaming from the top of the ruins, he had a long way to go before he could get there.
One thing at a time, Dragonborn, he told himself. He quickly rummaged in his pack for healing and stamina potions and swilled them down, then looked around for the Sanguine Rose. He found it at the edge of the cleared area surrounding the mound and picked it up. It was actually pretty handy, he had to admit. Having the Dremora delay the other two draugr gave him a chance to focus on the dragons. Pity it wasn't a permanent summon.
Hefting the staff, Marcus crouched down and crossed the bridge. He knew it wouldn't hide him from the dragon, who already knew he was here. He just hoped he could sneak up on the Deathlords in the plaza before they saw him.
The dragon, apparently, had other ideas, landing suddenly in the middle of the plaza and facing directly toward him through the second archway. Again, a column of frost whirled in his direction, forcing him to break cover to avoid a direct hit. It also alerted the Deathlords.
Sonofabitch! he thought.
He sent Unrelenting Force through the archway, blowing the Deathlords backwards. There were three of them, he could see now; one carried a greatsword made of ebony, another wielded an ebony bow, while the third hefted a battleaxe of the same material that was almost as tall as it was itself. Grimly, Marcus fired off a shot from the Sanguine Rose and quickly switched to his bow. There was no way he'd survive a pitched battle against all three and the dragon unless he could even the odds a bit. The problem was that his elven bow and glass arrows weren't doing enough damage, while the bastard with the ebony bow kept hitting him with arrows that were far more lethal than his. He thanked Akatosh for the dragon plate armor, but the missiles that got through hurt like hell, and he could feel blood trickling down inside his armor where he'd been hit.
The Dremora expired, and Marcus summoned it again, his throat still too raw to Shout again. The dragon strafed him again, slowing him down, and while the Kynreeve finally cut down the Deathlord with the greatsword, the one with the bow kept pegging him while the one with the battleaxe took a deep breath and Shouted.
"FUS RO DAH!"
The world was suddenly topsy-turvy as Marcus hurtled head over heels and slammed into the stone archway. Dazed, he slumped there, desperately trying to keep his vision from blurring and his world from spinning. Pain lanced through him as the battleaxe tore through his armor. He rolled to his right and felt his grip on the Sanguine Rose falter. It clattered away from him, and he heard the echoing rattle it made as it fell down and away from him.
The Dremora raced over and hacked at the Deathlord, giving Marcus a chance to stagger to his feet. With no time to search for a potion, he fired off a simple healing spell, knowing it wasn't enough. The Kynreeve disappeared as the Deathlord cleaved it in two, and Marcus drew his dragonbone sword only just in time to block the battleaxe coming at him on the backswing. There was another blast of frost from the dragon, slowing and weakening him further, but he brought the sword back up and ran it through the Deathlord, who only grunted, though Marcus could see he'd done considerable damage. With muscles that screamed in protest he tried to low kick the undead, to take its legs out from under it, but his enemy seemed to anticipate this move and brought the battleaxe around, cutting deeply into Marcus' leg.
He screamed. The pain was so intense, he saw points of light in his vision. His leg gave out under him and he fell, perilously close to the edge of the plaza. Below him, it was a fifty-foot drop to the edge of the lake. The battleaxe was coming around again, and Marcus fumbled to get his sword up in time. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the archer Deathlord taking aim, releasing another ebony arrow.
This time the pain was followed by a grunt and a wheeze, as Marcus felt the air rush out of his punctured lung.
The archer approached and took a deep breath that Marcus wished he could do right now. "FUS RO DAH!"
There was an other-worldly sensation of floating, as he felt his body lifted up and carried off the plaza, out over the lake. He hit it like a sack of cement and began to sink, unable to help himself. His last conscious thought was of regret at failing all those who had believed in him.
The first thing he felt when awareness returned was pain; not a sharp, stabbing pain, nor even a steady pounding throb. It was more like a dull ache, as if far removed from him. He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed. The darkness around him was absolute. It seemed as though he was inside somewhere, and there was another presence nearby. He froze, trying to still the ragged breathing, which seemed to be the source of the dull ache.
There was a low, quiet murmur, as if someone was speaking to him, but he couldn't make out any words. It was as if his ears had been stuffed with cotton.
How long had he been like this? He couldn't remember. He had no sense of the passage of time. The presence speaking to him now sounded, oddly enough, like a female. That couldn't be right. The only things in this place were either draconian, or dead. The dragons only roared. The dead things only grunted – or Shouted.
He tried to shake his head, but cool, soft hands placed something damp on his brow and he stopped. It felt good. He allowed himself to slip back into the empty embrace of unconsciousness.
The next time Marcus regained consciousness, there was a dim light coming from beyond his closed eyelids. He tried to open them, but someone must have tied them down. He tried to move his hand to pry them open, but someone must have tied that down as well. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a thin wheeze.
It was enough, however, to bring that soft-voiced female presence to his side. He could sense her, feel her gentle touch, and smell the scent of red mountain flowers so tantalizingly close. He knew her!
"Tam…syn…" he managed to whisper.
"Shh!" she breathed. "Hush, my love, I'm here."
Her voice sounded exhausted, and he wondered how long he'd been out.
"How…" he tried again, but once more she quieted him with a finger on his lips.
"There are more draugr around, love," she warned. "Don't try to speak. I'll tell you what I know."
Desperately wanting to see her face, Marcus finally managed to get one eye open. The other refused to obey. In the dim light of one candle, Tamsyn's face looked pale and drawn, as though she hadn't slept in days. Dark circles ringed her eyes, which only made them appear darker in the shadows. Her Master-level robes were torn and stained, and her glorious red hair now appeared unkempt and lank, strands of it coming loose from the braid down her back.
"Kids…" he murmured, and Tamsyn squeezed his hand.
"The children are fine, Marcus, don't worry. Lydia is with them. She was the one who insisted I follow you, if I knew any way to do it." She gave a faint smile. "That woman has the most enormous amount of faith in me."
"How long…have I…been out?" Marcus managed to gasp. Each breath seemed laborious, though the pain wasn't as bad as when the arrow hit. He still couldn't convince his left eye to open.
"At least a week," Tamsyn replied truthfully.
Marcus squeezed his eye shut. If he'd had the energy he would have sat upright and demanded to be allowed to continue his mission, but at the moment he felt so weak he wouldn't have been able to lift a piece of paper, let alone a sword.
"A week?" he moaned softly. "Unconscious…a whole…week?" He could hardly believe it. How had he been kept alive if he could neither eat nor drink?
