It was just as the sun had reached its zenith that Clesa stopped her horse and dismounted. She had been a constant companion to Carcette during the High Priestess's recovery, so it surprised neither Sharn nor Gwenyfe when the Redguard warrior retrieved a small rug from behind her saddle and found a flat piece of ground to lay it on before kneeling upon it, turning her face and her palms upwards toward the sun.
Yōkudā dī brahama ātamā, jō sūraja atē tūphāna'tē rāja karadī hai, sārē tāvanāṁ dī dēvī, havā dī pi'ārī aurata, mainū pavitara karō. Mainū āpaṇī tākata nāla hathi'āra di'ō. Āpaṇī dhāramikatā nāla mainū śasatra kara. Mainū āpaṇī himata atē rahima nāla banhō, the woman prayed quietly, her eyes closed as the sun bathed her face.
"It is a prayer to Tava, the bird Goddess of Yokuda," she had explained when Gwenyfe had inquired the first time she had witnessed the event, "she is called The Lady of the Air, and holds dominion over all aspects of Sun and Storm."
"You pray to Tava, yet you serve Stendarr," Gwenyfe had replied quizzically, "can one faithfully serve two masters? Will not the tenants of one faith eventually conflict with the other?"
Gwenyfe was surprised when the lithe yet powerful woman smiled.
"I serve both Tava and Stendarr, though The Lady of the Air alone receives my prayers. In answer to your question, I do not find the combination in any way burdensome; not yet, at least. Both Tava and Stendarr believe in compassion, and in the just application of strength. Both believe that laws are necessary for order to be maintained, either Gods' laws or men's laws, or a combination of the two. It is upon laws that civilizations are built."
"That is very wise. Do all Priestesses of Tava, or Stendarr, feel as you do?"
Clesa's hair was done up in many braids, all of which were no thicker than a slender finger, all of which were capped at the end with a small piece of hollowed bone, all of which hung well below the dragon hide and ebony belt that girded her supple waist and held a slender curved sword at her left hip and similarly designed dagger at her right. Gwenyfe was no expert, but she was certain that both hilts were made from dragon bone, and were wrapped with hide identical to the material on her belt. She wore a scaled mail shirt with half sleeves over a dark embroidered tunic and under the grey robes that seemed to be uniformly worm by all the Vigilants from the hall that was currently being rebuilt not too far away from where the two women had been standing.
Gwenyfe was tall, even by the standards of the Reach, but Clesa stood eye to eye with her, her dark hair and eyes and her beautiful dark skin contrasting with Gwenyfe's bright red hair, which fell around her head in waves when it was not pulled back and corralled with a piece of leather as it was now, and her green eyes and milky pale skin that currently displayed a constellation of freckles that traveled from her forehead to her breasts. Like those fully initiated into the Order of The Silver hand, she wore a mail shirt made of steel interwoven with silver, steel and silver pauldrons, gorget, vambraces and greaves. The dark, sweat stained belt around her waist, which held her silver sword and dagger, also held steel plate fauds (she could never abide cuisses, and did not wear them) and a brown leather tunic, scapular and breeches in place. It was not the habit of any Reachman to display adornment, and her clothing had none. But both her scabbards, made from Valenwood, bore intricate patterns done in silver, and enchanted so that they glowed when unnatural creatures were nearby.
"Many likely do, but I am no Priestess. I have taken no religious orders of any kind. The religious life is not for me or, more accurately, I am not for it."
"Forgive me, friend, I did not mean to offend. I thought all Vigilants took holy orders."
"You do not offend, friend. Many Vigilants take orders, but not all. Of the four of us who survived the attack, I am the only one who has not."
"You and I are of a kind, then. My sister embraced the religious life in her fourteenth summer, but I did not. We had been inseparable until then. We both thought we would remain so. But Dibella called her. Called her, but not me. We were both heartbroken that we would be parted, but I was also secretly relieved. I could never imagine being cloistered, not matter how fine the temple was. It would be no more than a gilded prison to me."
"Your sister is a Priestess of Dibella?" Clesa asked, he brow raised in surprise, "I have heard tales of them, certainly. Quite lively tales. Your sister must be very beautiful."
"She is very beautiful. There is no denying that. But as to the tales that are told of the Priestesses of Dibella, I cannot say what is true and what is speculation, or simply wild male fantasy. I can tell you that when the Priestesses leave their temple in any number that the houses of healing in Markath fill up quickly."
Clesa's excellent set of teeth were on full display as she laughed.
"Can they truly be so dangerous?"
"You would think men would be used to them by now. Or that they would at least pay attention where they are walking, or where they place their feet on the thousands of stairs cut into the living rock around the city."
"Men become imbeciles in the presence of beautiful women," Clesa said as she looked directly at Gwenyfe, "I am sure you have caused a fair number of injuries in your life."
Gwenyfe felt her face blush, and she felt a sudden need to inspect the tips of her boots before she replied.
"It is kind of you to say, but Dibella chose wisely when she chose my sister and not me."
"Do Reachmen worship Dibella in large numbers?"
"Many who live in Markath, or in the surrounding countryside and villages, worship Dibella. Those who shun the cities and villages, preferring to live in the wild country, are more apt to cling to the Old Gods. Some prefer Malacath, whose care for his followers is well known, as is his ferocity in battle, and his love for conflict."
"That is more in keeping with what I know of The Reach or, at least, what I have heard," Clesa had said. She still held her rolled up rug under one arm, but she and Gwenyfe had moved into the shade of a large tree.
