Chapter 34:
The mask had been found among the bones of a skeleton leaning against the ruined sculpture of a wall crowned with nine busts. The central piece was a dragon. To its right and left were eight dragon priest busts, four on each side. In the real world, many of the heads were missing or smashed. But in the other space, he recognized one bust as Krosis and another as Vokun. So, there were six other dragon priests with special masks. Krosis was in the hands of Farengar, the court mage of Whiterun, and Vokun was still in the miscellaneous junk trunk in his room at Breezehome. He wondered if anything special would happen if all eight masks were gathered here and placed on their busts.
As for the skeleton, he had been pondering its presence. He knew the mask could not be used outside this dome as an escape method. A rusted knife had also been found among the bones of the previous user. A possible story would be that the masker wearer had been slain by someone upon exiting the other place. Or the victim was stabbed on this side, fled to the other side to escape and recover, but had died nevertheless. And if dying was the same as taking off the mask, the body had been ejected.
The first test of the magic room was with a time candle. He went in at dawn, set the candle on a shelf, lit it, then left. At noon, he went back in. The candle was still burning but had not burnt to the one-hour mark. It had, in fact, could have been just lit. He opened the book he'd brought and read it until the candle burned two hours away. Upon exiting, he saw the crude sundial he'd scratched outside reflected the two hours he'd spent in the other space. So, time only moved when the mask wearer was there. He went to a troll corpse, cut meat and maggots from it, and took them into the other space. Left for two hours and then went back. The maggots were still alive. Another test of this. He left the city to trap a rabbit. A whispered "FUS" was enough to stun a running rabbit.
Rabbit was still alive when he returned an hour later. So Rodina's idea of putting the horses in here was possible. He tried taking the rabbit into the other place, but this time he did not carry the bound rabbit and set it on the ground away from him. It did not come with him. That reinforced the time Rodina had recklessly put on the mask and disappeared. She hadn't been touching anyone, so no one had gone with her. This time, he placed his foot against the rabbit. Success. Good. He rewarded the creature by letting it go.
The next test used Bramble, the pack horse Jarl Idgrod had given him. He petted Bramble's nose apologetically and put his arm across her back, to leave her in the other place. It was a hard two hours. A rabbit was one meal. A horse was life, strength, and prosperity.
While he experimented, Valdimar had ridden back to Morthal to get more supplies and equipment for an extended exploration of Labyrinthian, and the others had gone to explore Shalidor's Maze, the testing place for wizards according to the book Onmund had loaned him and that he had read in the other place while the candle burned.
They came back just as he and Bramble exited the other place.
"Your suggestion was good, Rodina," he said. "We can leave the horses here while we explore the dragon temple. They'll be safe and will need neither food nor water."
He noticed Brelyna was wearing a jeweled coronet and a proud expression. "It sounds like you have a good story to tell this evening?" he asked. "You passed Shalidor's tests?"
"I stand here because they could not!" she declared proudly.
That sounded familiar. Oh, yes, there was that evening when Athis, the only Dunmer member, explained to interested Companions the basics of Boethiah worship, the extreme interpretation of the Boethiah cultists in Windhelm, and the significance of the Tournament of Ten Bloods with its associated, ancient declaration of triumph. "Congratulations," said Tariq solemnly. "Is the Maze of Shalidor comparable to the Tournament?"
"No," said Brelyna, smiling ruefully. "Shalidor isn't Prince Boethiah, and this wasn't a battle to the death. There were opportunities to back out or escape if it was too much, and the maze was open to observers who could rescue me if I got too injured to make it out of the maze on my own."
"It's still an accomplishment," stated Onmund, "especially at the end when she got pulled into Oblivion to fight a dremora mage. There was no rescuing or helping her then."
"Then well fought," declared Tariq, nodding approval. "May I examine your prize? I am curious to see what the esteemed Shalidor considers a fitting reward."
Brelyna smiled. "Thank you! I was going to ask you your opinion on it. I know the basics of enchanting, but I can tell you're currently better at it than I am by looking at the ornaments you made for your horses and by your armor."
"I would have to take it to an enchantment table to precisely determine the enchantments," said Tariq. He put the coronet on. "There is a change in my magicka, that much I can tell. An added depth to reserve? A better responsiveness?" he pondered aloud. He gave the coronet back to her. "I am impressed that it is an excellent enhancement item. A detailed examination with the proper tools will help you master its potential. I also see you have more staves. Another reward from the maze?"