"No," Tamsyn said tiredly. "You were dead for a day before I could bring you back. You were unconscious for three and delirious until now."
"Dead?" Marcus weakly shook his head. "No. Can't be," he insisted. "Sovngarde…I would…have gone to…Sovngarde."
"I saw you die, Marcus," Tamsyn whispered now, and despite her efforts to remain calm, tears rolled down her cheeks. "I saw you hit the water after the draugr and the dragon finished with you." She paused to take a steadying breath. "I couldn't get to you in time to help you. I killed the draugr and the dragon as quickly as I could; you'd already done so much damage to them, it wasn't as bad as I feared. After that I cleared out the draugr that were in this tower so I could bring you here, to bring you back."
Marcus was still in denial; how could he have been dead? After what had happened to him in Blackreach, he felt certain he would have gone to Sovngarde to fight Alduin there. At the very least, he thought he might have had one more heart-to-heart with Akatosh. Maybe the Dragon God of Time had given up on him, since he'd failed so miserably. The thought depressed him almost as much as the knowledge of how much time he'd already lost.
"You're saying that you…brought me back…to life?" he managed, still trying to wrap his mind around it.
Tamsyn nodded. "It's quite possibly the most difficult and dangerous Restoration spell to do. The first part of it recalls your soul from whatever afterlife you go to, but it takes time. It also takes an enormous amount of energy and magicka to cast. A mage could die trying to attempt it, if they haven't taken proper precautions."
Marcus didn't like where this was leading. "You knew…this would…happen?"
Again, the Breton Arch-Mage nodded. There was a slight hesitation before she continued. "It was one of the futures I looked into that I knew I had to prepare for. Too much is riding on your success to have ignored the possibility."
Marcus was quiet for a long moment. "This is why…you look so tired," he said finally.
Tamsyn shrugged. "It's nothing," she said. "A few potions, and a good night's rest, and I'll be fine. I'm more concerned about you."
"Me? Why?" Marcus asked weakly. "Once you're rested…you can cast…one of your top-notch healing spells…and I should be fine, right…right?" he pressed when she didn't answer.
Tamsyn sighed and shook her head. "One of the drawbacks of this spell is that the person being resurrected has to heal naturally. Magical healing might undo everything I've done to bring you back."
Marcus considered this. "How much longer…will we have to stay here, then?"
"Another two days should do it," Tamsyn replied.
"Two days," Marcus frowned. "And in the meantime…Alduin gets stronger. And we run the risk…of being discovered here." He hated how frail he sounded.
"Not if we're careful," Tamsyn said. "If we stay low, don't use a fire at night and keep out of sight, we should be fine."
It was not the best plan, Marcus knew, but at the moment it was all they could do. He was too weak to fight, and Tamsyn needed to recover from her efforts.
Was I really dead? he asked that inner presence, but there was no response from the Dragon God of Time. When he thought about it, he realized he hadn't had contact from Akatosh since being given the deeper understanding of Odahviing's name. Marcus wondered if it had anything to do with being here on Alduin's home turf, so to speak. In any case, the sooner he recovered, the happier he'd be. And now that Tamsyn was actually here with him—
"Wait a moment," he said slowly. "Just…how did you get here, anyway?" He frowned. "Odahviing told me…the only way to get here was on dragonback."
"That's not entirely true," Tamsyn gave a faint smile. She was too tired to gloat. "He told you that unless you had the wings of a dragon you wouldn't be able to get here. Well, I don't have wings, but neither does Supergirl, and she flies just fine."
Marcus blinked at her. "You flew?" He remembered a conversation they had had on this very subject months ago in Solitude. "You actually made your flying spell work?"
Tamsyn shrugged. "It works better as an enchantment, actually." She held up her hand, sporting a silver ring with a sapphire as blue as a cloudless sky embedded in it. "Applied to a ring or amulet, it became a constant effect. Spells have a nasty tendency to end abruptly."
Marcus shuddered at the thought of her plunging several hundred feet to her death. "So you followed us," he concluded.
"Of course," Tamsyn smiled. "I couldn't fly as fast as Odahviing, but I knew where you were going and just used my Clairvoyance spell to help point me in the right direction. And I flew invisibly most of the way." She gave a tired chuckle. "I didn't want to spook any of the country folk, or start any wild rumors. And I certainly didn't want to tip off the Thalmor!"
Marcus wheezed in amusement for a moment before asking, "Is this tower secure?"
"As well as I can make it," Tamsyn answered. "Why?"
"Because you need to sleep…and I can't protect us right now."
"I'll sleep when you're better," Tamsyn argued.
"You'll sleep now, dearest," he insisted, though his voice was barely above a murmur. "You're just as tired…as I am. Let's bar the door…and tell the neighbors…to keep it down out there."
Tamsyn sighed, too exhausted to argue with him. "Alright. I think I've got enough juice to keep the door barred. I don't think they'll try breaking it down. If they can't get in, they'll probably just move on."
Tamsyn found a large wooden support beam that had fallen to the bottom of the tower at some point in the dim past and cast a Levitate spell on it, wedging it against the door. Marcus couldn't fail to see she was paler than before when she was done.
"Lie down," he ordered her. "Here…next to me. If they come for us…we'll make a last stand. Otherwise, let's just try…to get some sleep."
It was easier done than said; both were asleep almost as soon as Tamsyn blew out the candle.
In the morning, Marcus was relieved when he could open his left eye again. When she awoke, Tamsyn made her way upstairs to make sure the two upper doors were also secured against intrusion before coming downstairs once more. She pulled out some bread and soaked it in some water before giving it to Marcus.
"This is it?" he groused.
"You haven't eaten anything in almost a week, Marcus," Tamsyn said in exasperation. "I managed to get some broth into you as you drifted in and out of consciousness, but if you put real food down there now you're going to be in a world of discomfort later."
Marcus knew she was probably right. "Yes, Ma'am," he said meekly, accepting the soggy bread and doing his best to force the unappetizing mess down his throat.
Tamsyn rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Men!"
For herself, Tamsyn gnawed on a piece of dried beef and another piece of bread – but she didn't soak hers. Calls of nature had to be answered in a corner under the stairs, as they couldn't risk stepping outside during daylight hours in their weakened conditions.
"When it gets dark I'll slip down to the lake and refill our water skins," Tamsyn said.
"I don't like you having to sneak past those Deathlords," Marcus frowned.
"We don't have a choice," Tamsyn said. "We're running low, and you can't make yourself invisible."
