Chapter 40: A Chill in the Air
Brynjolf felt Lucia's body tense up as she shifted uneasily in the saddle. A feeling of apprehension took over him. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.
"Mama," the girl whispered. "I don't feel her presence anymore."
Brynjolf froze, the image of the passing landscape suddenly retreating from his sight, replaced by a dark impenetrable cloud of worry. He wanted to scream.
Relax! he scolded himself. She goes to all kind of places, Sovngarde being no exception to that…
"Do you think she's… you know…"
"Dead?" Lucia completed colorlessly. Brynjolf winced, nearly letting go of the reins. "I don't know. It feels like she's… very, very far away."
The thief let out an exhausted breath. "Don't scare me like this."
"But it's all so confusing… I'm scared."
He patted her head gently, the only gesture he managed to make to prove that he cared. He was so not good with children and it had not even occurred to him that this little lass knew what fear was. How could he know after everything she had said and done?
They continued through the endless drifts of snow, the wind blowing the white cold matter into their faces constantly. Brynjolf noticed a pair of frost trolls running down a nearby slope and his hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword, but they paid no attention to the pitch black stallion carrying two riders on his back. The more eastward they went, the colder it became, and soon, frost trolls and ice wraiths were the only creatures to keep them company. No footprints in the snow revealed another human, mer or beastfolk, no sounds save for Shadowmere's footsteps and the occasional crackling from the glaciers interrupted the still, white land. Even the water in the sea seemed to be calm and mysteriously quiet. Brynjolf pulled Lucia closer to him as she shivered.
The road, invisible under the thick cold blanket, soon started ascending into a gentle slope. Many times did Brynjolf wonder how Shadowmere managed to keep track of where they were, but he always did, carrying them with reassuring certainty. They rounded a mountain covered in ice from top to bottom, and another one, and soon the majestic Shrine to Azura revealed itself in all its beauty. The Moon looked up to the Sun in eternal awe, and that very moment, the real sun peeked from behind the veil of clouds and sent a golden pillar to meet its replica. It glistened as though greeting the newcomers, and then the light faded, leaving nothing but a memory. Both Brynjolf and Lucia stared at it until a mountain peak hid it from their view.
It appeared again when they left the mountain behind, and just a while after, the thin pillars of bright blue light rising up to the heavens announced that the College of Winterhold was very close. Brynjolf frowned as he realized that the whole structure, including the narrow bridge leading to it, was covered in thick mist from which the light was emerging. The city of Winterhold seemed untouched by it, but it was silent and barren and he was certain that elven figures in dark robes and gilded armor would start swarming there the moment they noticed him and Lucia approaching.
"Rotstone?" he asked Lucia silently. She shook her head.
"No, not that. I can't sense anything from that mist, it's like… a barrier of some kind."
"Clever," he commented with appreciation. "Looks like Reinya was right. They hold up pretty well."
"Will they let us in?"
"I wouldn't worry about that. The question is, will they let us out after they let us in?"
Lucia smiled at that. The two of them dismounted Shadowmere, taking their backpacks and double checking they had everything they needed.
"Looks like you're on your own for a while," Brynjolf addressed his steed. "Don't let the elves get you. We'll meet up down there." He pointed to the hidden cliff supporting the College. Shadowmere closed his eyes in agreement, and with that, he set for the shore. Brynjolf drew a long breath.
"Do you remember the instructions?" he turned to Lucia. She nodded again without uttering a word. "Let's go then."
They walked towards the city. Just as Brynjolf expected, a number of elves appeared from behind the corners shortly, heading in their direction. The thief tensed inwardly but forced his body to seem relaxed, taking casual steps and even smiling. An elf raised a brow.
"Our Lord watches for time immemorial. Watches as time passes, cleanses our souls and grants us eternity," Brynjolf said in a neutral tone.
"Our Lord listens to our pleas. He listens and answers in song, and its sound heals us. Our Lord sings fire and his wings protect us," Lucia added.
"You have arrived," a woman, Bosmer if Brynjolf's guess was correct, or maybe a child of a Bosmer and an Altmer, remarked coolly. "Sooner than we expected, the message arrived just a while ago. How is our Master Talwen?"
"Quite well, thank you," Brynjolf replied with a bow. "We were instructed to get to action as soon as possible."
"Of course you were. Mind your language, this is not how a thief speaks."
"Certainly. I mean… right." Is there even such a thing as a 'Thief Language'?
"It's aye. What's your name?"
"Brynjolf."
"Good," the elf nodded approvingly. "And yours?" she nodded to Lucia. The little girl hesitated.
"Sena—"
"No!" the woman snarled angrily. "Not your real name! You're the Dragonborn's daughter!"
"Lucia?" she whispered timidly.
"Yes, Lucia. I must say I'm impressed. Even if it's Master Talwen we're talking about… her illusion spells keep improving by the minute."