"No. Those were tools provided at the entrance of the maze," said Brelyna. "One for each school of magic — one of fear for Illusion, a magelight for Alteration, one that routes the undead for Restoration, and a firebolt for Destruction. Each stave unlocks a part of the maze."
"But potentially useful in battle," said Tariq.
"Yes."
"There is a word wall, my thane," said Lydia. "Fortunately, it's not in the maze itself.
"Ah. Then I'll go read it now. As you can see there, I caught some mudbugs. I've done my part catching them for dinner, so I'll look at this maze you've been playing in."
… … …
The torq unlocked the great doors of Labyrinthian. Like any enchanted place, it was bigger than the outer structure indicated. Ropes still dangled from the gaps in the high ceiling. Most immediate proof of activities were the number of bodies littering the floor. It was fairly recent. While most were skeletons, some still had strings of withered, rotted flesh clinging to their bones. "No skeevers," noted Valdimar. "Only worms and weather at work here."
"They were all running for the exit," said Rodina.
"What killed them?" Onmund toed the bones around him. "No spent arrows. No bone scarring or breaking from weapon strikes. All of them are intact and positioned like they just fell flat on their faces, dead. If it was an area strike spell… A frost storm, probably. A flame burst would have left scorch marks on the floor. Or a storm spell. It would take an inhuman amount of power to kill this many at once. But maybe a magic eater has that kind of power to use. A soul gate must be incredibly strong to contain that kind of power."
"A soul gate is incredibly strong and equally fragile," said Brelyna. "It's only as strong as the passions of the souls that empower it. The Great Fence that once contained Dagoth Ur was made of thousands of souls of each generation. Souls who believed in the Tribunal. Waves of faith — until the Nerevarine returned and was the rock that broke the waves. The true Minister of Truth that exposed the lie the Poet had only delayed." She signed as she wandered into a shallow pool of rainwater and bent to pick up a glass dagger from under the bones of skeleton's hand. "Master Aren's friends… Such betrayal. No wonder he couldn't lead the college properly. He had the power but always second-guessed himself, forbidding studies and experiments that carried any danger. If the college followed House Telvanni rules, he'd have been challenged and killed long ago. But it's not. Everyone who couldn't stand mediocrity and his obsessive stance against all risks left."
"Like Conjurations Master Falion, Dwemer Scholar Valie, Restorations Masters Grendel and Belinda," said Onmund. "'Dangerous research,' was always the excuse."
"What kind of dangers?" asked Rodina.
"Master Falion was researching the contradictory existence of vampires," explained Onmund. "Scholar Valie kept trying to organize parties to go into Dwemer ruins. People regularly die exploring such. Masters Grendel and Belinda were trying to expand healing research and practice into chirurgery, which is riskier because actively cutting open a body to heal seems counter-intuitive, and you needed a lot of bodies to dissect and experiment on. And expanding such research would naturally spill over and involve the town. Jarl Korir already makes trouble. He'd go mad if vampires and their thralls started showing up or the town became overburdened with cripples and dying patients, not to mention cadaver procurers digging up the local graves. Master Aren hated having to deal with him and his bully boys. After every argument they had, the rest of us had to creep around town to avoid confrontations because we knew Master Aren would never stir himself to actively defend us if we got into trouble. Anyone from the college going into town did so at their own risk. That was risk he didn't seem to mind us experiencing."
"Well, we know Master Falion resigned and, when traveling back to Hammerfell, ended up as the court wizard of Hjaalmarch," said Rodina. "What happened to the others?"
"Scholar Valie quit the college, rejecting all association, and was last seen with an Imperial-led party going into the Alftand ruins," said J'zargo. "The Healing masters resigned and joined the Legion. Many bodies to study in battle zones, easily procured, most already dissected."
"How did Savos Aren rise to power?" asked Tariq.
"The Great War," said Onmund. "Many masters and seniors joined the armies of Eastmarch and Whiterun as battlemages. Only a handful returned. Master Tolfdir is only veteran left on staff. The others have retired or died since then. Master Faralda was a senior but told not to join because she was an Altmer and no Nord commander would guarantee her safety among their troops. Master Aren, at the time of recruitment, was away in Morrowind. When the only surviving seniors and masters returned, they were too tired from battle to care that he'd taken over leadership of the college. His reluctance to engage in politics outside the college was fine because they were sick of their countrymen. They'd fought hard against the Dominion mages, often in ten or more to one battles. But all they got in return was scorn for being wizards." He shrugged, bitterness twisting his mouth. "When I told my childhood friends I was going to study magic at Winterhold, in an instant, I went from being a great guy to hunt with to an effeminate, cowardly spell-slinger."
