Chapter 24
They were finally back in Whiterun. The Fall Festival had been over a month ago. Tariq didn't mind; Ivarstead had its own mini-festival, and he and Lydia earned coin as festival bouncers, dealing with unruly pilgrims and Stormcloak soldiers. The Legionnaires temporarily relocated their camp to Arcwind Point to avoid trouble with Stormcloaks hunting in the area for meat. Locals warned them to avoid the dragon and not to kill the cows up there unless they could call in Jarl Ulfric to yell and kill the dragon as easily as he had the high king.
Argis had managed the long wagon ride back. Tariq formally accepted Lydia as his housecarl and moved his essential belongings over to Jorrvaskr, letting Argis, Galathil, and Avrusa have Breezehome. He would stay at Jorrvaskr and Lydia was allowed to return to her bunk in the guard barracks.
"From what I've heard from Aela and Ria, you've had an eventful time, Dragonborn," said Kodlak.
"A number of events, honored elder," Tariq replied. "Some related to being a Dragonborn; some not." After discussing the events that Kodlak had heard from Aela and Ria, Tariq gave him the journals taken from the Mythic Dawn Cultists. If they were coming back to Skyrim, the Companions needed to know because they would likely be encountering these cultists. He intended to eventually search The Rift for these Cultists, but until then, he would appreciate it if Companions who took jobs in that part of the land could report back any rumors that they heard. Kodlak agreed. The Mythic Dawn was one of those groups that needed a lot of blood sacrifices, meaning people went missing. They weren't jobs the Companions often got because the victims were likely already dead by the time their loved ones could scrape together the minimum 500 gold hiring fee.
There was also the number of uniformed vampires that Tariq had been encountering. He had a sketch of the identifying armor and suggested the Companions note the places and number of these vampires. There was an organization of them somewhere. He was thinking of visiting this Dawnguard faction to find out if they had more information. Another source might be the Vigilants of Stendarr. The Companions had no interactions with that group, and the mere mention of the idea had Kodlak's lips curling in disdain. Tariq didn't understand the hostility and sensed that inquiring into that was not a good idea.
"It is unfortunate, but the court mage of Markarth's suspicions seems to be valid — there are too many dead about who should be moldering in their graves. Dragons included. We do not need a reoccurance of the Oblivion Gates because of these Mythic Dawn fools, nor do we need a plague of vampires," said Tariq. "I've heard enough doomsayers at Ivarstead preaching of 'The End Times.' Kings and queens of the graveyard are not much of a reward, I think."
"No. Feasting on bones and garbage is not my idea of a reward either," grumbled Kodlak. "I think you are correct that we should gather more information. If we face an increasing number of vampires and black mages, we should prepare properly to recognize and fight them. Common weapons may not be enough. Athis has proposed silvered weapons such as he carried in Morrowind. Eorlund is not fond of silver as a weapon. Too soft. And we… well, iron and steel are the metals we Nord have long put our faith in."
"Athis has a point. It's the most basic measure against sorcery, undead, werebeasts, and demons," said Tariq grudgingly. "The dark elves are well qualified to say this. A weapon of pure silver is folly and vanity. An inlay should do along the length of a blade, the sides of a hammerhead, or an ax. The artistry I've seen in Jorrvaskr's weapons would not unduly suffer with the addition of silver. Nor would shields inlaid with silver. It would add to defense and attack damage against the unnatural and undead. I do not believe this would compromise the Companions' views of dishonor for using magic. In any case, I would rather stand in the shade of 'dishonor' than stand fully revealed as 'arrogantly stupid' in refusing to take basic precautions against a known enemy."
Something he'd said had caused the Harbinger to withdraw behind an expressionless mask. Tariq was unsure what. Perhaps the Harbingers had taken offense that Tariq had implied the Companions were "arrogantly stupid" in their views against magic. Silver was not a magic device like a soul stone but a natural ore of the earth that just happened to have properties that deflected magic. He tried to apologize. Kodlak laughed and seemed to accept it. But he softly suggested that Tariq should also apologize to Aela for inferring that a true warrior considers a bow an inferior weapon and a coward's choice. Tariq hadn't explicitly said that, but that's how Aela seemed to hear it.
