Chapter 23:
The Ivarstead shopkeeper/healer sent him to Sarethi Farm, saying she was a skilled alchemist who could make the mixtures Galathil, the Face Sculptor, demanded. "Once you're over the river, follow the road. You'll soon enough to hear that gods-awful humming of nirnroots. A lot of nirnroots. She grows 'em. Just follow the noise."
A dark elf by the name. Tariq grimaced in distaste but went quickly to bring her back. This was for Argis, after all. The din of dozens of nirnroots was easy to follow away from the road. He found a careworn woman toiling in the field and a sullen younger woman listlessly feeding the chickens. She then wandered off to sit under a tree, ignoring dried laundry on the line, the eggs the chickens had laid, and the sacks of wheat that needed milling.
"Gods be with you. You are Avrusa Sarethi?" he asked the older woman.
"Aye." The woman straightened and looked him over. "Gods watch. And who might you be?"
He dismounted. "I am Tariq. Belam, the shopkeeper in Ivarstead, told me you are a skilled alchemist. I am in dire need of one to help save my companion. Right now, a chirurgeon works to heal his body, but she needs many potions made to her exacting standards." He held out a sack as big as his fist to her. "Pray, accept this payment in advance. It will allow you to hire folk to tend to your farm while you are away. I will give you another one upon completing the assignment, whether treatments succeed or fail."
"The money's too good to pass up, but I will need a day at least to gather my equipment and find a neighbor who has time to watch my farm, especially if this job lasts more than a few days."
"It may take weeks," said Tariq.
"That's a hard commitment. I require another day, then. This is planting season; everyone is busy."
"Is that young lady there incapable?"
The woman sighed and looked sad. "She can manage a few days, but I still need to find somebody for the long term. My sister hates farming and country life. And… and we have guests who aren't used to farming. My nirnroot crops need proper care; I will lose a third of my crops if this job takes even a month."
Tariq nodded. "Make your arrangements. If your neighbors are far, I will take you on my horse to them."
He watered his horses at the small brook nearby and even gathered eggs. Avrusa had dragged her sister inside to talk with her.
Cairo snorted, looking towards a clump of bushes. Tariq looked and saw the guests peeking out. Two Nord children and a woman. The hands of a fourth reached out to pull the children back into the bushes. Eventually, they judged him non-hostile and timidly emerged to circle around him towards the house. They knocked, the door opened, and they went inside.
They visited six farms. At the end of it, all the gold coins were gone. The wheat crops would be tended to and harvested, and the farm animals would be looked after. It was unavoidable that some nirnroots would die because growing them needed a specialist like her.
As he waited for Avrusa to pack her portable alchemy kit and clothes for the journey. The young sister, Aduri, came out, wanting to talk about the cities beyond the farm. She'd gone as far as Ivarstead but had no interest in a farming village. She dreamed of Solitude and all the fun that could be had there. Things she could only dream of. She reminded him of that Fastred lass in Ivarstead. At least this one understood that such pleasures required gold. He hadn't yet been to Solitude, but he did know Whiterun if she was interested. Whiterun was bigger than Ivarstead, so that was fine. So he told her about the city, emphasizing that it was better than Riften having no Stormcloaks, no Black-Briars, and the Thieves Guild didn't swagger through the streets.
As he talked about Whiterun, the Nord guests gradually came out to listen.
"You… You're a Companion?" asked the woman. She dressed a little better than the other. A lady and her maid, then. And presumably, the children were hers.
"Yes."
"Can you help me?"
"The standard fee for a Companion—"
"Take anything or everything you can carry from the castle. Just kill that scum, Brurid. While my husband and his soldiers were away, he invaded our home with a group of bandits. We escaped with the help of servants they didn't immediately kill because someone, of course, had to prepare their victory feast. But they died covering our escape. So take anything you want from the keep. Those robbers also brought more loot in, enough to pay for two or three Companions."
"No promises. My first priority is to deliver Avrusa to Ivarstead. Once that is done, I'll look at your problem."
