Chapter 33
"Auri-El is not Akatosh! This pathetic compromise by the Imperial Cult is blasphemy and insults both sides if we are to discuss peace, for such a compromise is an insult to our respective natures!"
The old Alessian priest was doing well to keep his fury behind a wall of ice and his voice calm. His opponent in this theological battle was a middle-aged Imperial Cultist whose fair skin kept changing colors, betraying the calmness of his expression. Most of the town had gathered for the entertainment value, and the battleground was at the bottom of the steps to Highmoon Hall. The Imperial Cultist had finished his sermon urging the worship of the Cultists' Divine gods. It was now the Alessian priest's turn to preach his version. And he had started with an immediate rebuttal of the Imperial Cult's position.
"The Imperial Cults says the Divines, whom they promote, are inclusive of both Man and Mer. In the eyes of Mer, that would make their god a traitor. From the very first, the Mer claim Auri-El as their ancestral spirit. A Mer god for the Mer, who created the Mer. It is ever the Mer's belief that they are the chosen race and that all others are imperfections only deserving death. The Imperial Cult wishes to tell everyone that their Akatosh is but another name for Auri-El — that the lord of dragons is also the lord of time. They deny the Mer's claim to their god. And that the foundation they've built upon is too narrow because Auri-El is also Akatosh, who protected Saint Alessia as she rebelled against her Mer masters, the Ayleids.
"You Nords should know this by your own gods that the Imperial Cult also wish to subsume to their scripture. Saint Alessia was championed by Morihaus, Breath of Kyne, The Sacred Bull, The Winged Bull of the Winds — a divine minotaur in form. The Imperial Cult acknowledges his contribution. Yethis animal form is abhorrent to them. In any Imperial statue, he is a man; they deny his nature. Your nature — the power and freedom you Nords value even as they've taken your Lady Hawk, bound her in veils, and painted her as the ideal frail maiden who meekly serves her lord and master. What happened to Shor's wife, the wild huntress of the sky whose strikes were to be feared? Who hunted the enemies that slew her husband? Was not the name of Shor's slayer Auri-El?
"But if you accept that Auri-El is also Akatosh, and you accept the Imperial Cult's word that Akatosh, father of Dragons, is also Auri-El, lord of Time, do you accept the Mer's judgment that Shor is also Lorkhan, child of Sithis? That Shor is The Great Deceiver, The Destroyer of Life, The Mad Mutant who tricked the gods into creating the world to trap them like one traps diseased cattle for slaughter? You, Children of Shor, do you accept this? That all Nords, all Mankind, are the children of Lorkhan, evil incarnate to be eradicated for the glory of the Dominion of Auri-El?"
Tariq half smiled, half snarled at how the Alessian was monkeying with theology. The Prophet Maruhk, whose teachings were the core of the Alessian Order and the basis of most Imperial Law, was an Imga, a great ape of Valenwood. Maruhk taught that there was only an"All-Father," one true god, and all the lesser gods were just great spirits subordinate to him. Maruhk, no doubt, believed this All-Father was an Imga. The Imga believed they were superior to Man and Mer, though they were known to ape the ways of the Altmer.
"Tell me, is the dragonborn the child of Shor or of Akatosh? The Imperial Cult would have you believe Akatosh is the one who sent the dragonborn to slay the dragons, his own children. Or is the dragonborn Kyne's child? Your own scripture says Kyne conspired with one called 'Paarthurnax' to teach the Tongues — your Greybeards — the secrets of dragon power! I have made the pilgrimage to High Hrothgar and read the prayer plaques along the way. Only a dragon could have taught Man the Voice. Your Goddess of the Wind found the one dragon she could sway to her cause."
"But the dragonborn is a Redguard, not a Nord," someone called out.
Tariq looked. It was a widely grinning Dolf. Thankfully, the man didn't point him out.
The Alessian overlooked Tariq to rudely point at the obvious Redguard in the crowd, Falion, and challenged, "Is Tall Papa Akatosh or Auri-El?"
"Bite your tongue. Ruptga is neither of those creatures," Falion snapped back.
"Is Arkay your Tu'whacca? The teachings of the Imperial Cult have invaded your capital cities and have gained ground in teaching that belief."