Once again, Marcus saw the reasoning behind this, but silently raged in frustration over his traitor body. He had been in the best condition he'd ever been in, in either life, before this. Now he felt as weak as a newborn kitten. He had to admit, however, that after a long, tiresome day of sleeping, he felt a bit stronger than the previous night, and even Tamsyn seemed pleased with his progress.
"One more day should do it, I think," she said. She had just returned from her trip to the lake, and had settled into the crook of his arm. "I didn't see much activity out there, except far to the north where the actual Temple is. Nahkriin is keeping the portal open. I saw the light."
"Nahkriin?"
"The Dragon Priest in charge of this Temple," Tamsyn explained.
"A lich?"
Tamsyn nodded, shuddering at the memory of Morokei. But Marcus didn't seem too upset by this knowledge.
"I can handle that," he said confidently. "Cicero and I took out two while I was possessed."
"Really?" Tamsyn mused quietly. "Did you keep their masks?"
"I think so," Marcus said. "If I didn't, then Cicero has them. Why?"
"No particular reason," she smirked.
I'll bet, he smiled to himself. He knew there had to be some game-related reason for her question, and it didn't bother him as much as it might once have done. He knew now that she would tell him in her own time, if it was something he truly needed to know.
"Is there anything special I need to know about the Temple?" Marcus asked now.
"There are two sections to go through, before we can come out on the upper level," Tamsyn said. "But first we have to get through the courtyard up the stairs east of here. There's at least a dozen more Deathlords beyond the double-arches that lead into that area."
Marcus frowned, and shifted to look at her. "We?"
"You don't think I'm letting you go the rest of the way without my help, do you?" she shot back.
"Tamsyn," Marcus warned, "I don't know if I can protect you—"
"Protect me?" She barely kept her voice from rising. "I'm not asking you to protect me, Marcus Dragonborn!" she scowled. "In case you haven't noticed, I've done a damn good job of looking after myself!"
"I know that, Tamsyn," Marcus soothed. "But I also know that I thought I could look after myself, too. And you can see how well that worked out when I got ganged up on."
Tamsyn subsided.
"I just don't want to lose you," Marcus continued. "You're the best thing to have come into my life since I arrived in Skyrim. If anything happened to you, I don't know how I could bear it. I wouldn't be able to bring you back."
Tamsyn reached up and took his face in her hands. "That's why you need me by your side, Marcus," she smiled. "You won't have to do this alone. We came to Tamriel together – for a reason. We started this together, and by all the gods, we will finish it together!"
For a long moment Marcus stared at the woman he loved. He noticed the lines of strain in her sweet face that resting had not yet erased. He saw the streak of white in the auburn of her hair that hadn't been there before. Bringing him back to life had cost her dearly, and he wished he knew the extent of the toll it had taken on her. But he knew it would be pointless to ask; she would never tell him.
Sighing, he drew her close and wrapped his arms around her. "I love you," he said fervently.
Tamsyn gave a soft chuckle. "I know."
Though Marcus felt stronger the second day after his resurrection – and he was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around that – Tamsyn insisted they wait one more day before venturing out into the Temple ruins. Marcus chafed at the delay, but the Breton girl insisted.
"You're still not fully recovered, yet," she warned. "I don't want any relapses, understand?"
"But I feel fine," he insisted.
"Which clearly means you're anything but," she countered. "One more day won't hurt."
"But Alduin—"
"You've negotiated the peace treaty, right?" Tamsyn interrupted. At his nod she continued, "So no more new souls will be going to Sovngarde anytime soon. It's time that fat lizard went on a diet, anyway."
In spite of himself, Marcus chuckled. While he still worried over the other souls that had already gone to the Nordic afterlife, he couldn't deny the slight tremor in his arm when he picked up his sword to swing it, or nock his bow completely. Tamsyn was right: he was not yet fully recovered.
At least she'd let him eat solid foods today. He never thought venison jerky and dried apples would taste so good.
"Tell me about yourself, Tamsyn," he prompted as they ate. "What were you like as a girl?"
"I've already told you just about everything about me," she demurred. "I said I'd had a wild past."
"I know, but I mean when you were really little?" Marcus asked. "You weren't like that your whole life, were you?"
Tamsyn gave a snort. "Pretty much," she confessed. "I told you I was born in nineteen-forty, right?" At his confirming nod, she continued. "I never really knew much about my father – my real father, that is. His name was Jules-Yves Anois, and he was a legalized French immigrant from somewhere in the Bordeaux region of France, my mother told me. He swept her off her feet and before she knew it, they were in love, got married and had me. Then Hitler invaded Poland in nineteen-thirty-nine, and marched into France the following year, and you know what happened after that."
"So your dad enlisted?"
"Not right away," Tamsyn admitted. "After all, he was a married man with a family, and a naturalized American citizen. He couldn't get involved because America wasn't involved yet, and wouldn't be until nineteen-forty-one. My mother told me it nearly killed him to see what was going on in his native country and be unable to do anything about it."
She paused as if remembering.
"Daddy tried to enlist the day after Pearl Harbor," Tamsyn continued, "but the Army wasn't looking for married men. They wanted young, strong, single guys, and my father was already close to thirty years old."
"So what happened to make them change their mind about taking him?" Marcus asked.
"The war happened, Marcus," Tamsyn said. "After a year of fighting, the U.S. wasn't doing very well, and needed more warm bodies to send 'Over There'. Daddy convinced them he would be an invaluable asset because he was French, and could pass for one of his non-combatant countrymen. He also spoke fluent German and Italian, as well as a few other languages with some degree of proficiency. He kissed me good-bye one morning in nineteen-forty-three; I was just three years old. I never saw him again."
Marcus was quiet for a moment as a shadow passed over Tamsyn's face. Instinct told him she wasn't done with her story yet.
"We received letters from him only rarely. It wasn't easy getting messages in or out of a war zone, you see. Then one day an official letter from the government came. I remember my mother sobbing her heart out as she explained to me that Daddy would not be coming home. She rarely spoke of him after that; I think her heart broke then."
"How did he die?" Marcus asked gently.
Tamsyn shrugged. "That was never very clear. Something about a tank being hit, and my father being in the tank at the time. I found the letter once when I was ten. My mother had remarried by then and packed all of my father's mementoes away . Even though she loved Daddy with all her heart, the truth was that we simply weren't doing well, and my mother couldn't make it on her own with a small baby to support. I remember the letter said his remains had been 'interred' in France so I asked my mother what 'interred' meant, and she got very upset at me when she found out I'd read the letter. I think she was mad because I invaded her privacy. Or maybe she was afraid my step-father might have gotten angry at her for keeping those things."
"I can't imagine why he would have been," Marcus remarked. "It was part of your mother's past. He had to have known she was a war widow."
