Hellina paused at the entrance to the castle. The bodies had been moved a respectful distance away so that Falco, Sigyrr, and Dralof could perform the ritual that always preceded an uninitiated member of the Silver Hand taking part in recovering a fragment of Wuuthrad.
It was customary for the initiate to read the passage from Songs of Return, but when more than one member was being initiated each of them would read a paragraph, alternating until the entire passage was completed. Hellina chose to begin the ritual by reading the first paragraph.
"It came to pass that our great lord Ysgramor, the Harbinger of us all, sat before an encampment fire. The crews of the Jorrvaskr, the Fallowfire, and the Kaal Kaaz bade him eat, and boast, and drink. For the boon members of the Five Hundred Companions were abroad in the land. Stories were told, hearts won and lost, and always the smell of roasting meat hung in the air. The greatest of us all beckoned every warrior to his side, and spoke the tale of Wuuthrad's forging," she read from the text before passing it to Falco.
"Every Mer the Harbinger slew died at Wuuthrad's bite. All through the long campaign, the only weapon that would fit in the Harbinger's hand was the mighty Wuuthrad. As he told it, the most legendary of axes was forged in the darkest of nights," Falco continued.
And so it continued, the three men taking turns reading the sacred story of the forging of Wuuthrad.
It was the Night of Tears. Ysgramor sat staring out across the waters. He rode upon the last ship in his fleet, fleeing Tamriel for the shores of Atmora. From that vantage point, he watched as Saarthal—the first city—burned. A swollen sky poured rain upon the flames and upon the sea. And the greatest of us all wept bitter tears.
So great was the grief of the Harbinger that, instead of salty sorrow, Ysgramor wept tears of purest ebony. His eldest, Yngol, collected the tears in a stein and held his father in a warm embrace. He poured mead down the Harbinger's great throat, wrapped furs around the Harbinger's great shoulders, and slung the Harbinger into a great hammock below decks.
Then he set to work. For Yngol, eldest son to the Harbinger of us all, was the greatest smith our people have ever known. There, on the sea, Yngol set to work with his tools. He used lightning to heat the Night's Tears, the ocean's swell to cool them, and always his hammer-blows rang in concert with the rising wind.
When Ysgramor awoke the next morning, Yngol presented him with a mighty axe, hewn from the sorrow that had laid him low just the night before. And the Harbinger of us all embraced his son. He cried out in joy, sadness, and rage. And there on the deck of the last ship from Saarthal, Ysgramor named his axe Wuuthrad, which means "Storm's Tears" in the language of Atmora.
"Do not forget that you three must grasp the fragment together, and lift it together," Hellina reminded them once the reading had ended, for there could be no argument who had touched it first.
Three heads nodded in agreement.
"Let us begin."
"Is it only me, or do all castles resemble each other on the inside?" Dralof asked as they walked down the spiraling staircase that led below ground.
"It is not just you," Falco answered, "even the brigands and bandits that inhabit them look alike."
"Including some of our own members," Dralof replied.
"It is not right to speak in that manner, not so soon after beginning the ritual," Hellina reminded them, "purge those thoughts from your mind, at least for now. I do not say that I disagree, but now is not the time for such thoughts or words."
"I beg your pardon, Commander," Dralof said, "I spoke before thinking."
"You words already evaporate from my mind," she replied, "I doubt that any of us will have even the slightest memory of them once the fragment is in our possession."
The staircase ended finally, the four members of the Hand facing the opposite direction as when they began their descent. The curving outer wall was dotted with doorways.
"We must search every room, and every place where the fragment might be stored. Only followers of Ysgramor will know the significance of the fragment, and how to identify it. Common brigands will know nothing of it."
"Shall we split into teams?" Falco asked, "It would cut the time required in half."
"You read my thoughts before they could reach my lips," Hellina said, "Dralof, Sigyrr, start your search at the far end. Falco and I will begin here. We will meet in the middle. We are still close enough to support each other if any of us encounters resistance."
"Do you truly believe that anyone remained inside after the screaming and hammering outside?" Sigyrr asked.
"I have no idea, just be on your guard."
The two men walked quickly along the curving hallway towards the last door as Hellina and Falco opened the door nearest to them.
It was a storeroom, or had at least been intended to be one when the castle was built. Shelves lined one wall while crates lined the opposite wall. Barrels stood at the far end of the room.
"What was the oddest place that you discovered a fragment?" Falco asked her as they searched, Hellina looking through each container on the shelves while Falco inspected the crates.
"In a shop in Windhelm," Hellina replied with a smile, "the shopkeeper was using it to hold down a stack of parchments."
Falco did not even attempt to contain his laughter.
"Did you ask how it came to be in his possession?"
"I did my best to appear to be totally disinterested in it, but my eyes barely left it once I had seen the pattern of lines that the Night's Tears had etched throughout the blade when it was being forged. I told him eventually that I thought it an interesting trinket and offered him an assortment of silver and copper coins, which he accepted."
