Chapter 5
A large, black armored soldier suddenly stood up from where it had been passively squatting just as Calcelmo passed it on his way back, bumping into the old elf. Before the thing could hiss or cry out a warning, Calcelmo lunged against it, slapping a hand over its mouth. It began convulsing. The Altmer floated its body floated off the bridge. Instead of tossing it off and into the water, he floated it before him.
Calcelmo dumped the body at Tariq's feet and staggered to the nearest wall and slid down against it to the floor, shaking with exhaustion. Tariq looked at the corpse and saw that it had died from an ice spike down its throat.
"Thought you'd like to examine one before you have to face them," Calcelmo gasped. "Top class fighter. Sword or axe, archer, may also use elemental magic. It's wearing full chaurus chitin heavy armor."
While the Altmer rested, Tariq set to examining the Falmer. As he stripped the armor off the body, his nose wrinkled as he evaluated the rank body odor that mingled with the sharp oily, musty odor of the armor. The armor smelled of cockroaches although the body shape was nearer to a silverfish. Giant, poison-spitting silverfish according to Calcelmo. He'd have no problem smelling them before they came in sight.
The plates were thick, a quarter inch at least compared to a thin steel plate of the same weight. It was somewhat more flexible and would probably take a mace strike without loosing its original shape, although it meant the wearer would certainly feel more of the impact as the plate deformed under the blow before springing back to shape. Now, how did a blind armorer go about fastening the plates and joints? Small drilled holes along the plate edge then leather ties. Some use of spittle glue. Damaged plates could be easily swapped out and newly cut and shaped pieces retied in place.
He cut loose a plate and broke it under the disk-shaped chopping edge of the Morrowind Dwemer mace he had borrowed from Calcelmo's museum. So that was chitin plate. Its broken edges reminded him the tough fibers of certain woody plants. As acid-spitters, the material would likely be immune to similar acids, but not invulnerable to all acids. Brittle to ice attacks, and likely melt somewhat to fire. It would be a poor conductor to spark or energy attacks.
So, upward stabbing or thrusting attacks would be better, and through the seams for a knife or light sword. A forward heavy sword or mace would be better, like the one he had now. The plates would split to a chisel edge driven in with concentrated effort. But for all that it was "full" armor, the upper thighs, knees, and elbow joints were exposed. Laughable flaws, but Tariq could imagine they wouldn't "see" it. If he closed his eyes and tried to fight that way, yes, he would aim for the head where he could hear breathing and, by logical extension, the body that had to be underneath the head.
The sword and bow were created from the limbs of the chaurus. He figured in true battle, the weapons would have to be replaced every few days. How many legs did a chaurus have? Did they regrow lost limbs?
Now the creature itself. As Calcelmo told it, the Dwemer fed the Falmer certain mushrooms that caused blindness, and generations of disuse had withered the eyes, had done away with eyelids, and just skinned the area over. He didn't understand what would cause their outer nose to vanish and leaving snotted nasal slits. Their teeth were also bad, and this one had its teeth filed to points. The hunched over posture seemed a learned habit. He could straighten the body out and the back muscles seemed strong and flexible. Nothing wrong with the spine so far as his hands could feel. Straightened out, he estimated this creature at minimum Altmer height of six feet. He was six-five and Calcelmo was at the same height. But the Falmer was bony, attesting to limited food, and Tariq couldn't imagine mushrooms and fungus having enough fat. Maybe there were some fish. Then he recalled Calcelmo saying they were cannibals.
"So, how many out there?"
"Six posted along the main bridge. However, I counted another half dozen wall mounts which could conceal more, and two tents with active fires. Most seem to be regular guard types, a mix of swords and archers, no armor to partial armor. With this many about, there's bound to be spellcasters somewhere. Those don't wear armor. Again, they favor ice because it slows prey and opponents down long enough for warriors to track and close in, but they can cast powerful fire or lightning attacks."
"How do blind things use a bow?" Tariq asked, astonished.
