14 Heartfire 4E201, Ustengrav
Rayya saw many worrisome signs in the next two days.
After their return to Morthal, Ivar sent her to sell their loot, and retreated into the town's single inn. There he ordered a meal and a glass of wine, but he only picked at his food before retreating to a rented room and sleeping away the rest of the daylight hours. When he finally rose, well after sunset, he looked and complained of feeling worse.
It took great effort for him to return to the jarl's hall. There he reported victory against the vampires, accepted Idgrod's praise, and then discussed the journey to Ustengrav, all in a dull voice.
Rayya caught the jarl's eye as Ivar departed. The old woman gave her a grim nod.
"My thane, you are not well."
"I know. Feels like the worst ague I've ever had. My blood runs hot, but I shiver with cold. I have no appetite for food or drink, yet some need like hunger gnaws at me. Not even the sight of a pretty woman rouses me." The smith shook his head. "I should rest before we venture to Ustengrav. By all accounts, that is a very deep place."
So he retired to his room once more, but sleep eluded him all that night.
In the mid-morning, he put on all of his gear. "If I can't rest, let's get this over and done with," he said, and set out from Morthal toward the north. He seemed active enough, although he lowered his visor against the sun.
They entered Ustengrav in early evening, only to find the place a battlefield. Mages and mercenaries had entered the upper levels of the ancient ruin, searching for treasure. They had fallen out among themselves, fighting each other, falling victim to the draugr that guarded the place.
Ivar slaughtered them.
Rayya had seen her thane fight with calculation, with thoughtful cunning, even with cold anger. She had never before seen him ablaze with rage.
"My thane!" she called out to him at last.
He whirled and glared at her. "What?"
"My thane . . . I think it time to stop and consider."
He took a deep breath, returned Dawnbreaker to its sheath. "I'm not certain what you mean."
"I mean that this illness is doing you grave harm." She stepped close and looked into his eyes. "I have not known you long, but I think I understand you well enough. You are a man who thinks and plans before acting. A man who fights only when he must, and does not take savage joy in it."
"And that isn't the man you've been following this evening." Ivar took a deep breath. "You're right. It's this damnable ague. Doesn't seem to weaken or slow me, but it grates on my mind like emery on the skin."
"I don't think this is a simple ague. Consider when you first felt the symptoms." She watched him closely. "My thane . . . I fear you have contracted sanguinare vampiris."
He nodded slowly, as if she had confirmed his own fears. "I wouldn't know for certain. I've never spoken to any vampires at length, to learn how they become what they are. It seems likely enough. Damn Movarth to Oblivion!"
"Do you think there is time to find a cure?"
Ivar stood quietly, thinking for along moment. "Perhaps. If I remember correctly, a divine blessing will wash away the curse, if it comes before sunset on the third day. That would be tomorrow."
Rayya frowned. "I didn't see any shrine in Morthal."
"No. I may have to return to Whiterun. There's a temple of Kynareth there, even a shrine to Talos."
"Whiterun is far from here, my thane. Should we abandon this quest and return once you are hale?"
"No. We're close. I can feel it." Ivar looked around the chamber where they stood. "Let's search this place and move on."
They had already become accomplished looters. They efficiently searched the dead, checked in dark corners, and picked the locks on ancient chests.
"Blood of Akatosh," Rayya whispered after one recalcitrant chest finally consented to open.
Armor. Breastplate, skirt, and sleeves, all finely made, every strap and joint still in perfect condition. All in a deep black that seemed to devour the light.
"Now, that's a fine piece of work," said the smith. "I've always wished to learn the art of crafting ebony. The ancients were skilled beyond measure."
"How much do you suppose it's worth?" she whispered, running long fingers over the smooth surface.
"This one piece might be worth more than all the other loot we've taken here put together." Ivar lifted the breastplate out of its resting place. "Hmm. This wouldn't fit me at all. I think it was made for a woman. Why don't you try it?"
She stared at him with wide eyes. "My thane . . ."
"You've earned it. Go on."
With a little adjustment, the armor fit her perfectly. "Thank you, my thane. This is a kingly gift."
Ivar smiled, although she could still see a wince of pain behind it. "Let's just see about finding you a matched set."
He seemed better after that. He fought with something like his old calm. He thought their way past the puzzle rooms. He even remained patient with the one requiring the application of Wuld at precisely the right moment, which took him eight attempts to complete. When they reached the final chamber, iron dragons rising out of the water to salute their presence, he seemed almost himself once more.
Until they found, not a horn, but a neatly folded piece of parchment in Jurgen Windcaller's hand.
Dragonborn,
I need to speak to you. Urgently.
Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you.
A friend
Ivar stood staring at the scrap of parchment for a long moment. Then it fluttered to the floor.
Rayya backed away, covering her ears at his shrieking bellow of rage.