He definitely would be back; he had a lot of payment promises to keep. Paying the Face Sculptor would take all the gold he had stored at Breezehome. Getting everyone back to Whiterun would mean hiring wagons and extra guards. And then he'd promised Avrusa a hefty payment for services and reimbursement for her lost nirnroot crop.
Lydia would be good to take along for the fighting. He'd pay her fair and then formally take her on as his housecarl once they were back in Whiterun. Aela and Ria would probably enjoy coming along but still might decline. Aela, as a responsible member of the Circle, had to keep sight of the Companions' fiscal goals and not set a bad example to the whelps and younger Companions by giving away services for free. The Geirmund tomb job had been an exception. Aela and Ria had not asked for any payment for the dangers faced. Generosity on their part because Companions were paid mercenaries when it came down to it.
Companions did have the freedom to freelance as they pleased, but there were conditions. Simple ones. First, they could not use the Companions' name or resources while freelancing. Two, their actions must not damage the reputation or compromise the neutrality of the Companions. Lastly, if you end up bringing trouble home to Jorrvaskr, you tell the Circle immediately what you were doing and what to expect. It won't be pleasant if the Circle has to hunt you down afterward for answers.
Ria was willing, but Aela needed to return to Jorrvaskr because she had other matters she'd delayed long enough. She took back to Whiterun a long list of alchemy ingredients and supplies for Arcadia's Cauldron to stock up on and a letter to the Temple of Kynareth for healer assistance in the future.
"This has to be the stupidest layout for a fort," declared Ria as the part climbed over the low hill and found themselves overlooking the open bailey of Treva's watch. The stockade was only half-built. And while it looked strong from the front, there was no wall or even a barricade of sharpened sticks to prevent invaders from simply climbing up and over the hillside to enter the fort. Below, sentries saw them, started shouting, and ran along the platforms towards them, some firing arrows.
"FUS!" Tariq shouted, knocking the forerunners over. The three jumped down onto the platform below and commenced with the slaughter.
The entrance into this odd fortress was a small door hidden under a small, badly-built shack that could have been mistaken as a tool shed. Ridiculous. There had to be a large entrance through which building materials, furniture, and supplies could be brought into the keep. Such a large doorway was not visible. Was it possibly a "secret" entrance?
Ria and Lydia would go in that tiny front door. He would ride around and see if he could spot the alternate entrance.
Incredible. To quote Ria, this was the stupidest layout possible. A gaping cave in the hillside of the keep. Not even a line of bushes to cover it. A clear path of dirt and flattened grass led to it. Once inside, this was a joke of poorly laid traps and loudmouth robbers bellyaching about their pay. They offered no challenges at all to his sword. He could only conclude the place had no security staff in the first place. The lord of this place needed some sense thoroughly flogged into him about proper homesteading and security measures.
Had this been some farmer's cold storage centuries ago? As a fortress, it did not have any significant military advantage. Why build underground if it was not meant to be a tomb? Why would generations keep haphazardly expanding it until they'd built something they thought was an underground fortress? From the main road, one only saw a hill. Stuff was floated in on the river, although there was no dock.
He finally cut his way up from the lower levels to what appeared to be the gallery above a feast hall. A dozen or so were stuffing their faces. He heard Lydia's roar chasing her opponents before her. Everyone mobilized to face the door where she would come from. Tariq smirked and jumped to their level, crying havoc with voice and sword.
Pigs had it coming. The smell of rot led Tariq to the pantry where the bodies of the servants had been left. When he eventually found the leader, Tariq had no problem disarming him. The leader had nice, expensive armor, fit to make an impressive showing. But while strong and fierce, he lacked the skill. Tariq beat him down, dragged him to the storage room-turned-prison area, and threw him into one of the rooms. He could rot in there the next few days.
Tariq only collected gems, gold, jewelry, and enchanted weapons and armor. He left the fine silks, the expensive potions, rich wines, and other items and equipment for the keep owners to recoup their losses. Ria took her payment in coins and gloated that she would splurge it all at Whiterun's upcoming harvest festival. Maybe she'd buy a horse. The Circle all liked walking or running to place, or rode wagons, but she wanted a horse, and Whiterun's horses were the best.