Calcelmo shrugged. "I am not sure," he confessed. "Perhaps it has something to do with their innate nature, however, nothing written of Falmer culture survived. The Nords burned everything. There might be records, correspondence in the great libraries of Summerset, but those are beyond my reach.
"It is more likely they've honed the skill of hearing to a degree unimaginable. Beneath their hissing — your human ears can't hear it — they click like bats, and they've learned to interpret the change in reflected sound as shapes and distance."
"Yes, I do have trouble imagining that," confessed Tariq. "How is it that anything or anyone can sneak by them?"
"This place is noisy to my mer ears," said Calcelmo. "This whole cavern as a hum from the machines, and then there is the deep fluting of air coming in from vent pipes surface dwellers think are the burrows of small animals. I don't know about them, but after a while I get this annoying ringing in my ears."
Tariq nodded, understanding that. "All right, I've seen what I needed. Ready to move?"
"Yes. Ledge on the right leads down to the Control center. I can give you a boost up and you can pull me up."
They got onto the ledge. Halfway along, Calcelmo threw a light globe to an area below. Tariq could see a large area with a Centurion in its station and the remains of tents, a cooking area, and supplies scattered about. The stones were stained dark. "The last expedition's camp. I found Krag's — he was one of the researchers from Cyrodiil, a desk scholar, no exploration experience — Krag's journal. And if I read his journal correctly, I find it doubtful he was into pure research, else why bring a lockpicker along. The soldiers thought the area, with open views in all bridge directions, defensible. The other scholars went off to explore other areas while he stayed with the soldiers. They apparently dismissed the fact that Falmer did not need light to shoot or fight. The building directly opposite them is the Armory."
In the Armory they found Staubin's body and his journal. He confessed they'd turned off the defense system thinking to make it safer to explore, not fully realizing it was the system that had been keeping the Falmer from overrunning Markarth and the above lands for the past centuries. He had been trying to get back to the controls to turn the system back on, but failed.
It was no wonder. It seemed all the automatons and traps within the Armory were active.
"Emergency dead-hand protocol," said Calcelmo. "The system was improperly shut down, or, the main shut-down switch was thrown without the proper step-down—"
Tariq interrupted. "Apologies, scholar, but in terms a mere soldier can understand.."
The Altmer sighed. "Someone killed the captain in his tent and now all the camp is looking for the killer and not functioning or doing their pre-planned job in the battle line."
"Secondary command, the lieutenants, do not take over?" asked Tariq.
"The secondary emergency system is functioning as it should. If outer defenses went down unexpectedly, then inner defenses would activate. Dwemer citizens would withdraw and congregate where they would be protected until an authorized technician reset the main system. These machines would likely not kill any Dwemer. And, no, wearing Dwemer armor would not fool the machines. You lack the ears to hear the challenge signals. I can hear the challenge, but I do not know the correct words to pass."
"Ah, it figures. And so, it comes to the brute force — me." Tariq swung his shield in place and slipped on the wrist loop of the Dwemer mace. He really liked this Dwemer of Morrowind mace design of an armor-chopping disk and short spike. "I'm ready; are you?"
"I know this drill, warrior. You break, I clean up and handle long-range attacks."
The controls, fortunately, hadn't been damaged either by the previous party's clumsiness in fumbling around with machinery they didn't understand, or yet destroyed by the Falmer. Tariq convinced Calcelmo to wait to re-arm the system. He wanted to see if he could find the other expedition members, and he preferred to battle Falmer rather than the machines.
They found Erj in the Armory. His journal confirmed he and Krag had an understanding about magical or working machinery that would be secreted for later sale to collectors. However, being a good lockpicker didn't mean he had the skills to sneak around Falmer.