Tamsyn shrugged. "He did. Randall Crawford was a good man, but I never really appreciated that at the time. In my childish mind, he was keeping my real father from coming back to me."
"Because you never really accepted the fact he was dead?"
Tamsyn gave a wry smile. "Silly, isn't it? I mean, we had an official letter from the government, but I still had this fantasy built up in my head that he hadn't really died, but was maybe lying unconscious in a coma somewhere, or had lost his memory, and someday would wake up and know who he was and come back to me."
"That's a perfectly normal reaction," Marcus said rationally.
"I know," Tamsyn agreed, "but it made me a difficult child to be a step-father to. I resented Randall. I never called him 'Dad', though he wanted me to, for the sake of my half-brother and half-sister. He never pressed the issue, though. He was always very supportive and generous, but I kept him at arm's length because I didn't want to like him, or have him be my father. I wanted my Daddy back."
"Did you ever reconcile with Randall?"
"No," Tamsyn said regretfully. "I should have. The man had the patience of a saint where I was concerned. All the trouble I got myself into; he was always there to bail me out. In point of fact, when I stupidly got myself pregnant with no husband, my mother finally washed her hands of me. It was Randall who took me to the doctor appointments and convinced me to give my baby up for adoption. He made all the arrangements and took care of everything. I really treated him horribly."
Tamsyn looked so unhappy now that Marcus could only put his arms around her. "Well, if our experiences of afterlives are any indication, perhaps Randall now knows why you did the things you did."
Tamsyn gave a faint smile. "I have the feeling that he knew all along; that's why he understood me so well."
On the morning of the third day after Marcus' resurrection, they carefully opened the door of the South Tower and peered out. Marcus tried not to make comparisons to any Christian mythos about emerging from tombs three days after death. He was certainly not Jesus Christ, even if the people of Skyrim viewed him as some kind of Savior.
As long as they don't start any religions based on me, I'm good with that, he thought. One hero ascended to godhood was quite enough for Skyrim.
The plaza seemed clear, except for the bodies of the two draugr Tamsyn had killed, and the massive carcass of the dragon, rotting in the morning sun. It ignited as Marcus approached and the soul spilled forth, allowing him to unlock slen, "flesh". This was part of the Ice Form Shout, he realized, feeling rather more confident that his offensive Shouts were becoming at least as powerful as his defensive ones.
They crept up the stairs together, Tamsyn casting a Muffle spell on them as they climbed. Crouching at the top, they hugged the south wall of the courtyard, searching along the top for the tell-tale horns of the Deathlords.
Marcus glanced around. The only way through the courtyard was an archway on the north side, near the east wall. In the middle of the north wall sprawled a broken-down tower. To its left, a tumble of stones blocked what must once have been another archway through which they might have passed. Looking around, Marcus marveled at the structure, trying to imaging what it must have looked like in its heyday, when priests and acolytes lived and worked here, paying homage to their dragon overlords, and to Alduin in particular.
Tamsyn tapped his shoulder and pointed behind them. Above, on the top of the wall, they could hear the shuffling tread of the Deathlords as they patrolled the perimeter. Tamsyn motioned to the tumble of stones by the north wall.
"We'll be able to get a clearer shot from there," she breathed. He nodded, and led the way across, hugging the wall and creeping past the open archways that led back down to the plaza.
From this new vantage point, Marcus saw two Deathlords on the wall below a flight of steps which led up to a large, flat area dominated by a sacrificial altar, where a third Deathlord peered out over the ruins, the unholy blue glow of its eyes visible even from here.
"Do you have ebony arrows?" Tamsyn muttered.
"Some," he admitted. "Not many, though."
"Here," she said, handing him a small bundle, as well as a bow made of the same material.
"This is your bow, your arrows," he whispered in protest.
She shook her head. "No, they're not. I took them off the dead draugr back there." She gave a jerk of her chin down toward the plaza. "He won't need them anymore."
Marcus would have protested further, but a warning cough from above stilled any further conversation, and they froze. After a few moments, the shuffling steps faded away and they breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Marcus took the ebony bow and paused a moment to admire the craftsmanship. It was much better than the elven bow he had been carrying around for so long now he'd forgotten where he'd picked it up.
"There are only a couple dozen of these arrows," he murmured.
"Then make each one count, Dragonborn," Tamsyn cautioned. He nodded.
Carefully taking aim, he nocked the arrow and pulled the bowstring back. Drawing while crouching was difficult, but not impossible, and Marcus had the distinct feeling he was going to get better at it before they were through here. He let the arrow fly and watched in satisfaction as it hit its mark over thirty yards away. The draugr dropped like a stone and didn't move. It also didn't have time to call out, and as it hit the pavement the other one, twenty feet away, continued on its patrol oblivious to the sudden termination of its cohort.
"Nice shot!" Tamsyn breathed, and Marcus let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The power of this bow ran roughshod over the elven bow. He hated to leave the old one behind, but he couldn't realistically carry two bows. The sling on his back would only hold one. He set the elven bow down reluctantly in a niche between two stones.
"Can you hit the other two?" Tamsyn asked. Marcus didn't reply. He was already lining up his next shot on the second draugr who had crossed the wall closer to their position. Again the bowstring hummed, and again, the Deathlord sank without a sound. But the one at the top of the stairs had grown suspicious, and was now descending to investigate.
"Take him out!" Tamsyn hissed, but Marcus wasn't sure he'd be able to hit unless the draugr moved closer. "What are you waiting for?"
"He's too far away!" Marcus protested quietly. "I'm not the best ranged fighter in the world. I'm Marcus Dragonborn, not Robin Hood!"
Tamsyn snorted in mirth, but held her peace.
When the Deathlord reached the bottom of the steps, Marcus let his arrow fly, but unfortunately, the draugr moved aside at the last moment and the arrow clattered uselessly on the steps behind it.
"Sonofabitch!" Marcus growled, as the Deathlord retreated to investigate. Inching closer to the archway, Marcus tried to get a better advantage, but he lost sight of the draugr beyond the edge of the wall. Muttering under his breath, he retreated to bring the undead back into view, then froze as another cough resounded over their heads. Stealing a glance at Tamsyn, she motioned him to remain where he was, then launched a thunderous bolt of electricity ten feet above him.
The Deathlord on the south wall suddenly stiffened and turned back to them, coughing and growling as it did so.
"FUS RO DAH!" it roared, and Marcus was grateful it was so far away. While the percussion of the Shout rocked him on his feet, he was able to keep his balance. Tamsyn was protected by a large, fallen boulder, he was also grateful to see.