"They sure do," Brynjolf said, adjusting his accent in the process. The day he had spent learning the refined Aldmeri dialect had left him awfully exhausted, but luckily, as one who made a living by talking to people, he had managed to master it at last. To his advantage, he was now allowed to keep switching between his own and the Aldmeri one, pretending to struggle to learn the former. The elf woman narrowed her eyes, turning them into two slits. "Maybe we should get going…"
"Yes, that would be for the best. We will be waiting for your signal. If there is none, we are attacking at dawn."
Brynjolf barely managed not to wince. This was not a part of the plan. Why hadn't Reinya Talwen mentioned this? He threw a quick glance to Lucia, regaining some of his composure when he saw the little girl stand there, expressionless. It was different from what they had agreed on, but it seemed that the elves were yet convinced.
"All right," he nodded. "We'll be on our way then." And he turned around, beckoning to Lucia.
"For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion!" the elf called after him, the rest of the elves becoming her echo.
"For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion!" Brynjolf repeated, fighting his other half who wished to hiss the words, spitting on every single syllable.
"For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion!" Lucia joined, her voice slightly lower.
"What a bunch of idiots," Brynjolf muttered under his breath. "And their passwords stink." Lucia smirked.
They strode towards the bridge to the College and crouched at its foot, crawling up in absolute silence until thick whiteness swallowed them. Brynjolf took the lead and grabbed Lucia's hand, but they were soon forced to stop as he collided with a solid invisible wall. He tried to tap on it, but no sound came from it. He drew the enchanted dagger from his shoe and tried to jab its tip into the barrier. It emitted a deep sound which resonated in Brynjolf's ears like the deepest of the lute strings, and no sooner did it fade out than the thief was thrown up in the air and back to the start of the bridge. He stared at the cold rock creating most of it as though he was trying to persuade it to let him pass. It stared back at him, grey as the sky before a storm, but nothing changed. He sighed.
Lucia was examining the barrier when he approached it again, her brows furrowed with concentration. Then she stepped back a little and fired a lightning bolt at it. Ripples spread from the spot where the bolt had struck, and for a moment, the barrier quivered, as if a giant was standing at the bottom of the cliff and shaking it violently. Then, a stern looking elegant Altmer woman appeared beneath it, dressed in grey mage robes with ornaments entwining over her chest in the same gentle pink sand color as her hair had. Her beautiful olive skin contrasted the white snow blanket under her feet and her deep, amber eyes were firmly locked upon Brynjolf and Lucia.
"Not quite who I was expecting," she frowned. Her voice was sharp and clear, and at that instant, Brynjolf knew he wouldn't like get into arguments with this one. "Who in the name of Oblivion are you?"
"Brynjolf of the Riften Thieves Guild," the thief introduced himself, "and this is Lucia, the Dragonborn's daughter. We come on her behalf."
The wrinkle between the elf's eyes deepened. "You mean our Arch-Mage? And where's the proof that you are who you claim to be?"
"Is Enthir home?" Brynjolf asked. The Altmer raised a brow. "He knows me."
"Enthir, you say? Just a moment." She raised her hand and a small flying creature appeared just a few feet from her. Brynjolf's brow shot up with unwitting curiosity as he wondered what it might be. It seemed to be a tiny wyrm, but he had never heard of anyone conjuring such a beast. Before he could study it in detail, however, it darted away, across the bridge to the College. The mage watched him attentively, measuring him as though she was trying to read his thoughts, and by the way her lips curled up in an almost imperceptible smirk, he could not help thinking that she managed to do so. He averted his gaze, turning to Lucia who, for instance, locked her eyes on the mage, using the fact that the woman did not feel compelled to pay her any attention at all. There was an odd silence, and the three of them waited without a word.
A good while later, a silent sound of footsteps announced the arrival of another person. It was a Bosmer with a single lock of tea-colored hair traversing his otherwise shaved head and with an exceptionally long chin, clad in a combination of a grey tunic made in the same cut as the common Winterhold mage robes, pants of the same color and deep blue buttonless overcoat girded by a wide blue belt. He put up a soft, friendly smile as he approached, and Brynjolf couldn't contain a smile of his own when he noticed the satchel that this man always carried with him, no matter what the occasion. This was Enthir, all right.
"Brynjolf?" he uttered with one brow raised. "Is it really you?"
"Sure as Oblivion it is," the thief said.
"So, can you prove it somehow?" the mage woman asked Brynjolf, albeit eyeing Enthir. The Bosmer tilted his head to the side and then raised his finger in an energetic gesture.
"Got it!" he said with a grin. "What was the first present that Gallus gave me when we met?"
Brynjolf's eyes widened. "Are you kidding me? How am I… wait, I haven't said anything. Yet."
"Just logic, lurker," Enthir winked.
"Lur… oh! Your own window handle!"
Enthir laughed. "Right you are! Yep, Faralda, I can assure you that this is good ol' Brynjolf."
The mage shook her head and raised her hand. "Come quickly inside then," she urged as she opened the barrier, making a hole which closely resembled a doorway. Brynjolf and Lucia slipped through it in an instant and it closed behind them immediately.