Tariq went searching for Aela as soon as Kodlak had dismissed him. Aela was in the practice yard instructing the four newest whelps. He was surprised to see an Ohmes-Raht Khajiit in the line-up. Most of the Khajiit that wandered outside their native lands were the two-footed, upright Suthays to Cathay-Rahts. The four-footed ones, the Tojays, Pahmars, or massive Senche-Rahts, were easily mistaken for wild animals. And then there were the Ohmes forms. The Ohmes, non-furred and non-catlike, were often mistaken as Bosmer; the Ohmes-Raht sub-variety were Bosmer-like with cat ears and furry tails.
"An orphan raised by Nords," said Ria when he asked her about it. "The mother was an ex-Companion who left to marry the merchant who'd put in a protection and escort request as he delivered some expensive medications to settlements in Hjaalmarch. Fell in love with him. They'd picked up Kimmel out of a cage in a bandit den. Nice kid. A bit awkward and shy, but a nice kid."
"From your lips," said Tariq, studying the Khajiit. Fair skin, russet hair, red ears tufted with white, red tail with cream rings. The boy's face was decorated with war paint reminiscent of cat stripes. He was beautiful and would have made an exotic and expensive toy for some wealthy owner.
"So, you're finally back," said Aela, taking a seat next to him on the bench once lessons were over. "How's Argis?"
"Able to sit up, feed himself, and use the chamber pot without assistance."
"Ah, good. Hard road for a warrior."
"Aye. I've taken Lydia on as my housecarl."
"Will you make Argis your steward, then? Over Breezehome? The house of the Dragonborn would be a tempting target for thieves when you are out on missions. And there's the mail. Most of it gets sent in care of the jarl, and his clerks dump it on us. It would be nice if you had your own clerk to handle all the messengers and letters. Contrary to expectations, the Companions are not the servants of the Dragonborn."
"You may be right. Better here than in Markarth. It is a long distance to travel between the two, and Vlindrel Hall has all those stairs that are hellish to climb even for me."
"I'm sure Markarth's jarl will hire a clerk for you if you ask."
"I think not. I will choose my own agent and spy."
"Tough choices, brother. Does that mean you'll be heading back to Markarth?"
"I suppose I'll have to. One hopes there are jobs I can take while I'm there."
"If not, there should be dragon walls you can find in The Reach. You've told us about the one in that Forsworn stronghold called Hag's End. There are likely more. And there's the fane of Ustengrav. Ask Vilkas. He found other references in those old books he collects. Something about old temples."
A dragon temple? Vilkas was slow to answer his door. But once he finally did, all he did was grunt, close the door, open it again to thrust a large book with a crackled leather into Tariq's hands, and shut the door again.
"Quarterly taxes. Best not bother him more than necessary," said Farkas, who had opened his door at hearing Tariq's pounding.
A leather bookmark was on a map of Hjaalmarch. There were marks of ancient tombs. Three large ones from the First Era or older. One was at the north shore near the ocean and marked with tall pillars. The other was almost at the base of the mighty arch that held Castle Dour and the Blue Palace and was noted to be the grave of some ancient warlord. Another nearby was an open-faced burial mound. The book was from the Second Era and was a study of the Merethic and First Era structures of the Dragon Cult written by Imperial-trained scholars stationed in Solitude. The bookmarked chapter examined Hjaalmarch and its many ruins, the biggest being the ruined city in the center of the Hold. And there were two mountaintops with dragon walls.
He would go to Markarth, stay there through the winter, hire a trustworthy clerk, and when spring came, he'd go to these Hjaalmarch ruins and find their secrets.
How about The Reach? What ruins were there of the Dragon Cult?
Ah, yes, two large temple structures in the northern half of The Reach, a dragon wall south of Markarth, and a hint of a Blades Temple being built in the central highlands to rival their Cloudrest Temple in the Bruma Province.