The unfortunate Deathlord on the top of the wall above him, however, was not so lucky. Having been fried by Tamsyn's magical attack, it was now blown off the wall by its fellow undead and they heard the sickening thud as it landed somewhere back on the plaza below them to the west.
Marcus quickly launched another arrow at the draugr, and was gratified to see that it hit this time. But prepared for the attack, the Deathlord was not surprised and suffered only minimal damage. Tamsyn shot a fireball in its direction, involving a wide area in the conflagration – one the draugr couldn't avoid and had little resistance to. It staggered a little, but kept its feet.
From somewhere to the north, they heard the grunts and coughs of other alerted Deathlords. This was not good. He and Tamsyn had only just recovered from the ravages of the last few days. There was no way they could hope to combat even a handful of these powerful draugr.
Tamsyn seemed to be considering the same thing. She launched another fireball in the Deathlord's vicinity and turned to Marcus, not waiting to see if her spell had any effect. "We need to retreat," she said.
"Where?" he demanded, watching the draugr on the south wall topple off to lie still on the courtyard below.
"Back to the south tower," she suggested. "They probably won't leave their posts unless they catch sight of us."
"Then let's make sure they don't catch sight of us," he advised, taking her by the arm and leading her back the way they'd come. It wasn't the best strategy, he knew. In point of fact, if the draugr or the dragons decided to make a thorough search, they would be found. They had no way off the mountain; well, Tamsyn did, with her Ring of Flying. But he knew she would never leave him, even if he ordered her to.
They reached the tower and slipped back inside, Tamsyn barring the door after them. "It won't hold them if they really want to get in," she said. "We'll just have to sit tight for a bit until they lose track of us and forget what they were searching for."
"Does that happen?" Marcus asked drily.
"I can't speak for dragons," Tamsyn admitted. "You would actually know them better than me. But draugr are pretty stupid. They're dead, after all, and in life they were subjugated to the Dragon Priests. They did what they were ordered to do and no more. It follows that in death, they continue to serve. If they've been ordered to patrol and guard a specific area, that's what they'll do."
"How do you know so much about them?" Marcus asked. "Is it the game, again?"
"Not as much as you'd think," Tamsyn smiled. "A former College-trained scholar named Bernadette Bantien wrote a book called Amongst the Draugr that I found fascinating. Personal experiences also helped."
"Personal –" Marcus broke off. "You mean in Labyrinthian?"
"And in Silverdrift Lair, where I found that Word for you."
Marcus stared at her, bemused, for a long moment. While he had been doing his best to live up to the destiny thrust upon him, Tamsyn had not been idle. In her own way, she had been out there, in Skyrim, exploring, growing, and becoming the best mage she could be. It wasn't as if she hadn't already proved just how powerful she was becoming. The Ring of Flying and the Resurrection spell were proof enough of that. But as he thought back, he realized that all along, she had been getting stronger, just as he had been doing. Her Destruction spells had become devastating, her unique way of using her magical knowledge was nothing short of astounding, and her repertoire had become more versatile and complex. Her resourcefulness, where it didn't come from her knowledge of the game, amazed him, and he suddenly felt very humbled.
"I'm beginning to feel very unworthy of you," he smiled sadly.
Immediately she was in his arms, pressing herself against him. "Don't be! Please don't be, Marcus!" she pleaded. "Don't you know you are the one person in all the multiverse that I have ever truly loved, in either of my lifetimes?"
He gave her a genuine smile, then. "I guess I'll have to live up to that, won't I?" He kissed her gently and held her close for a long moment while they waited for the draugr outside to settle down.
"Marcus?" Tamsyn began quietly.
"Mmm?" he murmured, enjoying the feeling of contentment he felt with her in his arms, even in a place as horrific as this.
"Where's my Sanguine Rose?"
Oops.
He held her at arm's length. "I…uh…dropped it," he admitted sheepishly.
"You dropped it." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yeah," he confirmed, chagrined. "Sorry about that. I got hit and—"
"I saw what happened, Marcus," Tamsyn interjected gently, not wanting to relive that moment. It was the worst of either of her lives. "Do you happen to recall where it went?"
Marcus thought back. He remembered getting hit with an ice spike that seized up his muscles, just as the Deathlord in front of him sliced open his leg with the battleaxe. Then the spellcaster had Shouted at him and he knew no more. But he thought he remembered hearing the staff clatter down the precipice at the edge of the plaza.
"I think it may be at the bottom of the lake," he apologized. "I'm sorry. I know you loved that thing, and believe me, it did come in handy. I'm really sorry I lost it."
Tamsyn gave a sigh of exasperation. "Well, I'll just have to go get it, then. Can't be helped. You stay here."
"You're not—"
She held her hand over his mouth and her eyes glittered dangerously. "Yes. I am. Arch-Mage, remember? They won't even see me."
Marcus held his peace as the door opened and Tamsyn crept outside. But he worried and stewed for the entire time she was gone until she re-entered the tower, soaking wet and shivering, but triumphantly clutching the staff.
"G-got it-t!" she grinned through blue lips.
"Jesus Aitch Roosevelt Christ, woman!" Marcus bit out tersely. "Do you want to catch pneumonia?"
"I'll b-b-be f-f-fine," she shivered.
Marcus grimly said nothing, but cast around to find something – anything – with which to wrap her up, but the only thing in this tower resembling anything like cloth were the rolls of linen strips used for embalming.
"All the magic in the world at your command and you couldn't come up with a Water Repel spell?" he muttered.
"I'll w-work on th-that," she scowled. "At-t l-least I g-got th-the staff-f-f back-k."
He made her drink one of his stamina potions, as she had none on her. "M-mages don't n-need stamin-na," she pointed out primly.
They don't need to catch their death of cold, either, Marcus thought sourly. He held her as close as his armor would permit but keenly felt her shivering against him. They couldn't risk a fire, he knew, and she had no change of clothes to warm up in while her Master robes dried.
"You wear the bones of my brothers, but you'll never be a dragon," came the memory unbidden. Of course! Was he the Dragonborn, or wasn't he?
He turned to a sarcophagus, standing upright in one corner of the room in which they laired.
"YOL!" he shot at it. Instantly, the metal reddened. It wasn't perfect, but as he made Tamsyn sit closer he could see her relax and smile.
"I never would have thought of that," she admitted, sighing in relief as the warmth washed over them both.
"I'm not done, yet," he grinned. "Turn around."
"What are you going to do?" she asked, puzzled.