"Lady Cinnabar of Taneth has written of the similarities of the religions of death gods, notably the name similarity of our Tu-whacca to the ancient Nedic god To-arhka. The Imperial cult has taken her work and promoted it as proof they are the same gods. Then they say the origin stories of Arkay and To-arhka are too similar, and then, by the name argument, that Arkay and Tu-whacca are the same. Read the arguments of Priest Selim ibn Ziyad of the Temple of Tall Papa in Sentinel, who argues against such an interpretation. He does not dispute Lady Cinnabar's work but repudiates Imperial Cult interpretations." Tariq winced. Again, Falion surprised him again by knowing his father's teachings.
"But how does a Redguard come to be our dragonborn?" Dolf challenged again. The Alessian shrugged.
"In the eyes of the All-Father, the winds of Kyne are the winds that blow across the world. The dragons are not just a threat to Skyrim but can fly those same winds. Was not Tiber Septim aided in his conquest by the Dragon Nahfahlaar? Nahfahlaar, who was also of the Akaviri Dragonguard that promoted the Reman emperors, and was later betrayed by the Dragonguard, was eventually slain by the Hero Cyrus. Cyrus, who was said to be a vessel of the HoonDing. Perhaps the HoonDing is irritated by the thought of dragons spreading into Hammerfell, and the easiest way to stop this is to lend one of his own to your Kyne."
The Imperial Cultist interrupted by shouting, "Ah! See how the Alessian Order would insert the tyranny of their so-called 'All-Father'! Does Lady Kynareth — Kyne — suddenly bow to the All-Father instead of remaining faithful to Shor?"
Tariq rolled his eyes and scuttled to the safety of the Moorside Inn, joining the others there that had tired of the priests. Religion was still being discussed, well-buffered by ale, mead, and beer. Jonna was cheerfully smiling as she directed Lurbuk to haul in more barrels for her to tap and serve the thirsty crowd. Ah, well, better religion be debated with wine and good food rather than cold iron and torches.
Still, good wine and food couldn't prevent the souring of his stomach as he thought of the domination of the Mer gods in the pablum the Imperial Cult was trying to feed everyone, nor did he favor the One-God mantra of the Alessian Order. Not even Tall Papa claimed that he was the all-knowing supreme lord of creation.
If he did that, he'd run afoul of HoonDing, who makes as many successful walkabouts as Tall Papa. Get in, get it done, get out. Nobody really cares about your ego. That was HoonDing, the thief of certainty. The patron god of his family, and probably why he chose The Thief instead of The Warrior as his power guide when the choice was put before him. Nothing is forever; nothing is certain. You shouldn't try to make it so. Deserving, undeserving — you have the right to try, that is all. All things pas
He saw Jarl Idgrod and her husband enter and slip through the crowd into a private room. Jonna was soon bringing a tray of drinks and food to them. No doubt, all the existential foolishness outside her hall had succeeded in giving her a headache.
That reminded him of something. He dug through his pack for his bag of medicinal plants he'd just restocked from the apothecary and his mortar and pestle. He ground herbs and poured them into the small wooden bowl that once held salted peas snacks.
"Give this to the Jarl," he told Valdimar. "It's a mild sedative and even milder poison that will temporarily blind and mute her inner visions. She only needs to drink it in with some mild ale, and drink no other alcohol afterwards. Tea, fruit juice, or water only."
"What if she has already had alcohol?"
"It's fine. So long as she does not drink for the rest of the day until tomorrow. Doing so will dilute the drug's effects."
"Understood." The small bowl disappeared in Valdimar's hand, and he pushed his way through the crowd.
After a while he returned with Steward Aslfur, her husband.
"Thank you," said Aslfur. "This drug—"
"Is addictive," said Tariq. "I can give you its formulation, but it can become an addiction if used too often or frivolously. I gave you the smallest effective dose and would not give another within two weeks. In my boyhood town, there was one such prophet in the care of the temple of Tall Papa. He was an addict, though the priests alternated between three other formulations. But even though he was no better than a dreaming vegetable content to sit on a bench under a tree and watch the ducks on the pond, he still had visions and would babble them aloud. The drugs no longer stopped the visions; they only stopped him from caring or feeling the pain and confusion the rational mind felt from these visions.
"And under no circumstances would I give this to a child."
"I understand. Thank you," he said again as Tariq gave him the formula.
"I pray for our Jarl's continuing good health and indomitable spirit," said Tariq, rising and making a slight bow with his hand over his heart.