"You did not think to offer him gold?" Falco asked as he moved to a closed chest.
"Gods no, he would have immediately become suspicious."
Falco had opened the chest as Hellina was turning away, and so she did not see what occurred, she only heard it.
A NEW HAND TOUCHES THE...
SLAM! went the top of the chest as Falco closed it in haste, ending the sound of the ethereal voice.
"What in the name of Sovngarde was that!?" Falco asked as he stared at the chest.
"What did you do?" Hellina asked him as she came and stood net to him, her gaze also fixed on the now closed chest.
"Nothing, except touch a strange shaped artifact inside that chest," he explained, his head nodding at the chest in front of him from which he was slowly backing away.
"What sort of artifact?"
"I do not know. It is slightly smaller than a man's head. It is mostly round, though it is more geometrical than round, it's outside surface is made up of an assortment of flat areas."
Hellina approached the chest and lifted the lid.
"In the name of the Gods, do not touch it," Falco said.
Hellina looked at the oddly shaped item. It was more mother-of-Pearl than white, and bore a resemblance to a dodecahedron.
Falco began to back towards the doorway as her hand approached the object before touching it.
A NEW HAND TOUCH...
SLAM!
"What in Oblivion can it be?" Falco asked.
"I do not know, and I do not wish to find out," Hellina said as she quickly wiped her hand on her breeches, "it is for him who finds it next to answer that question."
"This room holds nothing for us," she said after a moment staring at the closed chest, "Let us proceed to the next one."
"And close this door tightly behind us," Falco said.
"She stood over that youth she killed for a time, did you notice?" Dralof asked Sigyrr as they searched the second room.
"I saw her standing there, but took no real note. Why?"
"I believe she prayed over him. It was odd. Have you ever prayed over a fallen adversary?"
"I have never prayed over anyone, or anything," the large Nord replied as he rummaged through a set of drawers that contained moth-eaten clothing, "unless you count praying for good weather while also cursing bad weather while riding from Winterhold to Windhelm."
"Simultaneously praying and cursing does not count, since the one cancels out the other."
"I do not believe that they do cancel out, but in answer to your original question - no, I have never prayed over a vanquished foe."
Dralof was inspecting an ornate dagger and scabbard while he spoke. He tucked the prize into his belt before asking his next question.
"Hellina was never a Priestess, or a member of any religious order, was she?"
Most of Sigyrr's torso was hidden within a large cabinet, his voice somewhat muffled by the garments that still hung inside as he spoke.
"I have never heard so, and I do not think so myself. Unless it was an order of warrior priestesses. I have seen her in combat enough to know that she is quite deadly, and without pity. But afterwards...well, anyone may look at a man he has just sent to Sovngarde or Oblivion and be reminded that, but for the grace of the Gods, it could be me lying there."
It was a larger room than the first that they had searched. It was, in fact, two rooms. The outer room was furnished as a sitting room, the inner room held a bed, dresser and cabinet and a locked chest.
"Do you have a lock pick?" Sigyrr asked.
"I have neither lock pick nor the skill to use one. I am not a thief."
"Neither am I. It is not thievery if the owner is dead, or has abandoned it."
"I could simply strike the lid and dislodge it."
"You would also dislodge the contents, probably into a thousand pieces."
"Have it your way," Dralof said before walking out of the room and down the curving hall.
"Falco, we require your expertise opening locks."
"I am hesitant to open any more chests in this place," Falco said as the three of them walked back to join Sigyrr, "the last chest contained quite a surprise."
"Was that chest also locked?" Sigyrr asked.
"No, but it should have been," Hellina said.
It took Falco very little time before his efforts were rewarded with the clicking sound of the lock releasing.
"Gods be praised," He said as he continued to kneel next to the open chest, and the gleaming fragment of metal that was interlaced with veins of Nights Tears.
It was not a large fragment, no larger than Hellina's hand.
"Too small for all of us to grasp fully," Falco said as he looked at the fragment before his eyes traveled to the two men who would share the honor of lifting the fragment and placing it in the leather satchel that Hellina wore, "but we can all pick it up with our thumbs and forefingers."
"Sigyrr's fingers more resemble sausages," Dralof said with a smile.
"No one would ever describe your fingers as dainty, friend," Sigyrr replied.
"Thumbs and forefingers," Hellina said as she opened her copy of Songs of Return and began to read the passage that would conclude the ritual, and make the three men full members of The Silver Hand.
"A song of death and delight keened from Wuuthrad as Ysgramor buried it deep in the giant-kin's skull. A splatter of gore and a death rattle came from Sinmur as Ysgramor gave a victory yell. The Companions cheered mightily as Wuuthrad waved overhead. The depredations of the giant and his vile kin were at last ended. And the legend of Ysgramor, Harbinger of us all, grew mightily that day."