"Just wait," he grinned, enjoying this. "Yol," he breathed. Softer than he would for a toasted cheese sandwich, Marcus breathed warm air across Tamsyn's back. She wriggled in delight, and he schooled himself not to get distracted. A few more times, and her robes were no longer dripping wet.
"It's not perfect," he apologized as she turned back around. "But it's the best I can do on short notice."
"Who taught you to restrain your thu'um?" she asked, curious.
Marcus smirked. "I'm sure you can guess if you think about it long enough."
"It was probably Master Bolli, then," Tamsyn chuckled, rewarded when his grin grew wider. "We should keep moving, though," she said, becoming serious once more. "At least I won't freeze to death out there, now. There are still quite a lot of draugr to deal with, and we haven't even gotten to the Temple yet."
"How many more, do you think?" Marcus asked.
Tamsyn contemplated for a long moment. "At least two or three along the east wall," she said finally. "A handful or so in the North Tower over there."
"Do we have to go into that tower?"
"No," she replied, shaking her head. "There may be some minor treasure, but our main goal is to get through the Temple itself to the portal at the top."
"Any others?" he asked.
Tamsyn nodded. "There's probably another handful prowling the west wall, further up," she said. "Some of them come down to the courtyard on the other side of that ruined tower, so we'll need to be cautious."
"What about dragons?"
"There are four up near the portal, Tamsyn said. "They might attack, or they might just watch and see whether Alduin returns, or we do."
"Let's hope they're sitting on the fence, then," Marcus said wryly. "Anything I need to know about the inside?"
"More draugr Deathlords and scourges, a few traps to watch out for, and some puzzles to figure out before you can get through."
Marcus nodded. "Alright, we'll take this one step at a time, then. Follow me, and stick close. We'll try stealth as long as we can; ranged attacks wherever possible. If one of the dragons attacks I'll bring it down so we can attack it up close. I don't intend to get double-teamed again."
Tamsyn agreed, and crouched close behind him as they left the south tower for the second time that day. It was already past noon, and Marcus blew out a breath of frustration at the lost time; not just today, but for the entire past week.
He had to finish this. He was too far into it now to give up and go home, if he even had a way to do it.
They crept up the wide staircase to the double archway that led to the courtyard and waited, listening carefully for any shuffling, grunting or coughing that would indicate they'd been spotted, but all was quiet. Though there was no sound of bird or insect, only the wind as it soughed past ancient stones, Marcus still felt keenly the presence of something not quite alive, and not as dead as it should be.
He led the way to the ruined tower where they looked up to scan the walls to the east. The remnants of the ruined structures overhead blocked his view, however, and he motioned Tamsyn to wait just inside the roofless building to climb the stairs all the way to the top. Unfortunately, the truncated tower was far shorter than it had once been, judging from the amount of stones tumbled at its base. He couldn't see past the outer wall of the tower to the ledge of the east wall, and the jumble of debris behind him blocked his view of the complex to the west and north. Sighing, he climbed back down.
"Can't see a thing from up there," he breathed.
"I could've told you that," Tamsyn whispered primly.
"Why didn't you?"
She shot him a lofty look. "You didn't ask."
Scowling, Marcus realized that once again, she'd gotten in the last word. "Come on," he muttered. "This way." He led the way around the broken tower to the left and inched forward until he could see most of the courtyard beyond. In the middle, a stone column supporting what was left of a structure blocked their view to the far corner. Ahead of them the east wall jutted out, narrowing the passageway, but providing a straight line of sight to the northern end of the courtyard, where another mass of tumbled-down stone blocked a stairway leading up to the top of the surrounding walls. Marcus glanced back at Tamsyn and raised his eyebrows, and she gestured to an area behind the central column. He nodded, understanding. There was another way up on the other side.
A shuffling tread was heard advancing toward them, and they melted back around the broken tower and retreated inside.
"Ideas?" he whispered.
"If we attack, we bring all of them down on us at once," she breathed. "We need to reduce the odds a bit in our favor."
"I'm open to suggestion."
"We know there are three on the east wall," she mused. "How would it be if I gave them a little distraction?" She hefted the Sanguine Rose. "Completely unconnected to us, of course," she added.
"Of course," he grinned. "It's worth a shot. Go for it."
They waited until they heard the shuffling footsteps retreat back up the unseen staircase before Tamsyn eased herself into a position where she could see all three draugr on the wall above. She fired off a shot from the Sanguine Rose and smiled in satisfaction as the summoned Daedra rushed towards the closest one, screaming out, "I smell weakness!"
Predictably, the Deathlords converged on the Dremora, and while they battled with him, Marcus took out the ebony bow and attempted to peg them with arrows. When the Kynreeve dissipated, Tamsyn summoned him again in a different spot, still close enough to the draugr to attract their attention and keep it focused on the immediate foe. First one Deathlord fell, then a second. Another joined the battle just as the Dremora succumbed again, and again, Tamsyn brought him back from Oblivion to fight on their behalf.
"He's not going to thank us for this, you know," Marcus commented wryly.
"He's a summon," Tamsyn said. "And a Daedra to boot. You really can't kill him; you can only vanquish and dismiss him. He'll get over it. Besides, they live for battle."
"More first-hand experience?" he asked quietly, while picking off the new arrival.
"Yes," she answered, surprising him. "Jealous?"
He snorted. "Should I be? I trust you."
The squeeze of his arm told him all he needed to know, and he concentrated once more on lending ranged support of the Daedra that fought for them.
At length all was quiet, and Tamsyn let the Kynreeve gag his way back to Oblivion as they crept out into the north end of the courtyard. Once past the column, Marcus could indeed see a staircase headed up. At the top of the stairs they paused and searched the west wall. Two Deathlords looked out over the plaza below. Marcus took careful aim and knocked one over with an arrow. It landed with a sickening crunch that they heard even up here.
Tamsyn targeted the other with her fireball. Unprepared, it didn't stand a chance as the concussion lofted it into the air and it joined its companion below.
"Anything else up here?" Marcus asked quietly.
"No, I don't think so," Tamsyn replied. "The door into the Temple is over there. You should grab any ebony arrows the draugr might have had, though. You'll probably need them."
"Sounds like a plan. Let's go."
The interior of Skuldafn Temple was dim and dank, and even the torches scattered about failed to illuminate every corner. The first thing they noticed was a central area blocked off by a large, raised section, which was flanked by archways to the area behind it. Above the archways were bridges connecting the central section to open areas on either side.
"Laas yah nir," Marcus breathed, and three figures lit up like Christmas trees just beyond the wall. Further away, in the dim recesses of the Temple, Marcus saw five more figures; one was prowling around, but four were immobile.