… … …
They were in Labyrinthian, on their way to the Skyborn Altar, where the dragon lived. The Jarls of Morthal had collected books and scrolls about the dragon city. This had been the dragon's largest city in Skyrim — Bromjunaar, built at the height of their power in the late Merethic Age. The Snow Elves were slain or driven underground. The Nords were manifesting their destiny to spread from sea to sea.
The walls still stood around the core, the palatial center. All of the city outside the walls had crumbled and been reclaimed by nature or torn down in the countless wars since then. There remained three large, intact structures within the walls. The underground palace that someone had magically locked some decades ago. Unknown who had done it, but it was a relief to the Hjaalmarch jarls because it cut down on unwanted adventurers. A dangerous tomb of Valkygg. The legend and meaning of the name are unknown. The most recent addition during the First Age was the legendary maze built by Arch-Mage Shalidor.
For some reason, frost trolls congregated within. Perhaps because so many adventurers still came to try their luck, making hunting easier for the trolls.
Unfortunately, their progress through Labyrinthian was slower than planned, and it was getting dark. There was a domed structure in the center of this city that looked to be large enough to also accommodate the horses and easily barricaded against the trolls.
In the center of this dome was a ruined sculpture of a dragon head flanked by mannequin heads. Some were missing, most broken off, but there was meant to be eight in total. There was a skeleton and a wooden dragon priest's mask. Tariq wondered if there was a word wall nearby. If this was a dragon's city, there had to be at least one.
"This feels strange," said Rodina, picking up the mask. She put it on before either Tariq or Valdimar could stop her.
And vanished.
"She'll be back; don't worry," said Idgrod. "Nothing can touch here where she's gone."
"Where is she?" demanded Tariq.
"Here. Well, nearby, relatively speaking. Not on this plane. Mundus. Tamriel." She shrugged helplessly. "A little bubble between then and now."
Rodina came back, the mask in her hands. She showed them a sketch of the monument as it was meant to be. "It was intact. A treasure room with urns and chests. There were doors in that doorway, but they would not open. The windows were all barred. The braziers in the outer hall were lit, but there was no smoke and heat. The door and skylights of the outer hall only showed the gray of an overcast sky. I knew I could stay there forever. Never aging, never dying, and I would never again need food or drink.
"But — eck! — I'd just go insane from boredom!"
"I'm going to see this place," said Tariq, and put on the mask.
It was as she had described. Tariq had a strong notion there was a challenge in the eight human busts flanking the dragon head sculpture. What would happen if eight masks were collected? He'd gotten the mask of the Shearpoint dragon priest, Krosis, that was currently in Mage Farengar's hands. He probably would give it back if Tariq asked.
He tried the mask outside the dome, and was disappointed. So, the mask could not be used as an escape route. It was only a key to a hiding place for treasure and, perhaps, dangerous secrets.
This didn't feel quite like either Daedric or Aetheric. As for the claim of eternity, a simple test. He went back and left a chunk of raw meat there. If time is really stopped there, the meat should still be edible whether he returned hours or weeks later.
Rodina and Idgrod cleaned the campsite while he and Valdimar took care of the trolls in the immediate area who would be attracted by the cooking fire and food. Lydia hauled buckets of snow to melt for water. On her last haul, she came back with three familiar people.
"I remember you," said Tariq. "The two Winterhold apprentices raiding Fellglow Keep. Brelyni and J'zardo? And you, Osmund?"
"Brelyna Maryon," corrected the Dunmer mage.
"J'zargo greets the Companion Tariq," purred the Kjajiit.
"Onmund Sigurson, honored companion," said the Nord, bowing slightly.
"Ah, yes. Your studies were successful, I hope?"
"No rest for poor students," said Brelyna with a rueful grin. "We have to find a mysterious staff in these ruins."
"Oh? I should not pry, but there seems to be a good story here," said Tariq. "Will you tell it to us over the evening meal?"
"Pay for food; sounds good," said J'zargo, nudging Brelyna, who suddenly seemed shy. When she still hesitated, the Kjajiit hissed impatiently and shrugged. "There is this 'the Eye of Magnus' that needs finding. It is to stop a Dominion spy from taking over and destroying the college, maybe the world," he explained.
"Inconveniencing the Dominion? Ah, this sounds promising. Pray, tell me more," invited Tariq. J'zargo grinned and nudged Brelyna again.