"I am Faralda, Destruction teacher," the Altmer said coolly, inviting them to accompany her to the College. Enthir nodded at them encouragingly and took the lead. "So what brings you here? You say you come on behalf of the Dragonborn? Where is she?"
"I don't know, truth be told," the thief sighed. "We were separated two days ago. She went on some Dragonborn business to, eh… save Skyrim."
"Naturally." Brynjolf could almost touch the sarcasm in that one word. "So? Why are you here?"
"Two reasons," he explained. "First is this lil' lass." He nodded to Lucia and Faralda shot her a quick glance.
"What about her?" She entered the bridge, but Brynjolf froze when the view of it opened before his eyes. He gasped and felt shivers run down his spine, as though someone had dumped a bucket full of ice on him.
"This," he pointed at the frail structure shakily. As if it sensed his concern, a small shower of crushed stone sank down into the depths of… whatever there was. He forced his lips to move. "It doesn't look like the safest…"
"Well, you can either follow me over the bridge and bear with it or stay stuck here in the cold. The barrier won't block away weather, I can assure you." Faralda gave him a slightly derisive smirk. Enthir laughed.
"Always the same, eh, Bryn?" he chuckled. Brynjolf shook his head, took a deep breath and stepped on the bridge. He instinctively moved his foot a bit to test its surface and durability, but when the bridge did not seem to give any sign of falling apart, he finally proceeded further.
"Don't worry, uncle Brynjolf," Lucia said soothingly. "There's a lot of magic in this stone."
"Except I don't trust magic any more than I'd trust a broken branch," he grumbled silently.
Faralda turned to Lucia with interest, noticing the girl for the first time. "You can sense the magic in the stones? That is… unheard of."
Lucia shrugged. "All kinds of stuff have been happening to me, ever since…" she fell silent, her eyes piercing her shoes.
"Ever since?"
"I don't know," she said shyly. The Altmer frowned. She turned to Brynjolf with a questioning look.
"Ever since what?" she asked.
"We don't know. The elves took her hostage and something happened to her, but she seems to have lost her memories from that time." He stopped himself before revealing her Dragonborn identity. After all, she could not even Shout. Maybe Durnehviir was mistaken.
He pressed his lips closely together as he traversed an especially narrow part of the bridge without a wall on either side, forcing himself to look forward and study Faralda's back. She walked proud, with her back straight and her chin up.
"So, is this the reason you came here? To recover her memories?" she questioned.
"Oh," Brynjolf let out inadvertently. This option had not occurred to him. "Not exactly, but it's a good idea. I just thought she could use some education in magic. She's… skilled."
If Faralda sensed the understatement, she did not express it in any way. "We will test that."
"Is there time for this?" Enthir threw up, furrowing his brows. "There's a bunch of crazed elves out there…" Faralda scoffed. "Ah, sorry, I always forget you're an Altmer as well."
"Not all the Altmer are power hungry beasts, Enthir," she uttered dryly.
"Speaking of which," Brynjolf interjected, "no, I'm afraid the lil' lass will have to wait. Which brings me to the second reason I'm here."
"And that is?"
"They are planning to attack at dawn at the latest."
Faralda stopped abruptly just before stepping on the solid ground on the other side of the bridge, making Brynjolf nearly crash into her. The last bits of color retreated from his face.
"So soon?" she asked, concern apparent from her voice. The first emotion she showed so far. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. We got here under the pretense that we belong to the Thalmor."
"How?" Enthir wondered, shaking his head in disbelief. Faralda finally started walking again, albeit a lot more slowly than before, and Brynjolf cursed her inwardly.
"That's a long story," he said with a smile. "Too bad I won't see their faces when they find out the truth."
Enthir grinned, but his smile quickly shrank into a worried frown when he realized the situation. "Hopefully we'll all be far away from here then," he remarked grimly.
"You won't fight them?" Brynjolf asked with a raised brow. He exhaled as he finally left the bridge.
"No," Faralda replied evenly. "They outnumber us heavily. But we'll let the College fight for us."
"What do you mean?"
"You'll see soon enough."
They continued to a round courtyard with a fountain at the center, a tall pillar of bright blue light in its middle shooting up to the heavens, illuminating the statue of a cloaked mage beneath it, his hands spread out in a sweeping gesture and his robes flowing in the imaginary wind. Faralda pointed to the great building situated across the courtyard, urging them to follow her. A huge studded door made in thick wood led into it, and above it loomed a tall, narrow window made of countless tiny plates of glass. The building itself seemed large enough to host a small army. It was connected to the rest of the complex by an elegant set of arcades spread along the courtyard's perimeter. Brynjolf gaped at the structure and could not help but whistle. The whole complex seemed more secure than any of the Skyrim main cities, protected by thick, tall walls, and the fact that it was situated on a cliff and the only way to get inside would involve crossing an uncomfortably narrow bridge which most definitely could not hold more than ten people certainly helped keep the advantage on the College's side. And he did not even take into account the amount of magic involved. The only way would be to take down the whole cliff. Brynjolf's stomach knotted.
"Are you sure you wouldn't hold up against them?" he asked, his brow up in his hair.