"It will surprise you, then, to hear that a large number of Reachmen worship Mara," Gwenyfe said with a smile, which quickly turned into a laugh at the look on the Redguard Vigilants face, a face that was quick to join in sororal mirth.
It was a trio of women, Reachman, Redguard, and Orsimer, who rejoined the trail almost due west from Dawnstar, Clesa's prayer rug once again stowed safely behind her saddle, her long braids, and the bones that terminated them, playing their rhythmic melody as they rode slowly west before turning slightly north, leaving the trail that had become almost indistinguishable from the dry, arid landscape. Their destination sat upon a promontory of rock, and called them to it like a siren calls unfortunate sailors to their doom, though none of the three warriors believed such tails when they heard them, even though all of them had seen things much more fantastical in their recent lives. It took well over an hour before they finally reached their goal and dismounted.
"This is no Nord structure," Sharn said as her eyes traveled to her sword sister, "nor Imperial neither."
"It is Akaviri," Gwenyfe said, her voice betraying her astonishment, "outposts with this architecture can be found throughout Tamriel. Skyhaven Temple is well known in the Reach, though no one has ever gained entry."
"I have only heard tell of Wind Scour Temple, an Akaviri temple located in the Alik'r Desert. I have never laid eyes on it, or any other Akaviri structure before now," Clesa said.
"We will travel south to The Reach one day, friend. Gwenyfe and I will show you Skyhaven Temple. It is a sight to see."
"This is almost as old as Tamriel," Gwenyfe said, "but it has been well maintained. Some of those repairs are recent."
"The courtyard is swept clean, the door hinges are oiled, the door itself could withstand an army," Sharn said as she inspected the heavy door that stood open in the archway.
"You both have sharp eyes," Clesa said as she stood next to the Orsimer warrior who stood half a head taller that her companions. Sharn had stopped in the archway that was the only entrance through the circular stone wall. A watchtower sat against the back wall. To her left was a small forge, to her right a stable large enough for four horses and a smaller structure; both of which had an assortment of old roofing shingles as well as new ones. A well sat in the center of the yard which displayed a similar assortment of new and old stone and mortar, and it was to that object that Sharn walk as her eyes continued to scan the surrounding area.
"This rope and bucket are new," She said before drinking from the bucket, "as is the pole supporting both. The water is not fouled."
Gwenyfe led her horse and Sharn's into the stable.
"These droppings are recent, a few days old at most."
"Surely there must be more to this than meets the eye," Sharn said, "That tower cannot hold a shard of Wuuthrad, or anything else of interest."
"It has two level above ground, and leads to several more below," Clesa answered, "Anything of interest will be there, a full turn of stone steps, followed by two more turns made of wood, beneath us."
"No wheel tracks. Whoever is maintaining this outpost is moving all their materials by hand or on pack animals," Gwenyfe observed.
"No easy task on the inclined approach."
"Who would go to such trouble to move material and maintain this site, and yet leave no one here to protect their investment?"
"Do we know that they left no one here?" Sharn asked as she turned to look at Clesa.
"No, we do not," she answered after removing her hand from the stone forge, "the forge is cool, but not cold. Three days, possibly four, since it's fire went out. It sorts well with the horse droppings in the stable. But any number of men traveling here on foot could be within. Several vents lie at intervals of thirty paces further north outside the wall. It argues for a fair sized underground structure, though I confess that I have never explored it. We last I was here I was barred at the bottom of the stairs by a host of skeevers."
"What led you to believe that a fragment resides here?" Gwenyfe asked.
"I was not the source of that rumor, but I recognized the location being described immediately; specifically the design of the tower, and it's roof; though I was not aware of it's origins."
"There can be no mistaking it, though I never heard of an Akaviri structure so far north, nor one so diminutive," Sharn said.
"Wind Scour Temple is almost completely buried," Clesa said, "As this one seems to be. No one knows it's true size."
"Well then," Sharn said as she removed her helm, wiped her brow, and massaged her head through her course dark hair, "it is high time we found out."
The horses were fed and watered and relieved of their saddles, which rested on the nearby walls of their stalls. The heavy door in the archway was now closed and barred from the inside, and the tall outer wall, combined with the steep incline of the terrain outside the wall, made any entry the work of equally tall ladders or a siege engine that would be heard for miles as it battered the door into submission.
But the three women would not take the chance that some force, finding their entrance barred, would return later better equipped; so they agreed upon a time limit for their search.
"If the structure is as large as it sounds, we are too small a force to search it before we exhaust or provisions," Sharn said, "especially if we encounter resistance."
"Agreed," Gwenyfe said, "Though there is also the question of what to do should we encounter that resistance."
"If we were certain that a fragment was here then our course would be clear. But a fight to the death, either ours or theirs, would be pointless without a certain prize at its end."
"Do followers of Tava or Stendarr learn Clairvoyance?" Gwenyfe asked Clesa playfully.
The woman smiled before she answered.
"I wish that they did. I would have been saved many a bad relationship."
All three women laughed, but it was Sharn's variety that must certainly have been audible all the way to Dawnstar.
"Time and tide waits for no one, or so I have been informed," Sharn said finally before a thought occurred to her as she looked at Gwenyfe and smiled.
"Perhaps we will be lucky, and it will be the Thane of Whiterun we find under this hill."
"From your lips to the Gods ears."