"This one should tell the tale; it was her fault that started this problem," he said. He glanced at Rodina, who nodded.
Rodina came closer and boldly took one of Brelyna's hands. The Dunmer jumped a little, but didn't snatch her hand away.
"Hello, I'm Rodina, court bard of Whiterun and collector of heroic tales. And saving Winterhold College from the greedy hands of the Dominion sounds like it could be one such tale."
"Oh, really? I thought all Nords would be happy to see the college drop into the sea," said Brelyna dryly.
"Would we? I, for one, do not. But it's our college of clever crafters. A college created by Shalidor, the greatest Nord mage that ever lived. The Dominion should have no say in this matter," Rodina said with breezy arrogance.
"Most Nords forget that," said Onmund in a bitter grumble. "With a Dunmer arch-mage and history of a large Dunmer enrollment, most people consider it an elven college."
"Well, it was difficult in Morrowind to find a large institution that taught magic," said Brelyna. "If you wanted to learn, there was enslaving yourself to a Telvanni wizard, joining the priesthood, or becoming a member of the Imperial Mages Guild that was forced on us when The Three submitted to the Empire. I'm a Telvanni, and I prefer the college to the traditional route, which would have meant servitude to an aunt I couldn't stand. The Temple has fallen, and we Telvanni never really agreed with The Three. And there's no Mages Guild anymore. Shalidor's name was respected even in Morrowind, and you Nords didn't seem to respect the college, so why shouldn't we come here and use what you were neglecting?"
"Can't argue that," said Onmund. "I wish my countrymen would wake up and remember than Nord mages were once a force to be feared, until most of them got swallowed up by the Dragon Cult. Dragons and mer — they sure did cripple us."
Both Brelyna and J'zargo cleared their throats.
"Oh, damn. Sorry," Onmund said hastily. Then a bit later, "But it's true."
"It starts with Sarthaal," said Brelyna. "We were on another group class expedition to help the researchers already in the ruins. I was usually assigned to look for magic wards and other protective spells. But on the latest trip, I was to help Arniel Ganes, one of our researchers in Dwemer technology. He wanted me to search for magical items in the area and bring anything I found to him. I was sifting through dirt and pebbles finding rings and other such minor magical fragments. Then I was drawn to a nook where I spotted a necklace behind some plaster that had flaked off a wall. Well, instead of leaving it be, I followed orders. I guess my vanity was my downfall because I was curious about the magic I felt from it. And because it was quite a pretty piece, I put it on. Next thing, bars sprang up through the rubble, trapping me.
"Suddenly, the amulet and the wall I found it on radiated such intense magic that it brought Master Tolfdir, Arniel, and everyone else in the area running to see what had happened. Master Tolfdir ordered me to give him the amulet. When he had it, he said the only way out he could see was to destroy the wall behind me. I stood aside while he reached through the bars and blasted the wall. As it crumbled, we saw the corridor behind it. The bars retracted then.
"Master Tolfdir wanted to investigate right away. He ordered the on-site researches to stay out and guard in case anything came out. Most other students were also ordered to stay out, but he allowed me to come with him because, as a Telvanni, I was trained to combat most undead. And I could conjure things to help in battle."
"And this one and that one went in also," purred J'zargo, flicking an ear at Onmund. "We could not permit our year-mate to go in alone."
"You, because of undiscovered treasure, and me, because someone needed to watch your backs," said Onmund. "Master Tolfdir, I can't hold a candle to his power, but he can be distracted. He'd likely not notice the draugr creeping up behind him until too late. I'm from around Heljarchen. There are a lot of tombs in the area, and sometimes the draugr wander outside of them."
"Nord made a lot of noise," said J'zargo.
"I was praying, furball," snapped Onmund. He pulled out an amulet depicting a stylized form of a man. "To Shor, if you must know. This was an Atmoran tomb. I know a lot of skeletons down there were also Falmer, but we buried our ancestors — my ancestors — there, too. I hoped to persuade them not to take offense from our presence, especially when bringing in an elf and a cat."
J'zargo hissed, but Brelyna nodded approval. "That's proper respect. One doesn't trespass in the tombs of non-family. Killing invaders is to be expected."
"That is also so with my people," said Tariq. "Only the Ash'abah, the ancestor killers, dare such blasphemy."