"Oh we would," Faralda said with a shrug. "But why risk casualties?"
The thief nodded. A sound argument. The Destruction Master seemed like a respectful person and managed to instantly shake down his belief that mages did not care for anything other than themselves and their research.
They proceeded through the door to a small entrance area and then to the vast space beyond it, tall pillars rising up to the boundless ceiling and supporting the building. Another fountain of blue light was situated at the center. Brynjolf shivered. It was almost colder here than it was outside, and even his Nord blood suffered in the chill. What was it that Faralda had said about leaving him out in the cold?
Two people, both wearing the same clothing as Enthir, were propped against a window sill to their right, discussing something in silence. Upon their arrival, they raised their heads, studying the group of newcomers with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. An elderly Nord tilted his head to the side while a quasi-bald Breton knit his brows.
"New people at this time?" the Nord asked. "What happened?"
"Still waiting for an explanation," Faralda said neutrally. "I need to gather everyone here. And by everyone, I mean everyone. Would you two be so kind…"
"To drag Urag from the library?" the Breton scowled. "No, thanks, I'll leave it to the others."
"It's a matter of life and death…"
"And the damned orc values the books more than any of our lives."
"Phinis–"
"I'll do it," the Nord sighed. "You go get the students," he nodded to the Breton.
They darted away, leaving the four of them in the hall. Brynjolf looked around, searching for a place to seat himself, but could not find any. The prospect of sitting on the cold stone steps surrounding the fountain did not seem appealing in the least, and so he just sighed and circled the room uneasily.
Soon, it started to fill with all sorts of people. A slight, almost frail Dunmer man with white hair and pleasantly soft, deep voice came first, hastily talking to Faralda only to be brushed off by her. Next were three youngsters whose robes were different in both cut and color from the rest of the mages – a Khajiit with his chin high up and a sharp look in his face, a Dunmer woman who was constantly playing with a flask in her hand, and the last one was a Nord boy who kept turning his head and scanning his surroundings timidly. Then came another hairless Breton in light brown robes, scrutinizing their little party with critical eye, a blonde Altmer woman with a smug look in her face followed by a Breton woman with beautiful umber hair plaited in a complicated set of braids, her thick lips pressed tightly together. Brynjolf stopped counting and just watched them coming. And just as he was about to fall into a state of mental slumber, the elderly Nord returned with a balding orc man with tufts of white hair beneath his ears, grumbling all the way until they stopped by one of the pillars. Brynjolf could think of hundreds of patriotic Nords who would die with envy at the orc's thick white full beard.
"I'm telling you, Tolfdir, if this is going to be about anything less than the end of the world, I swear…" The orc seemed furious, baring his massive canines.
"You need to calm down, Urag…"
"Of course a Nord would never understand the value of the knowledge stored in my books," the orc spat. "If someone takes just one…"
"There is no one left, Urag," Faralda cut in impatiently. "Seems like everyone's here." She scanned the room, now filled with people of various races and genders, all dressed in mage robes, and then stepped on the stairs next to the fountain. She beckoned to Brynjolf to follow her, and he realized that a swarm of butterflies settled in his stomach. Was he supposed to talk in front of these people? Aye, he was used to that… when he needed to trick them into donating whatever unneeded coin they carried to his organization. Telling how things really were? That was an entirely different thing.
"Good," she said, nodding to the crowd. "Would everyone please calm down so our… guest here can explain what's going on?"
The mages stilled themselves, turning their looks to the two of them expectantly. The thief sighed.
"Who is our guest anyway?" The one whom Faralda had previously called Phinis asked. Brynjolf did not like the slightly mocking tone in his voice.
"His name is Brynjolf," Enthir hurried with an answer. "He's a friend of mine from Riften."
"So he's a thief?" one of the mages exclaimed, and everyone started muttering amongst themselves.
"How did he even get here? Can the thieves now sneak up past a magical barrier?"
"Please!" Enthir called. "It does not matter now, does it? We're on the same side! Do you think the Thieves Guild would want the Thalmor to take over? They most certainly do not! It's, as they say, bad for business."
Well said, Enthir, Brynjolf commended silently. The crowd finally settled down, and Faralda nodded again.
"The whole story, please," she said.
Brynjolf let out a worn breath. "So… where do I start?"
"The beginning?" someone offered silently. Brynjolf rolled his eyes.
"Well, the important part is, that we were traveling with the Dragonborn… I mean, with your Arch-Mage," he could not help but smirk at the mention of that title, "to stop the Thalmor. They abducted her daughter," several mages exchanged looks when the word daughter came up, and some even looked disappointed which, for some reason, annoyed Brynjolf, "and we had to recover her on the way. We parted then and I was left to take care of the lil' lass. She showed quite some promise in the arcane arts," he carefully pronounced the term, not being used to it himself, "so I decided to take her here. On our way we were stopped by certain illusionist. This person somehow managed to convince the Thalmor that we were ordinary Altmer from their ranks, masked by her illusion spells to look like this, and sent us here under the pretense that we were to infiltrate the College and… disable you."