That prompted Tariq to make a grueling run to Riverwood to deliver more jewelry and stuff for Lucas and his sister to sell at Whiterun's festival. Then a little further to Falkreath to buy all the alchemy stock at Grave Concoctions.
Argis was allowed to be conscious for a few hours every day to eat and comprehend what was being done to him. Galathil may have that irritating, arrogant manner of speech she'd learned to use in the salons of the Altmer nobility, but she had genuine skills. Her dry and blunt tone lacked empathy, but Argis didn't seem to care, only grunting at the end of the explanations and gruffly reiterating, "Do what you need to do. Just get me walking at the end of it."
"I think I can manage walking. Running and jumping is not to be expected," she said. "On the other hand, I think I can make sure you can twist your spine for you to wipe your own backside. Divines know it's so beneath my skills to put up with that when I'm working."
"I'm sorry about that. But gods bless your hands, lady."
"Hmph. I suppose it's an incentive of some sort. The nerves of your lower back that control your legs and bowels take longer to respond than muscles and bone. I remind you not to test your healing and to make every effort to attend the meditations I give you. Your mind's focus must direct what minuscule majicka you Nords have towards healing. I don't care if you fall asleep so long as that weariness is from true effort."
Before she left the room, she gave him a cup of porridge-like small beer sprinkled with a sedative to prepare him for the evening's painful re-stretching and re-bracing of his hips and leg bone.
"Walking is good," said Tariq gruffly.
"Any battle I can walk away from is good," said Argis.
"What are these meditations?"
"I am to imagine my majicka is a warm, golden liquid, and I'm a partially filled bottle being slowly tilted. The liquid, my majicka, is to flow from my head to my feet and back again. As I imagine that, I am also to imagine feeling the warmth flow. And whatever pain or bad images, I am to imagine the golden liquid slowly washing such away. Is that mad or what?"
"It's a training method. You cannot move your body now, so you must practice in your head. Build your mental fortitude like you build your arm strength by continually hitting the pillory or target. Boring, tiresome, repetitive…," Tariq shrugged. "It is what it is, Argis. In learning magic, and as priest novitiate, I've done similar exercises. Mental or physical, you've proven you are not a weak man. Focus, Argis."
"Aye, my thane. I can do this." Tariq patted his shoulder and left him to it.
X—X—X—X—X—X—X
The Legion camp was busy sharpening their weapons and breaking camp. Tariq, summoned by one of the disguised legionnaires who had been his porter up to High Hrothgar, observed the intensity of these soldiers that, days before, had been bored and listless. Was there to be a confrontation with a Stormcloak faction? Another attempt at capturing Ulfric Stormcloak?
"It's another Mythic Dawn cell at Arcwind Point," said Legate Fasendil. "That obscene cult has been trying to resurrect since the Oblivion Crisis. The scouts I sent to observe the Dragon there saw evidence of a mining operation. I had them investigate if it was a Stormcloak operation or a private one. Either way, I had no intention of interfering. But when they recognized the cult banner and saw the mining directors wearing those robes… Well, as you can see, this takes priority. Standing orders are to stamp out any presence of the Mythic Dawn. I thought you might be interested, sword-singer."
"Without a doubt," said Tariq.
The Mythic Dawn. They worshiped Mehrunes Dagon and were responsible for the Oblivion Crisis. A Crisis ended when the last Septim of the Imperial Line, a bastard of the late emperor, came forth with the St. Alessia's necklace and invoked the promise of Akatosh. True to his word, Akatosh came. He took the last sacrificed drop of Septim blood as his avatar and transformed into a golden Dragon. And thus fought Mehrunes Dagon, eventually forcing the Daedric Prince to retreat back into his realm.
The Aldmeri Dominion would have the world believe it was their prayers to Auri-El, the ancestor god of the Aldmer, that brought forth the god to battle Dagon. The Thalmor of the Dominion firmly believed that the destiny of the Altmer was to rule all of Tamriel. After all, were they not the true voice of Auri-El?