He doubted Vilkas would let him keep this book, so he'd best copy anything he thought essential to his search. He would need Rodina's help with this. The language in the book was from the Second Era before the Akaviri Potentates took over and forced unification of the Cyrodiil written language. It was difficult for him to be confident in his interpretation of what he read.
As he'd hoped, Rodina was excited to see this book. She took it to the court wizard, Farengar, who was equally excited. Both eagerly and quickly began copying the maps and translating the old texts. Tariq foresaw a tiring future of searching remote places and delving into dangerous ruins. If so, he'd leave the northern ice holds for last.
… … …
A bunch of wizards fought each other. It was none of his business, and it was a pain to have to ride around them, but he wasn't in the mood for a gratuitous fight right now. He'd just dumped the bodies of a Dominion patrol into White River. He'd accidentally found a Talos shrine and was attacked while resting in its cove. The note on the justiciar's body was an order to kill anyone found at a Talos shrine for the "glory of the Dominion." Also, if they were caught by the locals, they were on their own. He'd been riding this way to revisit Shearpoint, curious to see if the dragon wall would still affect him even after he'd received a shout from it.
The ruins these wizards were fighting in were on the other side of the mountain from Shearpoint. Outward appearance was that it was a long-ago fort that overlooked White River.
He cursed as a stray fireball exploded in front of him, causing Cairo to rear up. He glared in the direction of the wizards, now noticing that it was two against four. A female Dunmer and a male Khajiit. By their robes, clearly a different faction than their four black-robed opponents. There was also a fire atronach under the control of the black robes. He recalled talk in the taverns about hunters disappearing in this area. Necros daring to set up here, not two hours' ride from Whiterun?
The Khajiit favored fireballs which he threw wildly. He was protecting the Dunmer, who was summoning something. What came from Oblivion was a little goblin thing. It was fast, agile, and charged the nearest black robe, killing him with its spear. It also threw fireballs at another black robe. The atronach flew towards the goblin but was interrupted by a spray of ice shards from the Dunmer. With the help of the little demon, the two killed the black robes.
She dismissed the demon as Tariq rode up. "If you mages are thinking of setting up base here, I advise against it without registering your presence with Whiterun's court mage.
"No! We're just here to retrieve some books this group stole. We're from the College of Winterhold," said the Dunmer.
"They must be important books, then."
"They are, they are! I can't complete my research without them," she assured him. "I have no intention of failing my class because of these losers."
While the Dunmer had been talking to him, the Khajiit had jogged to the keep's door.
"Locked. Do we blow our way in or go another route?"
"Check over where the atronach was originally guarding," she ordered. "It never moved from there until we attacked; it must have been ordered to guard something."
The Khajiit moved as directed to the destroyed tower, of which only a crumbled wall and floor were left. He went down some stairs and soon popped back up, waving his arm.
"Oh, good." The Dunmer looked up to Tariq. "Gotta go. But I promise you if we survive and we got our books, we'll report to Whiterun's court mage. I'm Brelyna, and my companion is J'zargo. We're both first-year students at Winterhold. And you, sir?"
"Tariq ibn Zayad. You may find me at Jorrvaskr, the Hall of the Companions."
"Companion Tariq. Got it." She gave him a small wave and ran to join the Khajiit, disappearing down the stairs.
He went to Shearpoint. The chanting was there, but subdued, and he didn't feel any pull on his attention. He decided to camp here for the night.
The shout at this wall was one for deception, was pieced together from three stories. The first story was about a man wishing to honor a dead brother whose voice fell short of power; second, a priest who died doing something others thought foolish; and last, a servant who died far from his homeland. Was there a connection other than random words pieced together from their respective obituaries? Was it a shout worth investing in? Was its only use deception? Could it be used for long-distance communication? It was frustrating. He wouldn't know unless he sacrificed three dragon souls to activate the words. And making the trip back to High Hrothgar just to discuss the worth and usage of this shout was not appealing.