Enthir laughed from the top of his lungs. "And I thought they were smart! That's higher race for you!"
Faralda and the blonde Altmer shot him a furious look which he returned with a shrug.
"So? You learned something, did you not?" Faralda asked Brynjolf with a raised brow.
"When we got here, the elves asked us to assist them in an attack. They're planning on taking down the College."
Murmurs rose again from the crowd as people started chattering and exchanging worried looks.
"Silence!" Faralda commanded firmly. "Anything else you've learned?"
"Truth be told, not much. I presume the elves… I mean the Thalmor," he amended quickly upon noticing Faralda's frown, "don't want to go into detail. In case you tortured us to confessing or something, you know."
A few scoffs resounded throughout the hall. "As if we were ever keen on adopting their own barbaric methods," Urag, the orc, scowled. One corner of Brynjolf's mouth twitched at the controversy of his appearance and his words.
"What we do know is that they asked us to send them a signal," he continued. "We received orders from our contact and there is a set of signals among them. Though," he added with a frown, a deep wrinkle forming between his eyes, "I'm afraid we might have just walked into a trap. We know what each signal means, but their actual meaning might be different from what we were told."
"Hmm," Urag muttered, "seems like you've some experience being used."
"Being used?" Brynjolf let out a sardonic scoff. "That's definitely an understatement."
"So, we have until dawn to prepare for an attack?" Tolfdir, the Nord elder, asked, scratching the nape of his neck. "That's not much, but it's… manageable. Drevis," he turned to the white-haired Dunmer, "how are the focal points?"
"I keep them clean, especially at a time like this. Ready to use whenever we'll need 'em."
"Good. And J'zargo?"
"Oh Tolfdir, you don't mean to…" Faralda gasped, shaking her head fiercely. The young Dumner woman and her Nord companion chuckled and exchanged amused looks.
"Yes, Master Wizard?" the young Khajiit replied. He was overly eager for Brynjolf's taste.
"Do you still have that spell of yours that accidentally turned people into squirrels?"
"I do, but…"
"Perfect. We'll be using it."
Faralda slapped her forehead. Brynjolf was trying to figure what to make out of all this, but the description of the spell reminded him of one time when Aislinn had told him a story about how she had accidentally ended up in the mental world of Pelagius the Mad. In the end, she had gotten a peculiar staff out of that adventure, and its effects sounded very much like this spell.
"So what are we to do now?" he asked, watching as the mages talked amongst themselves, trying to prepare for the upcoming attack.
"You will now go with me and Tolfdir and share everything you know about the elves," Faralda commanded. "And then you'll wait until we prepare everything necessary."
He nodded and waved to Lucia who was currently studying the robes of all the present mages. She followed him obediently, but her eyes kept drifting to the enchanted garments. Faralda and Tolfdir gave a few quick orders before heading to a door at one side of the entrance area. Brynjolf noticed that the orc followed them closely. They walked up a spiraling staircase, cold and narrow, and he trembled slightly. At last, they entered another round room with bookcases all around, a cozy set of armchairs and a table in its middle. This place was surprisingly warm, and the air smelled of old paper, ink and… for the Nine's sake, Brynjolf would have never guessed that stored knowledge could smell, but even the countless records and all the wisdom stored in the ancient tomes seemed to have a fragrance of their own, distinct and mysterious. This place was somewhat amazing, and now he understood why Urag would be willing to die for it.
They sat in the chairs and Brynjolf was asked a lot of questions. He kept answering one after another, and long minutes turned into hours. The signal for attack, signal for "standby", one for "imminent danger", and then there were also subsignals, as Reinya had called them. It was all just a tiny bit of magic painted in color and sent to the receiver. The Squire had told him about elven tactics, how they tended to wear their opponents down before striking, how illusion magic was their favorite sort.
"No wards can protect you from illusions," she had said, "you can only hope you'll manage to see through them. Which is what is best about our plan. Elves are generally good at casting illusions, but they are quite bad at seeing through them because they tend to keep their heads in the clouds. Therefore they often overestimate their power. They will not even try to see your 'true self', and you can expect them to rely on their illusions when a fight occurs."
So far, he had to agree, especially when it came to certain ageless Aldmer.
"But you said she might have set a trap for you, haven't you?" Faralda inquired.
"Aye, it's not impossible."
"Then we have to be cautious. We will prepare everything, and when it's done, you will send the signal to attack. There are two possible outcomes. Either they will suspect there's something wrong and they won't attack. No harm comes to us then. Or they're going to take the bait."
"And then?"
She smirked. "This place becomes a slaughterhouse."
High elves always managed to say even the most hideous things with the sweetest smile on their lips, Faralda being no exception to that. Brynjolf shuddered.
"The library stays intact, right?" Urag grumbled.
"Sterile, Urag. But you'll have to invest your own bit of magic as well."
"For the books? Gladly." The word "books" was spelled with almost divine reverence.