Tamsyn touched his arm and pointed to trigger plates set into the floor on the left side. To the right, their path was blocked by a deadfall of stones from the ceiling far overhead. They wouldn't be able to get through that way.
Marcus pointed quietly to Tamsyn's Sanguine Rose and gestured for her to go ahead. She nodded and sent her Dremora Kynreeve into the adjacent hall. The draugr were scourges and Deathlords, and sent their Shouts and magic against the summoned Daedra, until Marcus and Tamsyn came around the left-hand corner.
"KRII LUN!" Marcus Shouted, and watched with satisfaction as a shudder ran through all three draugr. Thankfully, he'd missed hitting the Dremora. The point was to weaken the enemy, not the allies.
When at last they had dispatched the draugr, Marcus led the way to a flight of stairs leading up. There had been two flights, one on either side of a central dividing wall, but a whispered conversation with Tamsyn assured him that both sets of stairs led to the same place.
The lone draugr scourge summoned a frost atronach when it spotted them. They might have been able to sneak past it, but gates at the far end prevented them from going any farther, and the four sarcophagi which burst open and spilled their contents alerted the guardian that it had company.
Tamsyn was flung against a far wall by the scourge within the first few minutes, and lay there stunned while Marcus and the Kynreeve she had just summoned attempted to handle five draugr and an atronach.
Shaking her head to clear it, Tamsyn cast a quick healing spell on herself, then shot one across the room at Marcus, who immediately felt much more confident about winning this fight. The Dremora fizzled out, but Tamsyn brought him right back and launched a firebolt at the atronach. Marcus cleaved one of the lesser draugr in two and whirled around to take the head off one shuffling up behind him. An ice spike caught him across the middle, and he gasped as the numbness spread once more.
Tamsyn sent another healing spell his way and shot the atronach with another firebolt, dissipating it. The Dremora crushed the third draugr with his wicked-looking greatsword, but immediately fell to the scourge's wall of frost.
Marcus swept a low kick at the fourth draugr and brought it down, bringing his dragon bone sword down in a coup de grace move which snuffed the light from its eyes. This just left the scourge, which sent another wall of frost at Marcus, who it perceived to be the more immediately threat, ignoring the Arch Mage of the College of Winterhold. This proved to be extremely unwise, as Tamsyn sent a thunderous bolt of electricity towards it just as Marcus ran it through with Dragonbane. In a moment, it was over, and Marcus stood there, breathing hard as Tamsyn came up and cast another healing spell on him.
"Are you alright, my love?" she asked, concerned.
"Yeah," he said. "I just really hate those frost spells they cast. It would be worse, though, if you hadn't given me this." He flicked at the amulet around his neck.
"There are some out there even stronger than I can make," Tamsyn told him. "I haven't found any yet, though."
"We haven't exactly been looting this place, either," he reminded her.
"Do you want to linger here?" she inquired. When he shook his head emphatically 'no', she chuckled. "I didn't think so," she smirked. "Come on. We still have a ways to go."
"How do we get past the gates?" Marcus asked. "Do both passages lead to the same area again?"
"No," Tamsyn said, shaking her head. "The right one is a dead end with a chest back in there you can just make out if you squint. We need to go to the left."
"Okay, since I don't see any levers over there, I'm going to assume these turnstiles here with the hawk, snake and whale on them have something to do with that," Marcus said. He stepped to the center of the room to examine what he had to work with.
Three turnstiles stood in a row. As he looked at the gates, he saw large stone petroglyphs above each; a snake coiled above the left-hand gate, and a hawk flew above the right. Looking around, he noticed two more petroglyphs on the walls at either side, between the two sets of sarcophagi – a snake on the left, and a whale on the right. He grinned.
"I've got this," he said with satisfaction. He turned the two outside pillars so the creatures matched the animals they faced; snake on the left and whale on the right. "So if I set the center one as a hawk, the right gate opens, and if I turn it to the snake, the left one goes up, right?" he asked Tamsyn. He really didn't need her nodding confirmation. He knew he'd figured it out.
Marcus turned the center pillar to the hawk, surprising Tamsyn. At her raised eyebrows he shrugged. "Far be it from me to leave free treasure behind," he grinned. It was mostly gold, with a few gems and jewelry, but nothing else of interest. As he had so often thought before, however, being the Dragonborn didn't come with a steady paycheck.
He returned to the center dais and set the central turnstile to the snake and the gate on the left opened.
Beyond the gate the corridor turned to their left and ended in a flight of stairs leading up to a balcony. Aura Whisper told Marcus there were three more draugr here, two of them immobile. The moving shapes beyond this chamber puzzled him, but he couldn't take the time to figure it out.
This was another vicious fight, as the two stationary draugr burst from their sarcophagi as soon as Marcus and Tamsyn tried to sneak down the stairs to take the Deathlord by surprise. In the end, more healing was needed, and Tamsyn began to worry that her magicka potions might run out before they got to the portal.
There were spiders next, which they let the Dremora handle, only stepping in when the arachnids got too close to them. The room beyond the spider caverns presented another puzzle challenge – one they had to get right the first time or risk becoming pincushions for poisoned darts. Marcus didn't ask for Tamsyn's help on these. He liked the challenge of figuring it out for himself. He knew if he'd been wrong, she would have stepped in.
The correct combination lowered a drawbridge to permit them to continue, and to no one's surprise there were yet more Deathlords and scourges to fight. Marcus had lost all sense of time, and had no idea how long they had been battling their way through the complex. It had to be close to evening, now. He was hungry, exhausted, and tired of getting shot full of ice spikes.
At the top of a wooden, spiral staircase they fought the Deathlord and scourges hiding in a room off to one side, waiting for the unwary. Tamsyn warned Marcus to stay back, and shot at the floor with a fireball spell. The resounding whooshing conflagration brought an urn filled hot coals crashing down inside the room further adding to the inferno. One of the scourges expired on the spot and the second went to his knees. The Deathlord Shouted its defiance at them, and once more, Tamsyn was slammed against the far wall where she slumped, out cold.
Enraged, Marcus met the Deathlord with his own Shout – the fully charged Fire Breath of a vengeful Dragonborn. Two minutes later, and the Deathlord lay on the floor. Marcus sheathed his weapons and ran to Tamsyn's side, pulling off his gauntlet and feeling for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief upon finding it, and picked her up gently, carrying her into the room which had been, recently, the scene of a horrific inferno. He laid her carefully down in a corner, out of the way, and hauled the two charred, dead draugr out of the room and dumped them down the spiral staircase.