"Didn't work," said J'zargo, unruffled.
"Maybe it was because someone's hands kept prying into every burial urn and rummaging around the bodies!"
Brelyna sighed loudly and rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut it, you two! And J'zargo wasn't allowed to keep anything he'd found. The researchers took it all. Now, can I continue with the story? Yes? Good.
"So. We encountered a Psijic Monk."
"Brelyna was the only one to encounter," J'zargo threw in. "J'zargo was again deprived of the opportunity."
"I told you, the monk stopped time somehow to speak to me privately! The monk told me we were in trouble because I'd found the amulet." She fell silent, obviously thinking over the event. Tariq sensed she was carefully considering what to keep secret.
Tariq had heard of the Psijic Order as a secretive order of Altmer mages. "Rodina, what do you know of these monks?"
"An Order from the Merethic Era. They follow the worship of family ancestral spirits and reject the formalization of the Divine Pantheon of Auri-El and his lot as the ultimate ancestors of all Mer. The Psijics settled on their own island, called Arteum, governing themselves independently of whoever or whatever rules the rest of Altmer society. Their representatives were generally advisors to various rulers until the Third Aldmeri Dominion came into power. All advisors were withdrawn, and the island disappeared from this world. They are known to do that occasionally throughout the ages. The Aldmeri Dominion hate them because they refuse to bow and serve. No one knows quite how powerful they are. Their two most famous students were Mannimarco, the King of Worms, and we all know what disasters he brought. And Vanus Galerion, who told his masters they were all blind, indifferent fools who let loose a horror upon the world when they kicked out Mannimarco instead of killing him for his heretic crimes. Galerion also founded the Mages Guild in defiance of Psijic beliefs that magic should be an exclusive privilege."
"Our god — well, ex-god — Sotha Sil even taught some of them," said Brelyna. "I don't think he was actually a member. It would be presumptuous to impose such a definition on a god, but he regularly interacted with them."
"Apologies for interrupting you," said Tariq to Brelyna. "Please, continue with your story."
Brelyna nodded with a sigh. "Not much to tell except that we fought every step of the way. Draugr, traps, puzzles — the usual things in Skyrim tombs, from what I understand from adventurers and grave robbers. We finally arrived at the bottom of Sarthaal. We found an incredible device guarded by a draugr that almost killed us all. It drew power from the device, making it immune to physical and magical attacks. But we held it off long enough for Master Tolfdir to find a way to sever the link, and then we finally beat it. And because we survived, he even turned a blind eye when we picked things to keep." She tapped the staff in the sling behind her back, and J'zargo toyed with the necklace he wore.
Onmund shrugged and added, "I got to keep the staff the arch-mage rewarded Brelyna with after she delivered Master Tolfdir's message to him."
"The device was eventually brought to the college. All the professors are going practically mad studying it. No one can identify the writing on it, and it's sucking up most of the power of the college. The arch-mage gave me the task of finding every scrap of information about Sarthaal I could find in the Arcaneum, which is how we met at Fellglow Keep because a student stole one of the books I needed. I returned the books. We had a couple weeks of peace, then a Psijic Monks showed up in the flesh at the college and asked to see me. That led to a very unpleasant session with Ancano — the Dominion's so-called ambassador and advisor to our college — who tried browbeating me with how dangerous the Psijic Order was and how later I would tell him everything I knew about the Order.
"The monk — a different one from the one in Sarthaal — stopped time again and told me they had been trying to reach me. But the orb, which we were now calling the Eye of Magnus, interfered with their sending, thus forcing him to come in person to warn me that the Eye was growing unstable and would destroy the world unless I stopped it. Like that other monk, he told me again that it was my fault and I should take responsibility. It was just my rotten luck to be assigned to Arniel and find that damned amulet. I told him that. But he just told me it was my destiny.
"And it got worse. After chasing down Synod mages doing research in a Dwemer ruin because they might know about the Eye of Magnus, we return to find Ancano had gone mad and was trying to draw power from the Eye to become untouchable and all-powerful."
"Of course," muttered Tariq. "The fool."
"He'd thrown up a barrier, and it took all of us casting all our power to break it. The Arch-Mage confronted him, and Ancano swatted him like a fly. We barely survived. We were lucky — if it could be called such — he was so drunk on power he didn't make sure we were dead.