"Let us prepare then," Tolfdir said, rising from his seat. "Drevis should be done with the focal points and Phinis is definitely working wonders down at the Atronach forge. I suppose I could set up a few wards with Colette while you and Urag prepare the core?"
"That sounds good," the Altmer nodded. "Stability protections?"
"Ah, let the youngsters work on the boring stuff," he winked.
"As you wish, Master Wizard," she replied, a corner of her mouth twitching.
Brynjolf was sent downstairs, back to the great hall that they called Hall of the Elements, along with Lucia who was soon absorbed into watching the elderly Dunmer as he sent his magic into the central fountain. After a while, she moved closer and the thief watched them engage in a heated conversation about magic. Although the dark elf obviously specialized in Illusion, which was the only school of magic Brynjolf actually knew something about, he soon lost track of whatever they were discussing, and so his thoughts drifted to grim topics like his past or the fate of Skyrim. Lucia, on the contrary, seemed ecstatic, like he had never seen her before. He sighed with resignation and finally seated himself on the window sill, shivering with cold, but it subsided as he closed his eyes. Strangely enough, warmth flooded his body.
It was long past nightfall when they woke him up. Everyone had a quick meal before setting out. Brynjolf watched with a trace of concern as everyone spread around the College.
"We have to look like we don't expect a thing," Drevis, the Dunmer illusionist, informed him. "Otherwise it would all be for nothing, no?"
There was just one thing in Brynjolf's mind that described the whole situation for him. He did not like battles. Especially the ones with lots of magic involved. He preferred things to be more subtle.
He got up sleepily and made his way to the front gate. Lucia joined him shortly. Upon Tolfdir's nod, he let out his magic, coloring it light gold, and sent it out, towards the city. It flew away like a butterfly, leaving behind a trace of soft glow which dissipated soon after it had appeared. The only thing left was to wait.
"What about the barrier?" he asked, looking at the mist dome spreading around the whole complex.
"Weakened," Tolfdir shrugged. "We transferred some of its magic back into the focal points. I wonder what tricks they have up their sleeve though. I'm quite certain that they took into account that the moment they touch the barrier, we will know. So they have to be quick enough to deny us the time to prepare. Numbers won't help them here."
Suddenly, a feeling of apprehension flooded Brynjolf's thoughts and he shuddered. It was as though a dark shadow shrouded the College, never mind it was the middle of the night and most of the dim moonlight from the outside died out as it met the mist veil above. It was as though…
Lucia gripped his hand and Brynjolf followed her gaze. He gasped. "Get everyone out," he ordered.
"There is still…"
"They don't need numbers. They have that." He pointed up to the skies where a winged silhouette cut through the air. It shrieked and Brynjolf felt his hairs stand on end.
And Tolfdir said the last thing the thief would expect him to articulate. "Oh shit."
They ran inside, calling to the rest of the College. People were gathering in front of the Hall of the Elements, Faralda with her sleeves rolled up, electric sparks enveloping one hand of hers while the other one sparkled with frost. She grinned savagely, her eyes wide and fixed on the beast.
"Dragon or not," she whispered, her voice carrying all over the courtyard nevertheless, "they don't stand a chance. I pity that beast. The Arch-Mage once mentioned how they feel when they are caged… and we can cage it."
"Faralda," Tolfdir warned, biting his lip, "this is dangerous."
"This whole business is dangerous, Tolfdir. Let's do this."
"But…" Lucia raised her voice timidly.
"What is it, lil' lass?"
"It's so sad," she said quietly.
"This is war, little girl," Tolfdir told her firmly but not disapprovingly. "It's always sad."
"I mean the dragon," she objected. "It's in pain."
"You can…"
"A long story," Brynjolf interrupted. "Listen, lass… I know it's awful, but sometimes sacrifices are necessary. I won't say it's good, but you too want to live on, right? For yourself, for Skyrim, and for… Aislinn."
Lucia watched the dragon circle the place. Then it swooped down at once, preventing her from answering. It sent a wave of violet light on the crowd, and a number of wards glowed above their head at once. Faralda fired. Brynjolf, standing slightly aloof, took a startled breath. Lucia screamed.
"Uncle Brynjolf!" she called shakily. She raised her hands, casting a ward of her own, knocking the surprised thief down. The Breton woman with beautiful hair gaped at her incredulously.
"Did you just… where did you learn this?" she breathed. Her voice was strangely unpleasant, almost childish. Far more than Lucia's, Brynjolf realized.
"Mama told me how to do it," she shrugged.
"Is this…" the mage started, but she was interrupted again.
"We need to get out of here!" Drevis shouted.
"No!" Faralda opposed. "We're perfectly capable of taking care of that thing!" she pointed to the dragon. "Wait till the Thalmor get here! Otherwise there's no point in all of this!"
"Fine! But if someone gets hurt…"
"Then send them down there immediately! You, little girl!" she waved to Lucia. "Can you cast a lightning rune?"
"I don't know…"
"Any lightning spell?"
"Sparks?" Lucia said sheepishly.