They'd left the vestibule and were walking down a stony hallway that was descending downward. It ended in a room with a draugr standing in a niche and a frost covered door. The room shook with a low thunder.
**WO MAYZ WAH DII VUL JUNAAR?**
The mages staggered, suddenly weak and near to fainting. Tariq even felt a passing mild dizziness as his own meager store of magicka was ripped out. So the rumor of a magicka-eater was true.
He drifted to the draugr while the mages inspected the iced door and shoved a dagger upward into its desiccated liver. The monster hissed and weakly tried to grab him as it collapsed. He let go of the knife and swung his clasped, armored fists down against the base of its skull, cracking its neck. He beckoned to Valdimar. "Behead it," he ordered. Valdimar nodded, pulling the woodcutting hand ax from his belt and chopping the draugr's head off.
"Watch out!"
An ice phantasm solidified from the ice coating on the door. While the mages hadn't fully recovered, the weak flames from the three were enough to turn the creature into an explosion of snow.
The door slid open. The chamber behind it was dark. The distant cauldrons of coals gave further hints of the vastness.
**NIVAHRIIN MUZ FENT SIIV NID AAZ HET.**
The mages swore softly. Tariq used the Aura shout. "Four sentries," Tariq said, pointing at different angles in the darkness.
"Let's get a good look, shall we?" Onmund pointed his staff upward and fired a globe of light that grew bigger as it drifted upward and stuck to the jagged ceiling; J'zargo aimed his downward and let loose a ball of light that lazily spiraled down, showing ramps along the walls, a bridge to a lower room, and a small stream at the bottom. The draugr sentries standing on the ramps hissed and called out threats.
"Let me handle this," said Idgrod. She crouched while notching an arrow into her bow and moved away, slipping into the shadows. Soft snaps of a bowstring, the whispering hiss of arrows in flight, and four bodies hit the ground.
"A chamber deeper in," said Tariq. He pointed. "Two more hidden there, where that bridge leads to."
They split up. Tariq, Rodina, and Brelyna went to the nearest ledge. Valdimar, J'zargo, and Idgrod went over the bridge below to hunt the draugr beyond. Lydia and Onmund went to follow the waterway at the bottom.
The room at the end of the short passage from the ledge was sealed with a lighting trap, and then there was a draugr inside. A short tunnel led to a small crypt room. At some point, someone had set up a study room inside with enchantment and alchemy tables. There was a skeleton seated in front of the enchantment table. It had a sword thrust through hits ribs from the back. The fellow evidently hadn't heard the draugr exiting its sarcophagus.
Brelyna was delighted to pull out from a skeleton's grasp a spellbook with a Mysticism spell she'd never heard of. A dangerous exchange of one's life force for magicka. It seemed insane, but Tariq could understand the grim logic of it. A mage who exhausted his magic couldn't defend his life and would soon lose it. It was the logic of voluntarily dislocating one's arms to escape binds, an animal gnawing its foot off to escape a trap.
"This," said Brelyna. "The master of Restorations often does a strange practice in her room to strengthen her healing ability. It's always puzzled us. If you get near her room, you start to feel faint, and you're suddenly aware of your own heart beating loudly in your ears. She is casting both healing and life-draining spells."
"A balancing practice, I see," said Tariq. "Much like the exercise to practice sword swings and footwork while balancing on a beam above the ground. It's easy to fall off and possibly impale yourself on your own weapon."
"Exactly, exactly. But I'm sure it's not as painful as some similar practices I've heard of, like one master who stood with bare feet atop a bed of coals or another who let poisonous spiders bite her. I'm sure this spell will be less painful. Hopefully, I'll pass out before I drain my life past recovery."
Tariq hummed noncommittally. He moved the chair and skeleton aside. "This table still seems to have power. Give me that coronet. Let me see what enchantments it holds." She happily handed it over and went to inspect the nearby alchemy table and the boxed ingredients beside it.
"Old, old," she complained. "These ingredients have decayed. Too bad. There were healing and magicka potion components here. It would have been nice to brew some extras." She wandered back to his side and watched him meditate over the enchantment table.
