Chapter 14

"So … you've tried Rayya? She any good?" asked Ingvar.

"She's good," said Tariq. "She's of the lower class, but she was fortunate to have access to masters who teach the nobility, thanks to an aunt who managed to marry up. She came to Skyrim to try for better positions because she got tired of being expected to warm her employer's bed as well. Just letting you know."

"Thank you. She's very pretty, but not my type."

"Hm?"

"I like 'em plump, blond, and who wants lots of kids. Rayya doesn't strike me as very maternal. I'm sure if she ever has kids, she'd be fiercely protective, but —"

"Ah, I see. Just not your image of maternal, then," said Tariq, smiling. "The baby-plump woman who's mastered domestic skills rather than sword skills."

Ingvar shrugged. "I like what I like." He tilted his head as he reflected on his choices. "Of course, if she's handy in a knife fight, that would be good too. Times like these, with so many robbers in Falkreath, one never knows about surprising intruders in one's home when returning from shopping or tending the gardens or animals. And she should be able to take charge every once in a while, even of me."

Tariq rolled his eyes. "Good luck, then, on your search for such a paragon." Such a woman was fine for wet nurse and nanny, much like the one his parents charged with his care. Of course, all that stopped when he turned 12. But such a one was not what he'd pictured for a mate if ever he found any worth committing to as he was to his dream of becoming Ansei.

"Aye. I could use every bit of luck in these crazy times," said Ingvar. "But I should be direct with Rayya and discuss this so there's no hesitancy or fear that I will abuse my position over her."

"Good. Now, where's this land you're thinking of buying as your new homestead?" Tariq asked, bored of discussing women and relations.

As the new thanes of Falkreath, they now had the opportunity to buy land. Tariq had no intention of investing anything further in Falkreath; he already had the unwanted burden of property in Markarth. But if Ingvar was interested in new property, he'd go with him to look it over. Any property hereabouts was probably infested with bandits or necromancers or some other horrors. He was convinced there wasn't any part of this hold that didn't have unmarked and forgotten gravesites.

Ingvar unrolled a local map. "Here," his finger circled an area around the southwest end of Lake Ilinalta.

"What's this other settlement?" Tariq pointed to a place near the border of the Rift.

"Oh, that's Fort Neugrad. It used to also be the village of Oakwood back in the Second Era, which is why you sometimes see the village marker instead of the one for a fort. There used to be an earlier small post called Neugrad Watch, but the troops there were moved over to Oakwood to begin constructing the fort. That fort hasn't been used by the Legion since the late Third Era. It became obsolete when the border of Falkreath was pushed back, losing ground to the Rift's growing power. By this time, you see, the East Empire Company had formed, and — thanks to Tiber Septim's conquest of Morrowind — they got exclusive hold of Morrowind's resources. Neugrad wasn't needed by the Legion anymore because it wasn't Falkreath they had to financially protect. And they were too distant to protect trade going through the Rift. Cheydinhal became the gatekeeper. Riften was on its way to eclipse Falkreath in controlling trade until Jarl Hosgunn early in this Fourth Era, and Riften tore itself apart.

"Fort Neugrad is probably another bandit nest by now like Helgen looks to become."

"That's a mistake, you know. Letting robbers make themselves a fortified haven," said Tariq.

"Politics," pronounced Ingvar. "In Cyrodiil, the Legion would have burned them out. But the Empire's always respected Skyrim's independence, meaning if it's in Skyrim, it's the problem of the High King and the jarls."

"And Neugrad is in Falkreath. Of course." Tariq made a sound of disgust.

"Mm. And the High King is dead. Solitude's queen is untested and untrained to command and is High Queen only because of General Tullius and his Legions. General Tullius is overwhelmed trying to stop a valued ally from tearing itself apart while protecting it from the Dominion. The Dominion would be happy to see Skyrim at war with itself. The Dominion would use a civil war as either the excuse to invade in the name of treaty enforcement or the Empire's bad faith failure to enforce the treaty. Either way, a second Great War. The Concordat is a flawed truce —"

"Because," said Tariq, smiling tightly, "while it gives us a breathing space, it allows the Dominion to sow their poison. Their battle veterans will still be alive and have decades of plans readied while ours have died of old age, leaving our inexperienced youths to fight them. Exactly. We think alike, friend."