Tariq wasn't a lockpicker either. Calcelmo's answer to a locked gate was to blast the lock with a ball of lightning, softening the metal, and letting Tariq kick open the gate before its lock resolidified. Calcelmo picked out some choice pieces for his museum and turned a blind eye as Tariq looted Dwemer pay chests. Tariq also found a nice suit of enchanted ebony armor with a strong health regeneration enchantment in one of the now-unlocked storage rooms. Calcelmo remarked that Moth, the palace blacksmith, was excellent skills at forging ebony and could probably make matching helmet, gloves, and boots. Or, if Tariq wanted something other than an Orsimer — he recalled that Faleen, at first, had needed some time to become comfortable around the palace's Orsimer blacksmith and his sister — then the Nord forgemaster at Whiterun was reputed the best one in Skyrim.
Stromm and the other soldiers they found dead in the housing quarters. Stromm's notes confirmed there were at least two different clans living here. Calcelmo had shrugged at that. As he had said, Clan Rourken of Morrowind had lived here for a time and helped the local clan build the city before moving onto Volenfell. As for the tree Stromm had marveled at, the centerpiece of what must have been a magnificent indoor garden, Calcelmo said Whiterun's Gildergreen tree mentioned in the journal was centuries old and still there last he'd heard.
In spite of himself, Tariq found he was interested in the living quarters, having never seen any that were intact and still having most of the furnishing undisturbed, nor had he ever seen a functioning Dwemer city.
He had once explored Volenfell itself, but the many battles over it during the 2nd Era, everyone searching for a mysterious "Guardian's Eye", had stripped it of its treasures and shattered its machines by the time he explored it. He'd gotten his current armor after clearing out bandits at the ruins of Santaki near Sentinel. The bandit leader had found it and Tariq had taken it from him easily enough as the fool had been overconfident in armor's enchantments. The armor's missing helmet piece was still with the bandit leader's head — down a "bottomless" machine bore shaft.
He'd also poked around Bthzark, another Rourken city, on Stros M'Kai when he was there clearing the pirates that always favored such places and collecting samples of the many Yokudan scorpion species for his tutor, Mehmet, who had also taught him alchemy and who was also interested in studying the poisons so that he could refine antidotes. But that city was sealed, so he'd wandered around the outside and observe the pipework that Port Hunding had copied.
When they finally left Nchuand-Zel, the automatons were actively patrolling and battling Falmer. Tariq's pack was heavy with armor, weapons, gems, and poison samples, and Calcelmo had a collection of Falmer-enchanted staves and all the journals and notes of the last expedition.
…
As soon as they exited the spider chamber and climbed up to the ruined entrance hall of Nchuand-Zel, Faleen launched herself off a broken pillar and her feet slammed into Tariq, bowling him over. She bounced off his Dwemer armor, rolled on the stone-littered ground back up to her feet. Tariq rolled onto his front and pushed himself up to his feet. With his armor, he wasn't injured at all.
Calcelmo cried out, "Faleen! What—"
"You be silent!" she shouted at Calcelmo. "Sit yourself down now!"
He immediately sat on the step he'd been standing on.
She glared up at Tariq, fists on her hips. "Commander, why did you not inform me of this venture? I know you are not one of Markarth's soldiers to report to me, but this disrespect of my rank and disregard of my duties is not like you! Do you not understand what my duties are as the housecarl of a jarl? I'm not just a bodyguard meant to just stand around the jarl, looking pretty and waiting for an assassin, I am also responsible for palace security!"
"Just looking for a lost expedition, Faleen, nothing—" He saw the small movements preceding a strike. He could have blocked it, but she was right in what she had said. He had behaved with disregard to her position, so he accepted the steel-gauntlet fist to his jaw, making no effort to avoid or lessen the impact. It rocked him back a step. She was at a height and reach disadvantage, and though it weakened the force of her blow, he still saw stars and his jaw clicked unpleasantly as he opened and closed his mouth to work through the impact.
"Faleen—" Calcelmo weakly protested. She never took her eyes of Tariq and kept her right hand on the hilt of her sword, but her left hand snapped up across her body in a sign to cease talking.
"You're right, Faleen, I was wrong not to consult with you about this," said Tariq after assuring himself that his jaw now worked properly.