Tariq spoke aloud the results of his study. "Permanent spells. Cannot be transferred. As expected of First and Second Era enchantments, crafted to last the ages. Yes, as I sensed, this will lessen cost by a quarter of any spell cast of any school. It also gives you a reserve pool of power, and it will quicken magicka recovery. This is an excellent tool for a mage. Even if the mysterious demon eats again, you alone will have enough reserve to immediately power apprentice level spells. There is a physical benefit also. Mage armor protection."
"How strong an armor effect?"
"Let's see. Here, put it on." He unsheathed his knife. "Turn around. It will perhaps be easier on you if you do not see."
Tariq went behind her and began slashing at her back. Light batting at first, testing the cloth's resistance, then increasing speed until her short cape split. He then put the point against her left shoulder, pressing until she yelped.
"I'd say leather armor. It can be stronger when you use flesh-strengthening spells. You do know such spells?"
"Yes. I can cast stoneflesh."
"Very good. That should get you to iron-class armor. Now, if there is nothing else here of interest, let us go find the others."
**YOU DO NOT ANSWER. MUST I USE THIS GUTTURAL LANGUAGE OF YOURS?**
"Ah, J'zargo's been having fun," commented Brelyna as they went down the ramps to the bridge below. Tariq sniffed and smelled burnt spoiled meat. They got to the room and saw one draugr was burnt, and the other was full of ice spears. J'zargo was rummaging for things worth collecting. Idgrod was tending to Valdimar's bruises and trying to get J'zargo to sit down so she could look him over. The draugr full of ice spears had been one of the shouting types to tell by its horned helmet.
"He managed to get one shout on us," said Idgrod to his unspoken question.
"Sorry we missed all the fun up here," said Onmund as he and Lydia emerged from an entrance near a rubble pile of shelves and tables.
"Any trouble your way?" asked Brelyna.
"Skeleton archers and mages and a troll. We went through what looked to be the sewer system route that ended in a troll room. We didn't get too far along that way because that room overlooked a larger room with a small army of skeletons, so we doubled back to find the rest of you."
As they traveled the sewer tunnel, the magicka eater spoke again.
"HAVE YOU RETURNED, AREN? MY OLD FRIEND? DO YOU SEEK TO FINISH THAT WHICH YOU COULD NOT? YOU ONLY FACE FAILURE ONCE MORE."
Brelyna was able to keep a magicka shield up. "It works like you said it would," she told Tariq. When she explained her remark to her fellow mages, Onmund congratulated her again while J'zargo hissed with good-natured envy.
Skeletons, trolls, glowing balls, and some sort of witch spirit.
**YOU. YOU ARE NOT AREN, ARE YOU? HAS HE SENT YOU IN HIS PLACE? DID HE WARN YOU THAT YOUR OWN POWER WOULD BE YOUR UNDOING? THAT IT WOULD ONLY SERVE TO STRENGTHEN ME?**
Then, another door guardian, but this time of fire. After that, the draugr changed to harder-to-kill spirit forms, and they had hunting dogs. The weapons they used had drain effects from the defunct school of Mysticism. The mages liked them because they were incredibly lightweight while having the strength of real weapons. The weapons each mage chose surprised Tariq — Brelyna took a two-handed battleax that ate health; Onmund, a bow that drained magicka; and J'zargo, a longsword that drained stamina.
These ghost draugr were troublesome, combining the solid toughness and relentlessness of a draugr with the immunity of ghosts to unsilvered and unenchanted weapons. Too bad for the ghost draugr. This party had no shortage of enchanted and silver weapons and magic.
Tariq was impressed by the mages' abilities in battle. They weren't content to stay back and let the warriors take the front line. The cat sprang forward, battling like a spellsword with sword and fire. Onmund used lighting bolts at first, and when his magicka ran out, he showed his battle skills with the bow. He wasn't a distance shooter, but he had the strength, speed, and confidence to draw a bow at a close distance, showing he was used to facing charging targets. He also used the ghost bow to block strikes, then thrust and clubbed his opponents to the ground. Brelyna was a surprise. She favored firebolts and conjured fire-flinging scamps. And when the enemy surrounded her, she burst into a pillar of flame and swung her ghost battle ax wildly at the staggering draugr — blinded and slowed from being on fire — chopping them with more luck than skill. It was surprisingly effective.
"Was that a fire cloak spell?" Tariq asked Brelyna. She was slumped against a wall in exhaustion. J'zargo was crouched beside her, handing her potions.