There was little Marcus could do until Tamsyn came around on her own. He didn't know any healing spells he could cast on anyone other than himself, and he couldn't force-feed her a healing potion while she was unconscious. He could only wait, watch and hope she would recover quickly on her own. He noticed once more how pale and wan she looked. There were tiny lines at the corners of her eyes he knew hadn't been there when they parted company in Dragonsreach. Gently he smoothed back the lock of hair at her right temple that had gone completely white. There was no doubt about it: bringing him back from the dead had left its mark on her, and Marcus felt a stab of guilt run through him. He would rather she had let him die than to allow any harm to come to her through him. But that decision had not been his to make. Tamsyn had her own agenda going. The best he could do right now was to stay alert and keep them alive long enough to get to the portal. Perhaps he could convince her to turn back there and wait in Whiterun for him.
Who are you kidding, Marcus? he scowled at himself. Do you honestly think she'd leave you behind?
No. No, he didn't. But he didn't know how he could protect her once they faced Alduin. He took off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair, sighing in exasperation. Why did she have to be so stubborn? He'd never met anyone as obstinate as Tamsyn.
I just have to trust her, he knew in his heart, just as much as she trusts me.
Tamsyn came around a few minutes later and looked surprised at their surroundings.
"Ohhh, my head," she moaned faintly, holding one hand to her temple. "I hate when they do that!"
"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.
"I will be," Tamsyn replied, pulling out another healing potion. "Do you have another stamina potion?"
He silently handed one to her before asking, "What's up ahead?"
Tamsyn looked around to get her bearings, then stood. Marcus rose with her. "The lever to raise that gate over there is tucked around that corner," she told him. Marcus quickly found the lever and threw it, raising the gate. "The passage through there has some traps – the trigger plate kind to drop hot coals into oil slicks, like what used to be in here. Then it's around the bend and up to a puzzle door."
"We don't have a claw for it," Marcus said, his heart sinking. "Did we miss something along the way that we should have looked into?"
Tamsyn shook her head, grimacing slightly as it brought a wave of headache with it. "There's a Deathlord guarding the door. It has the key."
But it wasn't a Deathlord. A lich floated there, patrolling the short corridor. Marcus ducked back around the corner.
"I thought you said there was a Deathlord here!" he hissed.
"There was when I played through this!" Tamsyn muttered crossly. "How was I supposed to know it would be a lich?"
"Aren't you a Seer?" Marcus shot back.
"I told you, it doesn't always work that way!" she ground out, eyes flashing.
Marcus sighed. "Well, it's not as if I don't know how to fight these guys," he said in resignation. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped out and charged around the corner, straight at the lich.
The key to taking them out quickly, he discovered, was to literally get in their faces. If he was hacking away at them, and invading their personal space, they didn't have the room for the gestures needed to cast a spell. And if he kept hitting them hard and fast, they often couldn't concentrate long enough to pull the energy together.
The problem was, they levitated, and if they had the headroom, would often float up beyond his reach. That wasn't the case here, he was pleased to see. The close confines of the corridor prevented the lich from avoiding his swords, and Marcus noticed with particular pleasure that Dragonbane seemed to be doing more damage than the dragon bone sword.
Shock damage, he remembered. Of course…it literally short-circuits their magicka.
With Tamsyn behind him lending the occasional lightning bolt or healing spell – the latter directed at him – Marcus soon made short work of the lich and retrieved the key from its remains. "Hmph," he noted. "No fancy magical mask on this one."
"No, there wouldn't be," Tamsyn said, examining the claw key. "This one was a lesser acolyte, not one of the high-ranking Dragon Priests."
The claw key was made of solid gold, as had been the others Marcus had seen, going back to the first one they had retrieved for Lucan Valerius nearly a year ago. The tips of the claws on this one were tipped with carved pieces of diamond, and Marcus whistled in appreciation.
"How many of these have you found?" Tamsyn asked.
"Three," Marcus said. "Four, if you count the one we gave back to Lucan. How many are there?"
"Ten total that I know of," Tamsyn said. "I've got one back at the College that I bought from Birna, down at the general goods store."
"Do you know—" Marcus stopped himself. Of course she would know what it belonged to. "Have you been to the place it unlocks?"
Tamsyn shook her head. "Not yet," she admitted. "It's on my 'To-Do' list, but I haven't gotten around to it. Too many other things going on," she smiled ruefully.
"You can show me when we get back," he grinned. "What's the combination I need here?"
"Fox, moth, dragon," she said, looking at the symbols on the claw.
Marcus set the combination and watched the stone wheels spin around once more to line up with three dragons in a row, before the door separated and retreated, the top half rising into the jamb and the lower half sinking into the floor. The engineering of the ancients never ceased to amaze him.
He heard it before he saw it: the chanting that heralded a Word Wall. Irresistibly, he was drawn to it, past the thrones with their long-dead kings and priests. The glyphs ignited and beckoned to him. As one hypnotized, Marcus lost himself in the language of the dragons that he always understood when reading it, but could never remember afterwards.
"This stone commemorates the villagers
Of doomed Vundeheim, burned
Alive by the Lightning of
Unending Sorrow."
It was Qo, "lightning", that he needed, and the only Word he remembered when the glyphs faded and the chanting ceased. He had no dragon soul to unlock its deeper meaning, however, and he turned back to Tamsyn, who watched him with a wistful expression on her face.
"I wish—" she began softly, but seemed to give herself a mental shake. "Are you ready?" she asked in a more normal tone.
"Yes," Marcus replied. There was really nothing more he could say. At one time he might have wished she had been the one Akatosh had chosen, but now, he wouldn't wish this on her, and preferred that he be the one to carry the burden.
Not much further on, they came to a large, decorative iron door.
"This is it," Tamsyn murmured. "This door leads outside to the upper level of the Temple where the Portal is. We'd better take a moment to charge up anything that needs it."
This was quickly done, and Marcus paused a moment before hauling the great, iron doors open.
"More dragons and draugr, right?" Marcus commented wryly, his hand on the door latch.
"And another lich," she reminded him.
He nodded and braced himself. "Let's do this." He pushed the door open and led the way out.
[Author's Note: Not much longer, now. As any good Nord will tell you, "Sovngarde awaits."]
Notes on Dovahzul (with help from .org)
Skuldafn fen kos dinok! – Skuldafn is your death!
Hefhah…Lingraav fos hi dreh! – Idiot! Watch what you do!
Fey tir do dii ven, wuth sein gein. – Stay out of my wind (way), old slow one.
Fod Zu'u los drehlaan voth mok, Zu'u fen krii hi! – When I am done with him, I will kill you!