"The fault's not totally yours," she conceded, her tones calm and icy. She turned her head and attention now to Calcelmo, who was already pale and well on his way to going colorless without a spell. "You, my lord wizard, have no excuse. Why must I learn of the danger of Falmer, of the true extent of the city beneath Markarth from conversations between Tariq and Aicantar? It was very enlightening, that walk back from Namira's temple. I learned in a few hours what I should have learned years ago. If there was danger, why did you not come to me with your concerns?
"Perhaps you thought me as ignorent and dismissive as my predecessor? Did you think I could not comprehend your scholarly persuits? Did you think a young, human woman incapable of appreciating the implications of a fully functional Dwemer city beneath this city? Are you going to pat me on the head and protect me from charging into more danger?"
Tariq's normal view of any Altmer was wariness and disdain, but he had grudgingly come to respect this Altmer. And although he did not approve of such an old elf's infatuation with a centuries younger human woman, he was not immune to the fear and heartbreak he thought he saw in Calcelmo's eyes and posture. He decided again to step between them.
"My lady housecarl, I would be pleased to show you Nchuand-Zel properly," said Tariq, moving to block her advance on the old elf, and behind his back he gestured for Calcelmo to flee. "Come, and I will give a quick tour and explanation of what we were doing. After that, we'll go to Calcelmo's lab, have a refreshing dinner, and he can better explain the city and why he's been concealing its potential. He's earned my trust in this aspect," he asserted. She looked startled and stepped back.
The Altmer took the hints and fled. Faleen screeched in anger. "You! Get back here!"
Tariq grabbed her to get her attention again. "Since you're in a killing mood, my lady, let's go kill some Falmer and a few mechanical spiders. Oh my honor, explanations will be easier to accept after you've seen the reality. Trust me on this."
…
"I can't believe this has been kept a secret for so long! How? How can an entire city be untouched?"
He and Faleen had skirted a narrow ledge to get to a balcony of a partially collapsed tower. While most of Nchuand-Zel was intact, there were still a few structures that had partially collapsed. There were even low rooms and building under the water, which meant the lake and bridges had happened later, after the city's initial building. Faleen had discovered this when she'd impulsively dived into the black depths of the water. Tariq had no idea she loved swimming and diving, or that she had grown up in a coastal village before taking up the life of a soldier. She told him her family had dove for pearls and sponges and precious shells, so she could hold her breath for a long time. That, and the candlelight spell, allowed her to explore rooms below the surface. She came up with trinkets she'd found in the drowned rooms.
"I understand Markarth has changed hands over the centures. Things get lost or forgotten or buried," said Tariq.
"Now, The city's self-repairing security system, as you can see, is quite efficient. And Calcelmo, he has been curator of the Dwemer museum for, hm…"
"Shortly after the beginning of the Fourth Era," she said.
"… since after the Night of Green Fire."
She filleted the fish she'd caught below and nibbled at the raw meat. Tariq grimaced. "You say that as if it's significant," she said musingly. "What is this 'Night of Green Fire?'"
"A night of betrayal and murder. Shortly after the Oblivion Crisis was declared over, a new regime had taken control of the Thalmor and had infected the ruling houses. Many Altmer objected and were invited to leave the isles or be arrested and executed as traitors. The political refugees came to us, to Hammerfell, and were granted land near Sentinel. My grandfather, chief of the teachers at HoonDing's temple in Sentinel, recalls that night when the sky was lit with green fires of terrible, terrible magic. The new Thalmor had not forgiven. They'd attacked. The refugees fought back with great spells, but the fact is they were caught unawares and the majority died in their sleep. Grandfather speaks of that night and the weeks afterwards of sheltering and counseling the survivors who returned to find their family and friends gone.
"Calcelmo has not actually stated he was one of them, but I believe it is so and it is why you can be certain he will never willingly cooperate with the Thalmor."