"And so here we are. Master Mirabelle, the Master of Wizards and second in command, gave us a torq, a key, to some place in Labyrinthian."
"Ah, the locked city," said Tariq. He glanced at Idgrod.
"We know the door you need," Idgrod said. "It was locked, oh, about eighty years ago by an unknown party. It's the door to the underground city of Bromjunaar, the Dragon Cult's biggest city in Skyrim. If you're going there, you might need more than just you three. Tales passed down state it's filled with shouting draugr, bone walkers, traps, and a roaring demon that eats the magic of wizards."
The three exchanged uneasy glances.
"If you're going in and relying on just your magic to defend you, you're going to fail," Idgrod stated.
"Just like a Dwemer ruin is guarded by their metal servants, in a Dragon Cult ruin, you must expect draugr Tongues trained by dragons to use the thu'um. What year students are you? Do you receive combat training for battlemages at your school? And when your magic is eaten, can you defend yourself by force of arms if you can't get to a hiding place until you recover?" Idgrod's tone and eyes were merciless.
She held her hands out. "Give me that torq. Let me see if I can sense anything more." When Onmund slowly passed it to her, she softly remarked, "I don't have half the skills of my mother or brother. They get visions; I get feelings if anything at all." When the torq was in her hands, she finished her bowl of soup and went to sit under the tilting dragon head sculpture. She also flipped her cape over her head to further isolate herself from them.
"Um, companion, is there any way I could persuade you to help us?" asked Brelyna hesitantly. "I don't have the fee right now, but…"
"Treasures," stated J'zargo abruptly. "There are bound to be treasures. Coins, gems, magic items, certainly. And dragon secrets. A dragon wall. Such a wall in such a place must be a good word. A powerful word. A fitting word deserving to be in the heart of a dragon's palace."
Tariq half-smiled. "So like a cat, a bite to the throat of the prize. Yes, such a word is worth the risk of entering such a place. A place sure to test my skill as a warrior and as a dragonborn." The Khajiit chirruped agreement and his whiskers twitched in satisfaction.
"If you're going in, I don't want to sit outside with all the trolls and take care of the horses for days on end," said Rodina. "I want to go with you." When Tariq looked at her, she covered her face with her hands as if shy.
No. As if putting on a mask.
Put their horses in that unnatural pocket of Oblivion? He shook his head. He didn't trust that place yet. For things, yes, but not yet for living animals or people.
They finished eating. The evening entertainment was troll killing because emptying horse dung outside the camp brought the trolls in.
Idgrod had stayed under her cape the rest of the evening. But around midnight, she began rocking and crying. Her babbling was unintelligible until Onmund, standing watch with Valdimar, woke Brelyna, a sound sleeper, and said, "She's talking in Dunmeris. What's she saying?"
"Going back would be the end of all of us. We keep pushing forward, and we'll make it. We will... We all stay together..." There came a long string of phrases that Brelyna refused to translate. It wasn't good by the way her mouth opened and and her eyes widened in shock. When she started tranlating again, it was to say in a flat voice, "I'm sorry, my friends. I'm so sorry. I had no choice. Sacrificing you was the only way to make sure that monster never escaped. I promise you, I'll never let this happen again. I'll seal this whole place away."
She lunged forward and wrestled the torq out of Idgrod's hands. As Idgrod struggled out of sleep and whatever nightmare her powers had wrapped her in, Onmund sighed and said, "I suppose that explains Master Aren's paranoia about student safety and anger over any experiments and research he deemed dangerous. He did something incredibly stupid here and locked the dragon city. I wonder who his 'friends' were that he sacrificed? Brelyna, what was the stuff you didn't translate?"
"A spell to create a ghost fence from the souls of the dead. But he used a variant, one that bound the souls of the still living so that when they died, they had to stay and keep guard. That was used in the past for criminals of the family. Doing that to…" She shook her head violently, trying to deny this heinous sin.
J'zargo spat and looked along his nose at Brelyna. "J'zargo is no good at fence sitting," he declared.
"I know," Brelyna snapped back. "You have no sense of balance."
Onmund rolled his eyes and went to Idgrod. "How about a little walk to clear your mind? The fire's a little hot, and we should make time for the smoke to clear," he suggested, holding up an arm for her to grasp. "Do you usually have these wyrd dreams?" he asked as they walked out. Valdimar trailed behind them.