Sep take them and their false path. May Satakal crush them so that nothing remains in the next incarnation of existence. In Tariq's faith, Auri-El was not Tall Papa, but he was a powerful spirit, just not a member of the Yokudan pantheon. Auri-El was revered by the Mer. His aspect was time and all things affected by the concept and movement of time, a small but powerful condition within the coils of Satakal and the long gaze of Tall Papa. In the eyes of those two, the entirety of all life's existence on Mundus was barely a drop of the water clock. Auri-El's specialty was parsing out the moments of that little drop and minutia of all movement within — from formation, to the journey, to its eventual destruction against the scales of Satakal. He was not Tall Papa's equal by the simple fact that he was still young and naive enough to have been beguiled by the words of Sep.
"Have you ever stepped foot in Oblivion?" he asked Fasendil. The legate shook his head.
"I was just a wet-eared foot soldier then. Going into the Deadlands was for the hero teams. I stood outside and fought the dremora hordes that came out. I don't wish for a repeat of that."
"So you're all going?"
"No. Our smith and two others will remain under original watch orders. The rest of us will set up camp in Arcwind area. That's twenty in all." He glanced past Tariq as if expecting to see followers. "I understand your henchman was badly injured recently. Will you be bringing any others besides yourself?"
"I hadn't planned to. There might be if the pay is good."
"Take as much as you can carry. I don't care."
"Ah. Generous of you, legate."
"Companions don't fight for free. Since I can't officially hire your help, letting you take what you can is only fair."
Ria was all for it. She had great-great-great-great-grandparents in the Legion and the Blades who'd fought the dremora armies at Chorrol and Weynon Priory. Lydia was also willing to go, determined to defend her thane. Tariq resigned himself to formally accepting her later. However, he made it clear that until then, anything she collected was hers alone.
Now for protection. If it was the Mythic Dawn, the women would need protection against magic and summoned Oblivion monsters. Lydia still had the enchanted equipment he'd given her before against vampires. Ria had no such equipment. The Companions frowned on enchantments, considering it an unfair edge only elves and weaklings used. But Ria was an Imperial and not as entrenched in the Nord way of thinking. She happily accepted Argis's protective jewelry. Unfortunately, his enchanted sword and shield were too heavy and badly sized for her hands. Lydia volunteered to give her own sword and shield, enchanted for an earlier vampire den job, to Ria. She would wield the Serpent Fang, the poisonous, paralytic dai-katana Argis used as his secondary weapon. A two-handed sword was not Lydia's first choice, but she had a passing competency with it.
Arcwind Point was a frozen graveyard. Great arcs of stone over a large sarcophagus. A Dragon dozed at the apex. Opposite the peak they had just come over was a word wall. The scout pointed to a rocky slope south of the word wall. It appeared far enough from the Dragon that the beast paid no attention to the cultists.
They sidled around the southern edges of the valley, not wanting to draw the sleeping Dragon's attention. A ragtag skeleton patrol tried to fight them but were quickly crushed. Continuing south was a wide corridor out of the valley that turned eastward. They found another partially collapsed barrow next to a large altar. The building's domed ceiling was intact and had enough room to crowd in bedrolls once they'd carried out a few rocks, a skeleton, and a chest. A few coins in the old chest, a rusty dagger, bottles, and scraps of stained bandages wrapped around leg bones and arms told the story of some bandit's last hideout. The place warmed up quickly with so many bodies packed in. A cooking fire was set up between the outer wall and the altar.
According to the scouts, active digging appeared to have ceased. All the higher-up priests had entered the mine and none had come out the past three days. If not dead, then they'd found something.
They entered. The digging was done by amateurs who didn't seem to care that the unbraced tunnel walls could collapse at any time. Then they came to broken bricks of a thick wall. Torchlight showed beyond that wall were marble floors, columns, biers, and urns of a palatial crypt. Vanguards flowed in and stationed themselves at the room's other entrance. Legate Fasendil put up a magic light ball and studied the bier. His intent frown as he studied the writings on the grave and the urn on top of it was ominous.