Aside from the shout, there were the skill buffs of lockpicking, alchemy, and archery. Should he take back the mask from Farengar, or was he just being silly? Such tools could be break-through devices or cause dependency if one gave up improving their skills by their own efforts. He'd seen too many warriors dependent upon enchanted items that buffed one's sword and shield skills made helpless when those enchanted items were taken away. Still, he did not have the time or the interest to further study alchemy or archery; it would be nice to have something to boost those skills in an emergency. The lockpicking aspect was an interesting one. Did it pertain only to physical locks or could the application also be to intellectual puzzle solving?
If he was truthful with himself, which he had to be as an aspiring Ansei, he had his own reliance on these performance enhancement spells. Certainly, Cairo's stamina and speed would not be as magnificent, nor Nimat's strength and stamina, without the enchanted rings he wove into their manes. But he tried to maintain a line against artificial skill enhancement. His armor was enchanted against elemental and magical damage and attacks. He liked the soft leather boot he had found at Hag's End with its stealth and stamina buffs. Stamina… yes, he knew how to cultivate that. Stealth with armor was a skill beyond his patience or interest to master. A shame for one who'd chosen the Guardian Thief's blessing.
It was near midnight when Cairo alerted him of something nearby. An Altmer in Winterhold wizard robes ran into the firelight. "I'm harmless!" he cried, flinging his hands up in surrender.
"Where are the other two?" Tariq demanded.
"They, they're still in there. They said they didn't need my help and told me to get out."
"What kind of wizards were those black robes?"
"Uhh…"
"Necromancers?"
"N-not really. They were studying vampires to see if they could be controlled. They offered to teach me if I—"
"Brought them some books?" Tariq backhanded him.
"Fool. Vampires cannot be controlled except by stronger vampires." He squinted as he examined the Altmer. "How old are you?"
"T-, t-, twenty."
"You ignorant infant. I had no idea Winterhold College incompetently ran a childcare center. Go back to your school and stay there until you learn some sense."
The Altmer looked away and slowly withdrew to the edge of the firelight. Tariq scowled but listened. Cairo was alert and on guard. Tariq heard the distant growls of bears and howls of wolves.
Well, as long as the sniveling elf didn't talk, he could stay for the night.
At dawn, a Nord Winterhold mage came striding from the north into camp. He grabbed the elf, shook him, and dragged him further away to yell at him. After that, he looked toward Tariq, nodded, and gave him a fist-to-shoulder salute. Tariq nodded and lifted his left hand to wave them goodbye. The Nord dragged the elf behind him and headed towards the ruined keep.
He went northward into the territory between Whiterun and Eastmarch towards an old tomb he'd seen in Vilkas's book. Korvanjund, it was called. There was a word wall inside it.
It was an in-ground tomb. Stormcloak soldiers were stationed down there. When they saw him, two came to order him away.
"I don't care what you're doing here. I'm here for the word wall inside that tomb," Tariq told them curtly.
They told him to move on.
He shrugged. Fine. He would come back later. They would either have found what they were searching for and be gone, or they would be the newest undead recruits if they failed to overcome the draugr that guarded within.
… … …
He was sparring with Athis, practicing double-wielding with knives. He was blocking while Athis attacked.
"Doing better at deflecting, but watch the recovery angle, especially on your left," said Athis as he jumped back from an attack. "If you blocked like that from a heavier weapon, you'll break a finger or lose your grip." He lunged forward, left direct forward and right, reverse grip, sweeping in from the side. Tariq stepped back on his left leg, pivoting, knives up and scissoring to deflect and cut the arm of the direct thrust and leg kicking up Athis's chest to knock his body away. Athis scored his calf, potentially crippling him.
"Damn it!"
"Still a better move than last time I used that attack," laughed Athis, rolling to a cross-legged sit.
"Excuse me, Tariq, dear," said Tilma as she and her assistant brought out more water and a fruit platter. "Some wizards here to see you. They're out front."