"Ah, I understand. So, he does not want the Thalmor to know of this underground city. That I can understand, but the Jarl seems ignorant of this. And why keep the secret from me?"
"You arrived only a year before the Thalmor, yes? He did not yet know you. And your Jarl… Forgive me this observation, Faleen, but he's a fool, obsessed with the Forsworn, seeing only them as the threat to his world.
"From all I have seen, from all I have heard around the city, the real powers are the Silver-Bloods and a Lord Nepos, who handles any worthwhile governance."
She tossed the fish bones into the water. "But that was four years ago. What's prevented him from talking to me afterwards? He avoids me.
"And, yes," she reluctantly conceded, "my Jarl is narrow in his views and obsessive in his focus. He needs someone much stronger than his uncle to advise him, to make him face some real concerns."
"The Silver-Bloods, I see, would choose to replace him rather than advise," said Tariq. "What of this Nepos?"
"I don't trust him," she stated flatly. "There's something about him that tells me his loyalty is elsewhere, but I do not know where. He's a Reachman, educated in High Rock as most remaining Reach nobility send their children there to study. His servants are all natives, not from within the city, and they do not often socialize with the city folk.
"He's respectful enough to the Jarl and is blunt enough when he speaks of the civic projects he oversees, but he offers little guidance to the Jarl towards the future. Neither the Jarl nor his uncle think to press him further. They see only a useful native who knows his place under the Nords and provides proper service."
They fell silent to watch a new band of Falmer trying to take the centurion guarding the main juncture. Spheres rolled out from the Armory to assist the Centurion. The Falmer were slaughtered and spiders came to clean.
"Tariq, you've told me you extended your walkabout to Skyrim because you felt that you'd exhausted the challenges to be found in Hammerfell. I find that hard to believe. Hammerfell has plenty of problems with bandits, pirates, wild beasts, daedra and other monsters, and Dominion spies. Why do you think you'd find anything different in Skyrim? Not to mention a civil war. We've got our own on that. Well, not a war as such, but an armed truce between you Crowns and us Forebears. Is it really just sword mastery you're hunting?"
"For the most part, yes. If I just wanted to settle and call myself a swordmaster of the Redguard art, then I could do that. I could just devote myself to only studying the techniques in the Book of Circles. But I'm not settled, I'm not satisfied. There is more to learn out there. I do not believe it's possible to list the totality of any art in a single book. Frandar Hunding could not detail all he knew, but left the book to be the seed. And if it is such, then a true student of its teachings has the obligation to grow beyond. That is the way to mastery, to become an Ansei.
"I've learned some of the Legion's style from a retired Legion armsmaster. I've learned some Orsimer. I want to see what the Nords know. Also, with the Dominion infiltrating Skyrim, I know I'll have opportunities to cross swords with Altmer swordsmen. My father and other veterans I've questioned admit that even stripped of magic tricks, the worst Altmer warriors were the ones with decades or even centuries of practice. And too many times, one such Altmer warrior cost too many Redguard lives to take down."
"You think to learn the Altmer sword skills. You anticipate a second Great War?" ask Faleen, frowning.
"It's inevitable. My great fear, another reason I came here, was to see for myself the situation the damned elves were creating here at this country at our back. If we are to be surrounded by infidels, then let us know who and what we face. I could have gone to High Rock, but my instincts told me Skyrim is of greater significance. After all, when the Empire called upon its forces, it inevitably means it calls upon Skyrim. When the Emperor lost his city, it was to Skyrim he fled and regathered his strength and his armies."
"Rewon his throne then caved to the Dominion," grumbled Faleen, "betraying us, betraying Skyrim."
"Aye. But our people never had the relation that the Nords have with the Cyrodillans. The sharing of blood. I've been talking with that bard, Ogmund, trying to understand the Nord mindset in their songs and stories, the inclusion of Talos to their pantheon of gods, and how the Nords reconcile their hereditary practices with those of the Imperial Cult that seeks to combine the Nord gods into their Divines of the Empire. But those Divines are originally the Aldmeri gods, and the Alessians' native gods were erased and replaced by their Ayleid masters, who worshiped both Aedra and Daedra. But the Nords believe Tiber Septim is a Nord. They want him to be the heir of their dead god Shor, their creator.