Faralda sighed, but Drevis smiled encouragingly. "Try to concentrate the spell in the palms of your hands. It will start to tingle. When it's too much, focus on the ground you want to cover. Send your raw magicka first, find the slightest crevices in the ground and then send the spell inside. It will spread around eventually. You have to seal it with magicka again so it doesn't go out at once. Luckily, the College is not made in marble, the stone will work in your favor. We need to cover the perimeter, except that place over there," she waved to a corner between the Hall of the Elements and the arcade on its left. "Drevis, come help us! Everybody else, protect us!"
Just as the barrier above them trembled, glowing cracks appearing on its surface, Lucia nodded and skipped to the arcade promptly, glancing at the mages who raised their wards as another shot came down. This time, it was fire. Faralda raised her hands, gathering energy around them, and upon shooting, a circle appeared on the ground, colored ghostly blue, and at its center glowed a daedric symbol, Lyr. The Imperial girl mimicked her movement, and soon her own lightning shot the ground. Faralda raised her brow.
"What is this?" she wondered, staring at the rune. It was fairly similar in color, but jagged on the edges, and the symbol in its heart was different. Two thin lines ended with a small beak, and on their other side was a tiny dot placed precisely between them. It looked like a rough engraving.
Lucia stared at it, just as surprised. "That's… draconic, I think," she mumbled.
"A draconic rune?" Drevis frowned. "Will it work the same?"
"It should," Lucia nodded. "I can feel it."
"Unbelievable," Faralda shook her head. A dragon roar came from the distance as the beast prepared to charge again. "We need to hurry, quickly."
They set to work, covering the perimeter of the place with similar runes. No sooner did they manage to gather with the rest of the mages, than a noise came from the main gate, and when they looked in its direction, a number of hooded figures stood there with their hands up, sparks crackling around them. There was a momentary quiet. Then, Oblivion broke out.
"The barrier!" shouted Tolfdir, and several mages pointed their spells at the bright blue focal point at the center of the courtyard. It shone with blinding light and drops of white-blue fire shot from it in all directions. Brynjolf watched as they connected with the other fountains – one on the bridge, one rising from the Hall of the Elements and two from the other two towers around the main gate, and connected above the complex, renewing the damaged misty dome. One of the present Thalmor gasped.
"It's a trap!" he yelled from the top of his lungs. He looked before him, jumping in the air in attempt to avoid getting hit by the lightning rune.
"Yeah, no kidding!" Brynjolf smirked and grabbed the closest rock. He threw it with all his might. The elf died on the spot.
"The dragon!" someone called.
"Don't mind it. It's…"
Lucia screamed. Brynjolf turned after her in an instant.
"Lass…"
"It hurts!" she gasped. He looked at the dragon. Sure as day, she felt its suffering.
"We have to…"
"…get out!" someone finished for him. "The Midden, now!"
Everybody set into motion. They swarmed around a small trapdoor at the end of one of the arcades, Tolfdir, being the responsible Master Wizard he was, taking the lead. "One after another!" he urged. "The students first!"
The young Nord, along with his Khajiit friend and the Dunmeri girl entered the trapdoor. A few mages followed. Brynjolf sent Lucia ahead, sticking close behind her.
"Cowards!" a Thalmor woman shrieked, running towards them.
"Reaaally?" Enthir drawled, grimacing at her. "And sending a dragon at us isn't cowardly at all? Here! A farewell gift!"
With that, he only shot a tiny spark of magicka at the statue beneath the fountain. Fire blazed from its hands, spreading its flaming tongues towards the intruders. They screamed and jumped a few steps backwards, only to be hit by the lightning from the remaining runes. Enthir rubbed his hands against each other in satisfaction.
"There you go," he scoffed.
"There will be more," Drevis informed him.
"Which is why we are heading down there, no?"
"Better not keep the others waiting."
"Right."
A mass of bodies was gathered in the tunnels down beneath the College. Brynjolf nodded in appreciation, although the cold was even more intense than in the rest of the place. He looked at Lucia who, just like him, trembled, her teeth chattering silently. He rubbed her shoulder gently.
"I don't think we're gonna stay here. It'll soon get warmer," he whispered to her, and just as he did, Tolfdir commanded them to continue.
They stopped by a circular room with a wide stone platform at its center. On top of it was engraved a large daedric O, and each circular level of the platform was lined with candles on the edges. At the front was something which closely resembled a small forge, connected to a small golden box, most definitely made by the Dwemer. The balding Breton by the name Phinis Gestor stepped forward and groped about his pockets, withdrawing several small things out of there. Brynjolf recognized fire salts and some other alchemy ingredients, but there were things he had never seen before, like a strangely shaped pearlescent claw or grass which looked as though it was soaked in blood. The Breton put it inside the box and stirred up the fire. He signaled to the other mages and everyone hurried on, deeper in the tunnels.