"Ancestors' Wrath," she answered. "It's a racial thing with my kind. Not all of us can use it at will. Most of the time, it's an instinctive, desperate final-strike action. As you can see, it leaves us too drained to run unless we had the foresight to pack a lot of strong recovery potions."
"Ah. That is the same for my kind as well," said Tariq. "Of the most immediate that comes to mind are Bosmer, Betmer, Bretons, and Nords who can use their racial skill and still be able to fight afterwards."
J'zargo purred agreement and then told Brelyna, "That is all the spare magicka potions. Dunmer has the crown and staff to restore reserves."
"Really sorry about that," she said, looking at J'zargo and Onmund. They shrugged.
"That's fine," said Onmund. "Like J'zargo said, just stay in the back and use Jyrik's staff and Shalidor's coronet to recover. When we finally find that noisy, smug magicka eater, you better have some ideas for taking it down."
"The fence or the monster?" asked J'zargo.
"Both. We have to get Magnus's staff. That's the whole point of this." Onmund tapped J'zargo's shoulder. "We should scout ahead while everyone gets a rest."
"I could use a rest, too," grumbled the cat.
"Okay. Go ahead and take one."
"Here," said Brelyna, taking off her coronet and tossing it to Onmund. "Use this. I don't want your spells to fail if that thing starts talking again. You're planning to use that new invisibility spell you learned that also lets you see in the dark, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"That takes a lot of energy. You should also rest a bit before you go."
He grinned. "No rest for the wicked."
"You still shouldn't go alone," said Rodina.
"I'm still fit," said Lydia.
"No insult meant, but it'll be faster if I go alone," said Onmund. "I was hoping J'zargo would come because he can use his racial skill to see in pitch black, and cats are built with a natural muffle mode. I'm going to be using a lot of magicka, and I can't spare any for you."
"Stand down, Lydia," said Tariq. "I could loan you my enchanted boots to compensate for noise," he offered Onmund, "but I have nothing for seeing in the dark or invisibility."
"Could I borrow those boots, sir?" asked Onmund.
Tariq grunted assent and sat down. Lydia helped him wrestle his Dwemer boots off. Tariq peeled off the soft leather inner boots, more like sturdy leather socks, and tossed them to Onmund. "Muffle and stamina restoration," he said.
"No wonder you move so quietly in all that armor," said Onmund. "And faster stamina recovery — very useful to a warrior, especially a Redguard warrior and his racial stamina ability."
While Onmund was scouting, they ate and took naps. Rodina and J'zargo had retraced their battle route to pick up useful or valuable items.
"The next room has a deathlord with a pack of ghost hounds and a word wall," reported Onmund. "The hall beyond that room is lined with skeletons and ghost draugr. There are a lot of pillars to fight around. A small room after that that leads into the final chamber where Master Aren's late friends are still holding the dragon priest prisoner. Oh, and treasure," he grinned at J'zargo. "If you ask nicely and take some of my chores in the Arcanaeum, I might help you carry some. That dragon priest was pretty important to be buried with that much loot."
"For the ruler of a this city, the treasury must be fitting," said J'zargo. "And I will take your assistant duties to Tolfdir."
"Forget it. Urag or nothing. I actually want those extra study and and research jobs for Master Tolfdir. You can mend books and scrolls." J'zargo snarled mildly at him but didn't argue further.
The Nords shouted as one, scattering the dogs and startling the deathlord. Its hesitation gave Tariq the opening to ram it and take its head when it went down.
The dragon wall gave Tariq the word "TIID." The Skyborn Altar dragon would provide him the word's meaning.
"Did all you Nords need to shout?" whined J'zargo. "I'm sure even the trolls outside heard it."
"My ears hurt as well, J'zargo," said Brelyna. "I'm sure that dragon priest bastard knows we're coming for him. But by the sound of it, I'll bet he doesn't know we've got with us the strongest Tongue."
"Tongue?" asked Tariq.
"The old title for the dragon tongue speakers," she explained. "I don't know when 'Greybeards' became the accepted nomenclature. And 'Greybeards' means nothing in Morrowind. But if you say 'Tongues,' we all know what you speak of. Those monsters — I'm sorry, but to the Dunmer, they were monsters — led the Nords in the conquest of my homeland. This forced Hortator Nerevar to make the unthinkable alliance with Dwemer King Dumac to drive the Nords out. And it also seems a silly designation, anyway, as there's no reason to believe only old men can be Tongues. And for a woman, that would be incredibly rude."