"Sir Tariq, we will indeed need your skills," he said, straightening and looking intently at the Redguard. "I do not understand why they came into Skyrim of all places and built this temple extension here. If I read this ancient writing correctly, this is an offshoot chapel of the great temple of Rielle. The original temple is in Bruma province, just west of Cloud Ruler Temple, the fortress of the Blades. Rielle was one of the largest temples of the Ayleid.
"Besides grave treasure, the only reason I can think the Mythic Dawn is here is that they believe there's a great source of power here. Something strong enough to open an Oblivion Gate." He looked to his adjutant. "We will be fighting religious fanatics and the walking dead. Teams of three. Any deaths, teams will withdraw, if they can, back here. Set sentries to guard this room. Be aware that these undead can use magic, and the temple is heavily trapped. I know that all of you have no experience in Ayleid ruins. These ruins not only have physical traps but energy traps. Do not ignore instincts or misgivings. I have no doubt most of the cultists are dead by now. Observe the bodies. They may give you clues of what dangers are in the area."
Still, the legate looked conflicted. "Have you any experience with Ayleid ruins, Tariq?"
"None. I've explored many Dwemer ruins in Hammerfell, and I'm gaining experience in Atmoran since coming to Skyrim."
"Yes. Dwemer ruins have all those automatons; Nord, undead that shout. Ayleid use many energy traps. Be wary of any crystals you see."
"I've come across such in Nord ruins," said Tariq.
The legate barked a harsh laugh. "Yes. Basic elemental traps of fire or ice. Ayleid traps are more powerful and insidious. Lightning is the most basic attack, but other attacks are unseen. They can drain your majicka, or they poison you in strange ways. What you must be wary of at all times is your physical well-being. You may feel flushed, your mind grows dizzy and foggy, and some have reported burns where there was no fire. Sudden fatigue. Nausea and vomiting. Sudden redness, swelling, blistering, and bleeding of exposed flesh. Get out of the area. And since we don't have a skilled Restorations healer with us, if you stay too long and start bleeding, you're as good as dead because your guts and lungs are breaking down. This energy poisoning goes on even after you leave the area. The only way to recover is to get out fast enough and get skilled care from a healer or an alchemist who can brew teas and potions to strengthen one's recovery."
His soldiers listened in grim silence, sharing uneasy glances.
"Usual tactic would be to have my soldiers disperse in triads to explore the area and flush out the enemy. But as we have no mages and our healing potions are limited, my instinct says to withdraw. But I cannot chance to leave unsecured whatever power the cultists sought from this temple crypt."
"Sir, why don't we just cave the entrance in and extend our patrol to keep watch for any second attempt to re-open the entrance? If they can't get out, that should contain the problem until experts can be brought to deal with it," suggested a soldier.
"That was my first thought, too," said the legate. "Unfortunately, we can't risk that some may survive long enough to get their hands on their prize. Something with that power could then easily blast its way out of a mere physical barrier."
Tariq nodded and said, "So you want to investigate. I agree. A small team then — me, you… Lydia, Ria? Yes? Then, legate, choose two or three to back you up. You have your magic, and I have my armor and enchanted items. The rest of your soldiers can guard corridors we've cleared so that we have the best chance if we need to retreat."
The legate chose three from the volunteers. Tariq insisted on swapping Ria with one of the veterans. He reasoned to Ria that it wouldn't hurt to observe Legion discipline. Also, her shout could make a difference if they needed help to retreat. The legate seemed bemused at suddenly having a Companion as part of his team but accepted Tariq's specious reason that Ria needed some broader experience. The other older Nord vets were wary of the bubbly young Imperial, but if the legate was fine with it, so were they.
The corridor split, one to a gallery overlooking a large chamber and the other to a downward stairway to a door. The room below was illuminated by crystals, and they could see dead cultists and two undead. A raspy cough from the darkness beneath overhangs proved undead still roamed. The gallery looked clear, and the legate posted three archers. Tariq agreed to take the other end of the gallery, which looked to be curving into another corridor. The legate would take the stairs to the door and see where it led. If they were correct, their teams should meet below.
They did. Three more undead were hiding in the shadows and two were cut down and the third as chased into the open where the archers took care of it.