"Too bad," said Ingvar. "I hate being right sometimes. What's that saying? 'Old age and treachery always beat youth and exuberance.' Another decade or two, which is nothing to a Mer, and the generation of Man that fought in the Great War will be dead. Our grandchildren won't stand a chance."

Tariq sang his own chorus. "Skyrim will be in shambles and unable to defend itself, much less give shelter again to a fleeing emperor and his court. Cyrodiil has lost Morrowind and Hammerfell due to the idiocy and short-sightedness of the Mede emperors, and High Rock has always been confused about its identity as either Man or Mer.

"So, I'm getting depressed. We both see the same things. This is a perfect time to go inspect your potential property and see if it's a fit place to build upon."

The primary offering was an empty plot near the lake. The nearest neighbor was a woodsman's shack. Near that, some robbers had boldly put up a toll gate with archer platforms and a rock dump on the only road between Falkreath and Whiterun's town of Riverwood. This highway robbery gate was poorly manned and easy to take out. However, the two sentries could not have built that on their own, so there was a nest nearby. Whoever was in the house likely knew something. This had to be another jarl-approved operation. The question was, how profitable was it, and would the jarl object if Ingvar decided he didn't want them near his future property?

Rayya had no information to offer them about that house, Pinewatch, it was called. All she knew was that the woodsman there was surly Nord who made regular deliveries into town. He didn't work for the local lumber mill, and she'd never come across him in the forests when she'd been hunting or patrolling. One would have to ask the lumbermill owner what was normal for a single man to harvest. He would surely know his competitors.

Pinewatch was a quaint, innocent-looking building. Well built, with a fenced garden, and near a small freshwater pond. No fish, yet it had mudcrabs. What were they feeding on? Was the woodsman using that as garbage disposal instead of as a source of water? They had Rayya watch the house while they further explored the lakeside areas.

"Well?" Ingvar asked when they met up with her later, just after sunset.

"Two came out of Pinewatch for the shift change. They found the bodies, went back, and ten came out to bury the bodies, reset the trap, and search the area looking for us. I saw the woodsman with two others and bringing the wood he will bring to town tomorrow to sell. They also had two deer kills."

"Another hollowed-out forgotten burial crypt turned into a hidden fortress," said Ingvar in weary disgust.

"Nice area you're considering for a new house, Ingvar. Shriekwind Bastion nearby with signs of a vampire nest and an underground robbers' den here. I wouldn't count any home you build here, or any family you intend to start, to be safe. The vampires should be cleared out first. We'll have to find out if this robber's group operates with the permission of the jarl before we can attack them."

"Rayya, what do you think?" asked Ingvar.

"He knows they're here, but I suspect he does not know how big they really are. If they wanted to keep their numbers hidden, they should be raiding across in Whiterun," she promptly answered. "As a guard, we never patrolled out this way. It being so close to Whiterun, we depended on Whiterun to take out anything really big. Legate Skulnar's Legion patrols also don't patrol here. They are concentrated on the roads going north to Hjaalmarch and on our western borders. As for this toll road, I'm sure if he received a formal complaint from the Jarl of Whiterun, Jarl Siddgeir would have them cease collections."

"I'll test that tomorrow after some sleep," said Ingvar.

… … …

Jarl Siddgeir said he appreciated Ingvar getting rid of the impertinent toll gate collectors. If Ingvar suspected a robber band was operating out of that small cottage of Pinewatch, and he didn't want them near his new home, then he could do as he liked. Unfortunately, there were no spare hold guards to assist him. Ingvar gravely assured him he and Tariq and Rayya would be fine. But, if he was going to the trouble of handling this, would the jarl object if he laid claim to the Pinewatch property as recompense instead of the property by the lake? And not just for getting rid of the robbers, but also the vampires they'd found infesting the ancient Shriekwind Bastion? Of course, he would also pay the original asking price as if he'd bought the empty lot. The Jarl agreed.