J'zargo laughed and flicked his tongue at her. She scowled at him.
"'Monsters' is a bit harsh," murmured Onmund. "One culture's hero is another's 'king of the devils.' A point of interest is if it wasn't for Nerevar and Dumac proving that the Voice wasn't the unstoppable force we Nords thought it was, Jurgen Windcaller would not have realized that using the Voice for world domination was wrong. He would never have founded the order that has outlived all the other Voice schools."
They moved into the gauntlet of the sentry hallway. Shouting and ranged magic attacks were useless with all the pillars in the way, and these undead had enough awareness to duck behind them. The mages focused on penning the undead between the pillars so that Tariq, Lydia, and Valdimar could move in and methodically chop them down.
Rodina had slipped through and was waiting for them in the next room with ice-melt water from the final chamber and Tariq's emergency pack of recovery potions.
"I went and explored the exit tunnel. As Onmund said, there are some nice treasure chests. At the end of the tunnel is a heavy iron gate with a small crypt as the next room. But as I was looking for the lever or chain to raise the gate, I heard High Altmer. Thalmor, I'm guessing. They'd found the back way in. I didn't stick around to get any more details on them. I didn't want to risk getting caught by their sharper ears or spells."
"It's that Thalmor spy's doing," hissed J'zargo. "Doubtless that one has pried the information of this mission and seeks to take the prize."
"I'll watch that gate while you take on the dragon priest. I doubt the Thalmor will exert themselves to force it open to get anywhere near the fighting. They'd rather someone else do all the hard work, and they swoop in to kill the weakened survivors and pick through the remains. I should have enough time to warn you in the off chance they actually exert themselves. The tunnel is narrow enough that I can buy some time with a couple staves?" she hinted. "I already have a lightning stave."
J'zargo sighed and handed over his fire stave. "Fireballs," he told Rodina. "Fully charged. This one saw oil jars for oil traps stacked in a side room a ways back. The way is clear to go back for retrieval. Thus, the tunnel should be entrapped. A pool of burning oils is a nuisance, no?"
It was a good idea. J'zargo led them back to the little room he'd seen. As he'd said, it was full of oil-filled trap pots. They hauled them quietly to the exit tunnel. J'zargo balanced on Onmund's shoulders to find places to tie two ropes. One rope was strung with ragged banners gathered from past rooms. Behind those, on the second rope, hung the pots. If the Thalmor came through, their mage and/or archers wouldn't see the trap. All Rodina would need to do is hit them with firebolt to drop all of them.
It was time to confront the dragon priest inside his cage. While he was contained, they couldn't attack him physically or magically. The two dead souls holding him there would have to be freed from their accursed binding.
From the entryway, this burial chamber was large. At the far end was a waterfall to an icy pool. On the left were two tiers, each with a dragon head parapet, and under the dragon heads were the enslaved spirits. On the lower tier was a bridge connecting to the platform on the right, where the dragon priest floated in his prison. The dragon priest floated above it. Englobing him was a barrier of energy, the feed lines coming from the hands of the ghosts standing beneath the dragon-headed parapets.
"They're insane," Brelyna warned Onmund, who would free/slay the other spirit. "Dunmer ghost fences are of two types — one uses willing ancestors who consent to the bindings that hold them to Mundus. Willing guardians retain their intelligence and personalities, like the two ancestors guarding my mother's tower. Ancestress likes flowers, so we keep fresh bouquets in all the major rooms, and Ancestor likes music, so anytime someone attends any musical event, his bone token would go with the attendee so he could also enjoy the venue. The other type of fence is a binding of unwilling family criminals and slaves or victims. Those soon become insane. Master Aren's friends didn't consent to this. Bound in fear, anger, and desperation — they'll come out trying to kill you, wishing it was Aren. We must give them the mercy of a quick and final death." Onmund nodded and gave an absent-minded polish to the silver family heirloom blade she'd loaned him, the mate of the silver dagger she held. They stood behind the ghosts.
Idgrod stood on the lower tier directly opposite the dragon priest, ready to shoot. Tariq, Lydia, J'zargo, and Valdimar surrounded the dragon priest. Valdimar and J'zargo bathed the magic barrier in fire. Once it collapsed, the flames would engulf the target.
**COME. FACE YOUR END.**
"Yeah, yeah," Brelyna taunted. "Master Savos Aren sends his regards. You're long past your expiration date. So die already!" She lifted her knife.