They searched the bodies of the cultists. A soldier found a journal and gave it to the legate. "As I thought. There's a giant welkynd stone they want that's powerful enough to open a Gate. It's in a hidden crypt of this temple high priest. But to get to that locked crypt, four special welkynd stones needed. They found two, and two more are still in the hands or graves of the undead.
"Search all the bodies we find around here. Take any crystals that look like those," he said, pointing to one of the crystals lighting the area. "If we can take even one away, that secret chamber will forever remain locked. Then we can get out of this accursed place and collapse the mining tunnel." He handed the book over to Tariq. "I'm going to presume you want this. The riddle of the gate site mentions areas clearly within Stormcloak territory. You would have a better chance of looking for it and killing those cultists. That is if you want the responsibility. If not, I'll send this onto General Tullius, and he might be able to attend to this once we end this civil war." Tariq took the book. No telling how long the war will last. It was his duty, then, to make sure such an unholy site was purged.
So they searched. The legate had two legionnaires sound the war horns every half hour. This was to let the teams know they'd gone too far into the ruins if they couldn't hear the horns. Sound, of course, could be deceptive in the many grand chambers and corridors and doors, but there wasn't any alternate way to maintain contact. They searched cultist bodies and undead bodies for crystals. Tariq and Lydia also searched urns and caskets for gems and gold. The Ayleid weren't stingy with the gold and gems when it came to their priests or with weapons and armor for their tomb guardians. The malignant energy traps the legate spoke of were detected by Tariq's Dwemer armor, which would suddenly spark with static. In those areas, he made Lydia and the legionnaire stay back as he methodically destroyed any crystal on a pole, niche, or chandelier until his armor stopped sparking. The legate, he later learned, performed his own detection by constant-casting a mage's energy shield, which would flare when suddenly bombarded by other invisible energies.
Six hours of searching, trap evading, undead fighting. They headed back towards the entrance, collecting the soldiers who had guarded the cleared area. Those soldiers hadn't been idle either, having stray encounters with undead or cultists who came out of hiding to flee the battles Tariq and the legate waged. Two dozen crystals had been collected. Two of those, one labeled 'Sercen,' which meant earth, and 'wel,' which meant air. The legate handed another journal to Tariq. He had found the room where the stones were to be used and the body of the cult's chief researcher. This journal had instructions on using the crystals to reveal and unlock the secret tomb. However, the legate had worked hard to destroy the sconces the crystals would fit into. So even if all the crystals were collected, one would need the lost Ayleid knowledge of forging the sconces and calibrating them to the energy flows within the temple. Tariq nodded approval.
Once everyone was out, the legate used the last of his powers to shoot firebolts and icebolts into the tunnel walls to collapse them, then he collapsed from exhaustion. Legionnaires worked on the mountainside above the entrance and chiseled a landslide to further bury the site.
The noise caused the Dragon to take issue. Luckily, it used ice magic. The Nords weathered the attack far better than Tariq or Ria did. Tariq's incomplete shout was only effective if he caught the Dragon when its attention was on other targets. Face on, the Dragon could shrug aside his power. The legionnaires almost managed to shoot the Dragon to the ground. However, this one was cannier and made an escape before its wings gave out.
"Learn anything from the legate?" Tariq asked Ria.
"Oh, yes. I'm glad he's on the side of the empire. The way he combines magic with weapons is different than yours. The weapons and armor he uses are standard Legion issues, but they become magic in his hands. It's like his magic, his spirit, flows into them. I don't believe that's a normal skill; I've never seen mages do that. They enchant their weapons as you do. I don't know if it's a common practice among the mer. I've never seen Athis do this, and I know he can use fire magic, but his weapons don't catch on fire. Could this be something like your, um, shehai weapon that you often talk about?"
Tariq stiffened in denial. "Not quite," he said stiffly. Ria frowned, puzzled by his sudden coldness of tone.
Sep take it. If only Fasendil weren't Altmer. Tariq knew he needed to continue working on the precept that the sword is the extension of his power. He'd learned the Ash'abah technique of extending holy power into his weapon but no other physically damaging energy. There was some connection, some understanding that still eluded him, but no way would he'd ask an elf for advanced instruction.
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