Furthermore, they should report the condition of the barrow to Nenya. It may be again useful as a burial site. Runil had been annoyingly vocal the past few years that the in-city graveyard was over capacity. They'd had to dig up the oldest bones to make room for the newer bodies, and they needed a place for permanents storage of the old bones. The Jarl stated there wasn't any money to waste on clearing trees to expand the graveyard. If Runil wanted a place for bone storage, then the ancient barrow was his, along with its lingering curses and monsters.

"What a miserable, dishonorable end to the kings of Falkreath," commented Tariq after Ingvar repeated Siddgeir's words.

"This would properly be the task of the Ash'abah," said Rayya. "Runil is old. This is too much for him to take alone."

"I am not Ash'abah," said Tariq, "but I have trained with them, and I know their basic spells to lay the dead."

She stared hard at him. She knew he was a noble, and she knew he proclaimed himself a sword-singer, and every sword-singer wanted to become an Ansei. She'd never heard of a sword-singer training with the Pariahs. It wasn't her place to judge him, and he had no obligation to explain himself to her, but Ingvar nudged him and jerked his head towards his housecarl. He wanted him to say something more to her. Tariq rolled his eyes and said curtly, "The art is what it is, and every method should be examined. Very little is forbidden when it comes to mastery. I'll see the foul vampires and unholy necromancers' works destroyed so that the priest of the dead may safely work to return honor to those forgotten ancestors."

"Of course, sir. Forgive my rudeness," Rayya murmured, bowing her head briefly.

Before entering Shriekwind Bastion, they went to Bloodlet Throne so that Tariq could use the enchantments table there to lay blessings against undead on Ingvar's new greatsword and on Rayya's scimitars. He also enchanted two silver rings with disease resistance and magic resistance. These, along with the strongest cure disease and magic resistance potions Zaria at Grave Concoctions could brew, would prevent the vampires from infecting them.

To Tariq, Shriekwind Bastion offered nothing that he hadn't seen or dealt with before. But here, again, some of the vampires wore uniforms while others were more civilian dressed. He didn't like this. It meant there was a growing vampire clan somewhere in Skyrim. He mentioned his suspicions to Ingvar just to alert him to possible future danger. He vaguely recalled some book by an ancient vampire hunter published after his death, presumably, at the twisted whim of the vampire that killed him. "Pikwin?" Was that the name? Skyrim ice vampires?

And here, again, in this ruin was another of those walls he was learning to dread coming across. "Su." What was that? He had a feeling of speed, not of running, but of striking? And he asked Ingvar if he'd experienced any odd feelings when approaching the wall. He hadn't.

"You might want to visit High Hrothgar if you get the chance," said Ingvar. "From what you're describing … I hate to speculate, especially since you're not a Nord, but you might have an ancient gift."

"Gift? Tell me your suspicion, Ingvar. A wall of carvings should not affect me this way. It's dangerous. I do not like how it affects my mind."

Ingvar shrugged. "The draugrs that shout, you know? That's the thu'um. It sounds to me like you're hearing words of the dragons. Their thu'um. It may mean you are a Tongue."

"What? I'm a what?"

"Tongue. That's the ancient name for the Greybeards. Really, it means anyone who can shout in the dragon tongue. That's why High Hrothgar. Only the Greybeards can say if you have the gift or not. And if you do have it, they are the only teachers available."

"This is nonsense. I can shout these words I hear until I am hoarse and nothing will happen."

Again, a shrug. "Those are my thoughts that you asked me to tell you."

Now for Pinewatch. They captured the toll gate sentries and interrogated them. No surprise that these low-life's were better at dishing out pain than taking it. As a reward for their information, they were left tied to a tree with one knife stuck into the ground at their feet. Wolves howled in the distance. They'd better learn proper coordination of efforts if they were get free in time.

As Ingvar had predicted, it had started as a long-forgotten First Era underground tomb. Generations of tomb robbers and others had hollowed out the original tomb, secretly mining out the silver. This robber group had started when their leader Rigel came from Markarth to claim the property left to her by her uncle, and she discovered the secret entrance in the basement. She knew Falkreath's jarl for what he was. It was laughably easy for her to build a band from the desperate and bitter folk hereabouts, and she made sure all their raids happened outside of Falkreath. The toll gate was something she let the lazier members try, and it was a stunning lapse in judgment.