The whole complex was a huge maze of ice and stone, and they had to fight their way through several ice wraiths and trolls. Brynjolf had to pull some of the mages with him when he noticed them take a turn in the wrong direction. Especially an Altmer woman named Nirya was an utterly hopeless case. This was where he shone, relying on his thief instincts, and so he was ordered to close the line together with Faralda and watch out for potential strays. From behind he could hear noises as the elven army broke into the tunnels, trying to catch up. Then, there was a loud crack and a lot of bestial laughter. Dremora, Brynjolf realized. There must have been so many of them… more noises, and then came wild squeaking, as though a swarm of squirrels were fighting for a piece of bread thrown to them. He realized it probably really was a swarm of squirrels.
"Good riddance," he snorted. His Altmer companion smirked.
Upon entering a wooden door, too frail to last a single fire bolt, as Brynjolf thought, Faralda sealed it with runes from both sides. Brynjolf offered to lock it, which Faralda welcomed with a rare smile of hers, imbuing the lock with magic which spanned all over the door up to its hinges.
"That'll take some time to get through," she commented approvingly. They rushed forward and caught up with the others, entering a glacier cave. Ice was everywhere now, and the cold was getting under Brynjolf's skin, freezing his blood. Even the occupants of the College shivered now, all of them running at a steady pace not only before the Thalmor, but also to warm themselves, until they reached a tall crevice leading outside. Tolfdir urged everyone to exit the icy cave, and only Faralda and Nirya stayed with him, the latter being sent away shortly after. Some ancient magic circulated the ice, making it sparkle even in the night, and Brynjolf suspected it was connected to the focal points at the College. His suspicion proved right when both Tolfdir and Faralda raised their hands, pulling at the magical energy to extend the barrier. His eyes suddenly widened in shock.
"Are you shutting them inside?" the thief asked in disbelief.
"What do you want us to do?" Faralda scoffed. "Let them hunt us down like some wild animals?"
"That's not what I…"
Tolfdir let out a sigh. "It's not like we enjoy doing this," he said with a shake of his head. "But our priority is to protect our College, and that primarily includes the staff. Do we need to go this far? Well, since all the survivors are sooner or later going to join their ranks again and come at us in greater numbers, yes, I think we do."
"Okay," Brynjolf said cautiously. "I was just… surprised, I guess."
"That happens a lot when people see our methods, actually," Faralda replied matter-of-factly. "We do not tend to dawdle over our problems."
"I can see that," he grimaced.
The two casters joined him at the mouth of the cave after a while. They stood on a ledge made of solid stone, facing a huge block of ice spreading across a bay. The sound of splashing water welcomed them, along with the reflection of the dawning sun on its surface. Brynjolf drew in the fresh air and couldn't help a smile when the warm sunrays touched his skin. He heard a number of content sighs from the mages, but then another sound caught his attention. An almost unnoticeable moan… and when he looked to find its source, his gaze rested upon the weary Lucia. He rushed to her and caught her just before she would have touched the ground. She looked at him drowsily.
"I'm sorry, uncle Brynjolf," she breathed. "I'm so tired…"
"She must be," Faralda commented from behind. "A complete novice, setting up so many runes…"
"You're the one who made her do that," Brynjolf remarked dryly. Faralda raised her hands in a defensive gesture.
"I know, I know," she said regretfully. "I… I was curious about what she could do. I'll have Colette put her back on her feet again."
"You do that," he nodded, "or your Arch-Mage is going to kill you."
Faralda visibly shuddered. "We better hurry and get to safety then," she uttered decisively.
The group of the mages then walked down the slope descending to the shore, vast ocean ahead, the great cliff supporting the College behind, shrouded in a veil of magical mist. Brynjolf threw a glance over his shoulder, contemplating the battle which had not really been a battle. The little lass was resting in his arms, breathing steadily as he treaded through the snowdrifts. He sighed and took another step. This was going to be the longest vacation he had ever had in all his thieving history, but at least one thing was now certain. Reinya Talwen seemed to be on his side.
Another chapter out. The next one should be out shortly, because I have it written already and I just need to proofread it and change the sloppiest parts. As for this one… I apologize if it's bad, especially the end of it. I was planning on releasing it three days ago, but I barely managed to use my computer at all. And then the worst part came today. I lost one of my best friends. His mom called me in the morning, informing me they had found him in his bed, he wasn't breathing and they couldn't help him anymore. So I spent the whole day in delirium. I still can't believe something like this happened, but I decided I can't just sit and brood over it, and if there was one thing this particular friend would wish for me, it would be to live. So I wrote the rest of my chapter as I had planned. He always supported me in writing this story, so I'd like to dedicate this chapter to him. Auri, you were one of the best people I've ever met. And I will never ever forget everything you've done for me.
Pietersielie:That comment actually made me laugh. First time I've been called a sadist. (Guess I shouldn't be too happy about it, but it was somewhat sweet. :))
Eric:Not the last time you hear of the theatre, I can assure you. Glad you liked it. :)
dart:No cheese again. I guess squirrels will have to do. But no cliffhanger this time. ;)
Again, thanks to all the people who kindly favorited or followed the story, and big thanks to everyone who reviewed. You're keeping me motivated. Also, as always, thanks to dart0808 for the beta.
Mirwen