"From Ogmund's view, the Emperor siding with the Dominion in stating that a Man cannot ever become a god is a cutting blow to the blood bond between Skyrim and Cyrodiil."
"Hm. And what do you, the son of a line of HoonDing teachers, say to this religious conflict?"
"Snake castings." He laughed and awkwardly brought his over-sized shield around as he saw the spheres clustering below in a search pattern. The noise he and Faleen made talking was agitating them. She also saw and scooted closer to him for protection. "The Aedra, the Daedra — Aldmer words, by the way, meaning "ancestor" and "not-ancestor," are the pretensions of the mer to divinity. They claim this all for themselves. But, as we know, all of us can aspire to regain our divinity if we but strive to find our own ways, follow the star markings Tall Paper set to guide us.
"If Tiber Septim found his way off the Worldskin and a pattern to side-step Satakal's writhing coils to attain Divinity, that is his achievement. He found the way that worked for him. He is to be commended, to be celebrated.
"The Thalmor teaching that only the mer can achieve divinity is the blinding of ego. I believe there are Daedra spirits for this. Azura, I believe, is her name. The shadow of vanity? And that they do not see this shows they have been snared yet again by the windings of the Worldskin.
"Boethia has stolen their scriptures and speaks words that divide and sow chaos. Mephala enshrouds their games of conquest and the Thalmor willingly play her games of hidden murders and whispering secrets and lies. Azura tells them they are righteous and they believe. Hah! More Dunmer than the Dunmer.
"All three reflect the endless hunger of Sep — 'Never enough. Nothing to do is ever enough. Life is pain, life is misery, hungry, hungry, feed me, feed me, I deserve more... It's never enough.' It is very sad. So many thus become lost on the journey to truth."
"I confess, I'm just pulling names here, Faleen. I've only just begun to study anew these strange gods since leaving Hammerfell. Perhaps my first impressions are wrong, but I shall find that out as I continue my walkabout."
Faleen sighed heavily. "You and Calcelmo. And after this, we will go to Calcelmo's study, and he will talk more words at me, and I will have to go find something else to kill to clear my head.
"Oh, look, I think they've found us," she said and shifted in their space so that she sat back to back with him and listened to the short hailstorm against his shield.
…
He was forced to jump back as Vorstag swept his heavy, iron shield, edge-wise. Iron war axe and iron shield. The coordination of attack and defense was at a level he'd not encountered in a long time, and that had been from a mer warrior with over a century of practice at the art, yet Vorstag was every bit as good. Tariq had to avoid direct impact on his swords lest they be deformed against the iron. Vorstag had stated that he liked his iron weapons partially because the weight was so effective against the bone and leather shields and armor of the Forsworn. Also, in extended battle, when edges dulled, fatigue had set in and accuracy was down, an iron weight will continue to kill and maim.
Tariq had to admit he'd never seen shieldwork as Vorstag had. He was good at blocking slashing attacks. Vorstag commented that the Forsworn used the same slashing style as most Redguards because Forsworn swords were more sticks lined with jagged, triangular points like teeth, so they were slash-and-tear weapons. The Book of Circles only peripherally mentioned shields, but did not detail any techniques. Tariq had learned the basics of shielding from a retired Legionnaire.
They were a day away from Deepwood Redoubt in Hjaalmarch Hold. Vorstag knew this area and had deftly kept them out of the way of the Forsworn patrols.
The soft-spoken Nord was gratifyingly intelligent company, eloquent, and well-read. He added very nicely to Tariq's growing general knowledge of the Holds and the Nord version of Skyrim's history, the "Old Kingdom" he'd call it as they considered themselves the First True Empire of Man. They didn't consider the Alessian Empire as rivals for that title because the Alessians' ancestors had been slaves to the Ayleids before overthrowing them, whereas the Atmorans were self-made.