Tariq grunted and picked up a towel to wipe his face and shoulders. He threw the two wooden daggers he'd been using to spar with Athis into the nearest hay bale, then leisurely walked around Jorrvaskr. It was two days ago since the Korvanjund tomb. He'd waited a day at a distance after being turned away by the Stormcloaks. They'd still been digging when he'd left.
So, it was the Dunmer and her group. He half-smiled, pleased to see that she had kept her word.
"Mage Brelyna," he acknowledged. She nodded.
"Yes, um, Thane Dragonborn. As I said, we've got our books and have reported to Master Farengar. He will see Fellglow keep thoroughly burned out of vampires and occultist equipment." She glanced back at the Nord. "Um…"
"I am Onmund, Sir Dragonborn," said the Nord, stepping forward. "An honor to meet you."
"Onmund," acknowledged Tariq. "Call me Companion Tariq if you must address me. I prefer not to use either the thane or Dragonborn titles."
"As you wish, Companion, sir." He cleared his throat. "Um, we also thought it our duty to report to you, sir, of three dragon walls we know to be nearby our College. One is on Mount Anthor, the peak nearest to the Shrine of Azura, which can be easily seen from the capital. Another wall which, I'm afraid, you would need permission from our arch-mage to access, is in the underground ruin of Sarthaal. The College is currently studying the ruin and restricts entrance. But I'm sure entrance to you will be willingly granted. The third is on another peak of a small islet a few miles from Winterhold over an ancient tomb. Should you wish to go to these walls, it would be our honor to escort you."
"Do you know which word walls have dragons?"
"Mount Anthor. If you need help bringing it down, I'm sure the College would be willing to help."
"Good to know. I don't think I'll be going to Winterhold in the near future. Maybe next year. Right now I prefer to look for these word walls in warmer holds."
"Perfectly understandable, sir. Even for Winterhold natives, winter months are killers for the unfamiliar, unprepared, or careless." A little more conversation before the three left, letting him know they'd be departing tomorrow morning on a wagon to Winterhold.
"If they weren't here for hire, what business had those milk-drinkers here?" asked Aela when the mages had left.
"They were reporting about their victory over the necromancers at Fellglow Keep. Also, they wanted to tell me about the dragon walls around Winterhold."
He wondered if he should volunteer to be part of the squad sent to clean out the keep. There was likely some valuable things the sticky-finger Khajiit staggering under the big sack had left behind that Tariq might find useful. Any sizable necromancer group would have an alchemy set and enchantments table. He'd like to claim those before they were destroyed.
The alchemy table would be useful in Breezehome because Avrusa and Galathis had to make their compounds at the public station at Arcadia's Cauldron. It frustrated them having to travel up town then often obliged to wait their turn to use the station.
Tariq had to go up to Dragonsreach the few times he needed to use the enchantments table. He would rather not have to climb all those stairs up to Dragonsreach. The second location problem was that Farengar's suite was an open door from the main hall. If it was an open court day, Dragonsreach would be crowded. Tariq hated having to push himself through such a crowd. Too many tried the game of boosting their social standing or importance by being seen talking to legendary Dragonborn. When Lydia was with him, she would expertly fend off such bothersome people. But he did not have her in daily attendance. Her assignment was Breezehome and collecting ingredients Arcadia didn't have for Galathis and Avrusa. The poor girl was currently in Morthal rooting in the swamp muck for mushrooms, moss, slimes, and lichen.
He asked Irileth about the Fellglow mission. She gave him the timeline. Unfortunately, it coincided with an assignment he had already accepted for the Companions. She promised to have the two tables removed before the place was torched.
… … …
He and Aela cleared out the nests of frost trolls slaughtering the cattle and goat herds of farms on the northern edges of the hold. He carved a few pounds of fat from each kill and let the farmers take the rest for fertilizer and hog food. Avrusa had found a new formulation with troll fat into a cream that soaked through the flesh and numbed the area it was spread upon. Her original intent was instant relief for knotted muscles or battlefield medicine to numb that needed sewing. She shared a milder version of the formula with Arcadia. It became a top-seller to vain ladies and fops wanting it because the wrinkles on their faces disappear for days after a light application.