"Wonderful. Any suggestions for what I'm supposed to do with an underground tomb? I don't really fancy raising children over a gravesite."

"Get Runil here, of course, to lay any spirits. There have been many deaths, that pile of refugee elves and those bodies of Khajiit thrown into the spike pits. As for body disposal …"

"No shortage of that knowledge, my thane," said Rayya flatly. "I know who will do that work and keep their mouths shut if they are well paid. There's enough treasure down here that you can begin expanding the cottage to make a secure manor. This house is next to a well-traveled road to Whiterun, and you will want security and privacy. You will need servants and guards to protect your property and accompany you on your mission to build your reputation and influence. Some of those same people will clear out the bodies for the promise of stable employment under a strong protector."

"Hire those same people not just to clear out your new house, but also to clean out and organize Shriekwind Bastion," suggested Tariq. "It adds the promise of employment with a visible public work. Another excuse to contact absentee nobles, the thought of a grand place to rest in, selling off sections for family crypts. You might start recruiting from the survivors of Helgen, the ones that went to Riverwood."

"Hold on a minute, friend, I can see where you're heading, but —"

"Thane Dengeir and his brother Thadgeir," said Rayya. "Take the idea to them. Jarl Siddgeir has no respect for the dead, no pride in the sacrifices his ancestors made. They do."

"Runil can also give you advice on how to protect your underground fortress from magic detection," Tariq added.

"Enough!" Ingvar bellowed. "I'm going to take a walk and think this through."

"Maybe a good dinner will help when he returns," said Tariq to Rayya.

"I don't cook," stated Rayya. Tariq looked at her. She rolled her eye and said, "Fine. I'll find something to warm up. I saw the robbers had goat roast and stew. And I know they also have two fresh deer kills. I'll just go fetch the cooked stuff that and some of their ale. Then I'll start dressing the deer. Gotta find him a wife." Tariq heard her muttering as she descended back into the sub-levels. "Something fat and something blond that knows how to cook!"

… … …

Tariq ended up escorting Runil and Thadgeir through Shriekwind Bastion. Ingvar was on his second day of sleeping on the matter and grumbling into his ale as he contemplated his new future as a Falkreath crusader instead of a peaceful retirement. He was also talking with the family renting his family's original home property — a sturdy, two-story lodge in the southeastern part of Falkreath, not too far from Helgen. The family there, distant cousins, kept the property free from bandits. Aela Aela's helped as she liked to come every other month, sometimes accompanied by Skjor, for some intense hunting. Rayya was rounding up discreet gravediggers and hiring trustworthy hunters to patrol her thane's new property boundaries to scare away the jarl's spies.

Thadgeir had brought along a trio of old veterans to help map the ancient tomb. They would also be looking the place over to estimate cost, the size of workforce needed, and reasonable time frames. No hurry. Runil tired quickly at each section. Eons of old, malignant magic were in the stones, constantly feeding the draugr. It would take many, so many hours of prayer and spellcasting. And that was just a superficial palliative. To counter the original enchantments laid deep in the foundations of the place, many, many specially crafted tokens needed to be created, enchanted, and then installed. He confessed he had not the energy or skill to do any of this. He was new as a priest, after all, only a little over a decade, and it was only in the philosophy and ceremonies. Restorations was never a strong ability of his. He'd been a battlemage most of his life, and his strength was in conjurations and banishment, not healing. All his training told him the magic here was too deep-set to just banish away in one shot. Using this place as is would only unleash more bone walkers into the surrounding area. If money could be found, it might entice high-level healers and enchanters to move to Falkreath. It may also be possible to make an appeal to the College of Winterhold for assistance. Perhaps an extra-curricular exercise for their students.

It was discouraging news and Thadgeir grumbled about mages. Tariq reminded him it was dragon-w0rshiping Nord ancestors that created this place. This wasn't elven magic. From Ysgramor's Ax to these barrows, it was all Atmoran.

"Almost like the foul practices of the Dunmer to raise the spirits and bodies of their ancestors from Oblivion as guardians. Very convenient excuse against grave robbers. Let the dead take care of the dead." The Nords looked like they each wanted to punch him and Runil was selectively deaf.