Mentally, Tariq shrugged. Well, that's the Nord view. He wasn't going to point out that Yokuda's civilization had started well before the First Era. But, with Yokuda sunken into the sea, except for mountain peaks that were only small scattered islands now, there was precious little he could point at. All the great cites, all the libraries, the arts, even the original Yokudan language had been lost.
They'd circled the mountain the redoubt was built into. As all reports had said, it seemed to be only a single peak in a ridge. The area Calcelmo had marked on his map traced a generous crater valley. A bowl-shaped pocket of reality created by unfathomable magic.
Cairo and Nimat were well hidden in a clump of trees near a waterfall. Tariq had reluctantly left his armor behind with them because sneak scouting around the fringe of the Forsworn camp would be impossible in shining gold armor. For today, the intent was merely to scout and observe the Forsworn, and so he was in buckskin in and tunic and kufiyah of weathered green and shadowy gray. It blended well enough against the slope they were creeping along.
The entrance to Deepwood Redoubt was a crumbling structure high on the slope of the mountain it was built into. A section of mountain had been scooped out, leaving high walls on the sides, and wide stairs carved into the scooped out area. Time and weather had softened all the hard, carved surfaces, creating breaks in which grasses and bushes and trees rooted. It made for easy enough hiding along the steep wall if they were careful enough. They had several small bottles of invisibility potions. Calcelmo had shown him how to combine the chaurus eggs collected from Nchuand-Zel with other ingredients purchased from the Hag's Cure, the largest alchemy shop in Markarth.
They had made it past the long stairs and now stared down at the wide terrace of the ancient tomb. There the Forsworn had a small encampment along with a forge area and, at the opposite end of another cliff face, they could see a priestess going about her grisly duties with a human corpse on that oversized butcher block of an altar.
The Forsworn were getting restless about something. Tariq and Vorstag searched back towards the approaching landscape and caught flashes of light that could only be reflections off someone's polished armor since there was no pond or stream that way to bounce light. If Tariq were tasked with guarding, he'd be doing as the Forsworn guards were now doing, grouping before pairing into search teams.
He worried about them finding his horses. He doubted the Forsworn wouldn't value them other than as dinner steaks. "Find those idiots and warn them off then get to the horses and wait for me there," he ordered Vorstag, adding "I'll distract the search parties and get back meet you back there." Vorstag nodded, downed a potion, and ran down the slope to get to the new intruders before the Forsworn.
Now to provide a distraction. Getting the interlopers out of the way wasn't preventing the search teams from going out. Time to use his bow. It was a great distraction tool, even if his aim was lousy. However, he carried an additional cheat tool, a small bottle of concentrated poison from the scorpions of Stros M'kai. Just a nick was all that was needed to send a foe into convulsions. The target wouldn't die if they were healthy, but they would be battered and sore for days afterwards. The arrows he carried facilitated delivery, being merely needle points to penetrate, but not stick, and with capillary grooves on the shaft to carry the poison.
Unfortunately, it would mean more patrols afterwards when they didn't find the shooter.
He waited as long as he dared before aiming at the nearest Forsworn, nicking her on the shoulder. She went down with a scream. He downed a potion and scrambled to another position and fired rapidly into the crowd. Another potion and then fled the area as a Briarheart fireballed the areas where he had been.
He got back to the waterfall and saw two women with Vorstag. Useful. He mounted Cairo and held a hand down to the woman with the shiny helmet and shield. "You, come with me." To Vorstag he said, "Go back to last night's campsite. We'll meet you there after we've decoyed the hunting parties."
Cairo whinnied at the extra weight. "We're going to run close to the patrols," he told the woman. "Use that shield of yours to deflect the arrows and swords." He drew his sword.
"I am Tariq," he told the woman.
"Njada. I am a member of the Companions," said the woman, self-importantly.
"Well met, Njada. Now hold on."