She agreed to stop by Korvanjund. There didn't seem to be any activity, but when they went inside, they found in the front room injured Stormcloaks, weak from lack of food and water. These ones had been injured early in the initial battles with the draugr and evacuated. But as the rest went further in, the draugr number increased, and the injured never made it out. Those left behind to tend the wounded and guard the entrance eventually ventured after the vanguard to see if there were other injured who could be carried back. They never returned.
Tariq agreed to stay here with the injured. Aela would ride tomorrow morning to Windhelm to tell them they had soldiers to fetch.
However, Legionnaires showed up before dawn. Leading the unit was a severe Nord Legate name Rikke. They were also here for whatever the Stormcloaks had tried, and failed, to secure. She wouldn't tell Tariq what it was, but she wouldn't turn down the Dragonborn's quest to find the word wall he believed to be in this ruin.
The Stormcloaks cursed their luck and the Legion, but they weren't in any condition to argue. Legion medics would treat them before taking them to a prison camp in Haafingar.
One Stormcloak grabbed at Tariq's leg. "Take it for yourself," hissed the soldier. "It doesn't belong to the Empire or to that useless Elisif. Take the crown for yourself. It's your right, Dragon of the North!"
There was a lot of draugr and a lot of Stormcloak corpses. Most of the Stormcloaks died here in this two-level chamber with walls lined with burial crypts. Most of the draugr here were high-level types. Whoever was buried in this tomb had once been someone important to warrant such powerful guards. The last of the Stormcloaks died further on in the hall of stories. Tariq found the dragon claw key on one of the corpses. Now it was time to face the tomb's owner.
"The draugr beyond are likely to be deathlords. Brace yourself as they draw breaths for a shout," said Tariq. His shoulders tightened in anticipation of battle. Already he could hear the faint, familiar chanting of dragon magic.
They came into a long chamber. Tariq threw up a magelight spell ahead. The light spell arced to eventually drop at the feet of an enthroned deathlord. To its left and right were standing stone coffins.
He launched forward, silver sword poised to strike as soon as he was in range. The deathlord was pushing itself up when Tariq's scimitar swept down, cleaving through the armor over the left collarbone and the topmost ribs to the long-dead heart. It knocked the draugr back into its throne. Tariq wrenched his sword free and swept his sword around to behead the draugr.
He jumped back as the lids of the coffins fell open, two deathlords stepping out.
Legate Rikke charged past him on the right, shield smashing into the draugr. Her sword stabbed deep into the armor gap through the armpit. The soldier behind her brought his mace down to crush its skull. The burly soldier his left rammed his greatsword through the other draugr's chestplate, pinning it back into its coffin. His backup followed up with his greatsword, punching through the stomach armor. Between them, they eviscerated the corpse.
Tariq took the helmet crown off the deathlord. Iron molding held together bone plates with formed sockets for horns or teeth. The bone formations did not seem natural, but the material was bone, so far as he could tell. Molded bone. It reminded him of the molded bonedust armor of the dark elves. And these weren't horns. Tusks or teeth. Was this supposed to be dragon teeth?
He didn't feel any magic or dragon soul essence coming off it. If anything, he was faintly repulsed by the crude arrogance of its declaration. Crowns were outward symbols and demonstrations of power and wealth, simple and understated elegance of a gold hoop to the boastful and elaborately-wrought pieces studded with gemstones. This thing of bone and teeth was an expression of hungry, ravaging power.
"I'll take that," said Rikke, reaching and plucking the crown from his hands. "I believe behind that wall is what you wanted." She pointed her sword to the back of the room.
The word imparted a sense of… timeliness? Of movement in the blink of an eye?
No, he had mistaken his impression of the crown in the afterglow of the unknown word. It wasn't any lost opportunity, as the Stormcloak had urged him to take, but that time had given up, and the power it had once represented was long past.