First task, get some woodsmen to build a giant pyre for burning draugr, then the old bones. Then choke out the old air of the crypt with the smoke of dozens upon dozens of burning blessed incense. Tariq grudgingly camped at the site. With the help of two volunteer legionnaires loaned by Legate Skulnar (both Imperials), they patrolled around Shriekwind to keep out any necromancers. Two young men who'd fallen in love with the snows and country of Skyrim. They weren't going to return home to the Imperial City when their tour of duty was up, not to the crowds, the heat, and the general feeling of hopelessness there. They were fascinated by the lore around the Nord barrows and the history of the Dragon Cult.

And the shouting. Tariq was stunned and greatly amused when, upon encountering an angry draugr, the young Imperial he was with shouted, "By Akatosh, cease hostilities!" And the draugr actually dropped its sword point for a moment. Of course, Tariq beheaded it immediately. "Same as the Nords, I can only do it once per day. Gods really had a twisted sense of humor when they set that up," the young man commented as he helped Tariq pick up the pieces to drag out to the blessed ring where they were piling bodies waiting to be burned. "I mean, I found a scholar's scrap in an old history book, and he speculated about racial abilities. I never heard about it until then. Belam and I both noticed that about Nords, or, rather, our Nord drill sergeant. The first hour of drills was always bad when he shouted, but only when he shouted in the morning. I asked some Orc legionnaires about their berserker ability, and they said it was true, and only once a day. I've asked an Altmer battlemage, one of ours, of course, about their magic reserve boost, and she confirmed it. So, may I ask you, sir, if Redguards have an extra stamina reserve you can tap?"

"Aye, but one pays with utter exhaustion. If I don't retreat and find a safe place before it runs out, I'll pass out and be unable to defend myself," said Tariq.

"Oh, like the Orcs say. They get confused and clumsy once the rage leaves them, and they're easy targets."

"Yes. That was our advantage when we took Hammerfell. We would take heavy initial damage from their berserkers. We kept reserves for a second wave and and invoked our stamina ability, then slaughtered them while they staggered about like drunken pigs."

"Oh, yes, of course. Though I wouldn't boast about that piece of history to the Orcs. I do like some of them."

Tariq and Ingvar provided the initial coin, and Thadgeir organized villagers to empty the barrow. Old Dengeir presided as the work foreman. Perhaps he was slipping into paranoia, but as long as no one said a thing about current politics, he could focus on the work that needed doing. He would muse aloud on past battlefields, the ground covered in dead, the burning pyres. This was duty no officer liked, the disposal of dead compatriots. And as bodies burned, he sometimes sang old Nord dirges.

Falkreath-born refugees from Helgen filtered back home — widows, widowers, orphans. Dengeir and Thadgeir organized camp with Legate Skulnar's help, who pushed command at Solitude to provide death benefit payouts to survivors. He kept it under Legion control and doled out payments so that the taxes Jarl Siddgeir insisted on collecting were only pittances. Thadgeir pretended to be the quartermaster controlling the money chests so that Dengeir didn't need to interact with the Legate. It also eased Nenya's embarrassment and made it easier to collect the taxes. The Legate was also able to request temporary assignments of Legion healers and priests experienced in after-battle mental trauma, if only for a week.

Argis finally returned from Markarth, and Tariq was more than ready to head to Whiterun. He had a pack of letters from Runil to deliver to the various temples in Whiterun and the court mage in Dragonsreach, the jarl's palace. Requests for aid, of course, describing the project and requesting restoration practitioners. Runil would also send a letter to the College of Winterhold requesting help.

Tariq was happy to be finally galloping out of Falkreath. He was looking forward to meeting the Companions and get some proper sword training and exercises done. He was determined to get to Whiterun on the same day. They'd just cleared the winding road from Riverwood and reached the flat plain of Whiterun when the horses reared as a massive shadow passed over them. A bone-shaking, familiar roar cracked across heaven.

War horns trumpeted from Whiterun's walls. Tariq unhooked Nimat's lead from Cairo's saddle. As it had been trained to do, Nimat looked for hiding. It wandered off the road to stand under the eaves of the nearest building, which had the sign of the Honningbrew Meadery. Tariq and Argis rode after the dragon.

The beast made a wide, lazy circle around the city, letting loose two blasts of fire. It wasn't the black king worm of Helgen, the shadow of Satakal. This one was green and smaller, though it was still slightly larger than a loaded trade wagon with a horse in front and two cows in single file behind.

There had to be mad movement within the city like an ant swarm, but the creature seemed more interested in the two tiny riders on the road. That was stupid. Why ignore a full nest for two outliers? However, if it wanted to give chase, Tariq was willing to be its bunny.

Cairo easily outran Argis's horse. Tariq waved his scimitar about, and people got off the road. Outside Whiterun were business, stalls, tents, and pens full of cattle, goats, and horses for trade. Could he lure the dragon out beyond these crowds? "Make way! Make way!" he roared. He saw a distant watchtower to the east and headed towards it.

He heard the dragon diving behind him. He looked. It had snatched up a cow and was eating it on the wing. Blood rained below. So many targets and still the beast followed him. Hoonding favor me! Don't let it get bored and turn back! Like the black dragon got bored following General Tullius and his escort.

He heard thunder and wings. The Whiterun calvary was following after him. The wings were the peculiar armor pieces on their backs that were decorated with long feathers that flapped in the vortices of their ride.

He reached the watchtower. The soldiers there blew their war horns and he saw archers take aim at the beast. The arrows did nothing. It raked fire across the tower. Snatched a guard, bit the poor fool in half, and let the pieces fall.

Tariq circled around the watch tower. He didn't know why the beast was so fascinated with him, but so long as it kept watching him, it would ignore the reinforcements. On his third circuit, still dodging flame attacks or blocking them with his shield, the calvary leader rode abreast of him.

"Towards the archers line!" she ordered. She led him to where half her riders had dismounted and formed three rows. The front held great shields. Between them, others knelt, with crossbows. They rode between the gap in the rows. As they passed, the first line let loose. The second, facing the other way, shot after the dragon. The officer, he could see she was a Dunmer, pulled two staves from their holders on her mount's saddle. Ice clouds blasted out, spreading to engulf the the dragon as it wheeled around for another run while her people reset and reformed to face the dragon's return angle of attack. Tariq admired their preparation. The Helgen refugees who made it to Whiterun would have told their tales, and the jarl had prepared tactics against an aerial enemy.

The bolts were hitting. There must have been magic put on the weapons. The creature's flying was erratic, it was weakening too quickly.

She was merciless with the ice storm staves. When those ran out of power, she waved to one of the two junior officer who flanked her. That one pulled his staves. Lighting bolts.

The dragon crashed, plowing deep into the grass. Tariq whooped and rode towards the approaching mass as did the still-mounted riders. They brought long spears down. They paralleled the dragon, avoiding its wings, and plunged their spears deep before veering off to the crossbow lines to pick up more spears.

Tariq dropped the reigns, steadying himself with the saddle horn. Cairo curved around, approaching the sliding mass at a 45 angle then paralleled, which allowed Tariq to leap off its back and onto the base of the dragon's neck. Cairo wheeled away.

He crashed into the hard ridges that went along its spine. He didn't try to grab a plate with his arm, instead, he let his shield go over and the long carry strap threaded between the plates, and now he was anchored in place.

He slipped his scimitar under scales in the neck in front of him, planted his feet, and shoved. Repeated the action with his flyssa. That one scraped bone. He wiggled it around, pushing it by inches into a joint.

The dragon screamed and thrashed. The bolts kept coming, tearing into the flesh of its wing membranes, chipping away at the scales of its chest and underbelly. More spears The lighting danced over the scales. He could feel his blade bending, slipping in between the twisting neck bones. He shoved hard with his feet. The blade cut wider through the outer flesh, now angling down. He heel-hammered it deeper.

The beast bucked upward. His shield strapped slipped free of the ridges and he went flying. When he came to, the creatures was in its last quivers of death.

Two soldiers ran to him. One pushed him back down. "Easy there! Are you injured?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Sit up then, but don't try to stand just yet. Here's a healing potion. Drink that first."

Tariq took the potion. As he tilted his head back to drink, he saw the sky fill with near blinding rainbow lights.

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