Chapter 28
Ex-Blade Finea's children. Their ages were 7, 6, 3, and 2. That was a lot for a widowed, full-time working mother to handle. But she wasn't working anymore. She'd been forced to quit her job when the newly-appointed assistant director of the archives bluntly informed her she could either work as his on-call "assistant" outside working hours or go live on the streets. She promptly walked out. And since he wasn't competent as an archivist (Finea had been doing his work and the work of three other previously dismissed archive clerks), records were going missing or unorganized even for routine court matters.
"He keeps hiring, and they keep quitting," said Aicantar. "The pay is cheap. Also, he's unable to give any clear instructions, screaming at them for not knowing procedures and forms that he, as the archivist, should have first instructed and trained them in. The Merchants Guild loaned one of their records clerks, a Lysander fellow, at a cost equal to the director's pay to work half-days and only to focus on the daily court records. Naturally, he prioritizes those records that pertain to the Merchants Guild's matters. He can't be bullied by the official archivists. He knows the records and procedures because he's Finea's friend, and she's instructed him on the necessities and what not to do despite what the director and chief assistant may say."
"The archivist jobs. Nepotism?"
"Of course. The director was a friend of the jarl's father. The assistant is the younger son of another of the jarl's drinking buddies. A womanizer and gambler who lacks the deeper pockets of his father and the family heir. Miss Finea did not cite him as a reason for her resignation, but we all know it's his fault. We don't blame her for not wishing to return to her job even at twice her pay, which, if you ask me, is still less than what a part-time hire-at-need clerk can make. But nothing changes unless those men are gone, and higher pay won't compensate for that.
"Uncle would love to hire her, but we don't have the budget. Uncle doesn't even mind the children. He has high hopes for them; their enthusiasm for the digs far exceeds my own. Uncle will have to hope their enthusiasm stays until they're in their teens and old enough to be laborers, I mean, apprentices in the digs."
Calcelmo praised Finea's intelligence and talent in digging up obscure facts of history in the old records. If Tariq hired her, he hoped occasionally hiring her for record-digging jobs he often needed would be permissible. He'd pay her fairly, of course.
Tariq's main reservation about hiring Finea was her children. Vlindrel Hall was at the top of the second highest stone spire in Markarth, second to the Temple of Dibella. The stairs winding up to it were narrow and without any safety wall or railing to prevent one from falling to certain death. Children could be remarkably careless about their safety.
The Dwemer-built home had no consideration of a rooftop garden, a common design for any good home back in Hammerfell. A missed opportunity in his opinion. One could set up vats to catch rainwater, a small plot for growing fresh herbs, a play area for children, and a gathering place for family in the evenings. It was possible to create one. The master bedroom was the second largest room in this one-level home. And since he had no intention of making this his permanent home, he wouldn't miss it. Just replace the room walls with a sturdy iron lattice. As for other space, he was tall as an Altmer, but the ceiling was still higher. He noticed that about Dwemer-designed dwellings — they all favored excessively high ceilings. He didn't need empty overhead space. An open second level should be built for bedrooms and storage.
He could afford it. As for hauling groceries and other supplies up those damnable stairs, there was simple, hand-cranked pulley device that could be set up. If the other residents of this stone tower contributed to building the thing, they could use it too. Suddenly enthusiastic about the ideas, he spent the night doing rough sketches and writing out his ideas.
… … …
Finea would think about it. And while she did that, he decided to hunt the word wall in the Ragnvald tomb.
Rynon, the Bosmer, guided them to Ragnvald, a day-and-a-half north of Markarth and hidden in the mountains.
"Finea found exploration records of two hundred years ago that say this is the tomb of dragon priest Otar. He was noted to be a just ruler but, sadly, went senile and mad later in life. His generals, Saerek and Torsten, took him down. For that crime of treason, they sentenced themselves and their men to be buried with their lord to stop him should he rise again." The Bosmer fiddled with his bow. Last night, he'd given Tariq a map of the tomb. "The dragon wall is behind bars, and no lever or button was found to lower them. A study of Otar's sarcophagus shows two curious sockets. It's speculated that the key to the barred room is to bring Otar the heads of his guardians."
"I suspect that would revive the priest," said Tariq.
"Well, yes. That's a given."
It wasn't much of a challenge to find Otar's sarcophagus. That part of the tomb was a simple floorplan and direct. A few walking bones, a deathlord, nothing the four of them couldn't handle. They looked at the bars. Rodina grimaced. The Bosmer was shorter than she, but she was skinnier overall, and the parts that weren't could compress. She stripped down to shorts and undershirt and squeezed between the bars. She started inspecting the room and soon confirmed there was no lever or button or chain to activate the bars.
"Here's a copy of the words, but I suppose…"
Tariq looked at the dragon words and shook his head. "Unfortunately, there is still nothing for me in this. I shall have to see the wall for myself to absorb its power."
"Oh, well. It was worth a try. I did find a nice pile of loot. I call it 'loot' because I doubt it was part of the original burial. The coins in it are minted within the past couple hundred years. Thieves using this as a hiding spot, probably, and had a falling out, if the sword through a skeleton is any clue. For whatever reason, no one came back for their treasure." She squeezed back out and redressed.
There were two wings of the tomb. One was full of bodes, and the other had a waterway and a blocked-off section. They split up. Rodina and Rynon would take the crypts. Tariq and Lydia would take the water-flooded chamber. They would meet back here with the skulls of Torsten and Saerek and prepare to battle the mad dragon priest.
"So, what's the word?" asked Rodina.
"I'm not sure, but it feels like it's one that relates to Kyne."
"Oh, maybe another piece to Kyne's peace shout. Not something you're interested in, right?"
"Not right now, no."
"Well, I'll try translating it when we get back to Vlindrel."
"I hope the next dragon wall is more useful," said Tariq.
"Valthume, yes?' Rynon sighed. "I can put you on the right road once we're past Markarth, but I can't go with you. My vacation allotment will be over by that time and I have to report back to my unit.
"What I know about Valthume is there's a ghost most are afraid to pass. The ghost warns everyone to get out because it's guarding a 'great evil' that must not be disturbed. Every exploration team paid to ignore the ghost never returned. According to the ghost, the great evil is Hevnoraak. Legends say Hevnoraak ruled the southern half of the Reach while Otar ruled the northern half. Except for names, the ghost is not one for conversations. I would recommend finding a merc mage, but I don't think there's one in Markarth. Because of the Thalmor, even the Legion in Markarth has no battlemages. The Thalmor claim that as 'cooperation,' they will supply the battlemages if the Legion needs them. But when we're battling Forsworn witches and hagravens, they have more important matters to deal with while we get roasted. All of our legionnaires who can use some magic are burning out from over-use."
"Naturally. You have my sympathies in dealing with the Thalmor. We'll make do at Valthume."
"You sure? We could always swing back to Markarth. If I recall, you once hired the merc Vorstag. Last I heard, he was between jobs. And there's Edmund. His skills as a thief and assassin are top-notch. He may be twice your age, but you'll find he can keep up on a run or battle. If you want him, it may delay you a couple days because he does have to maneuver around his other, ah, work commitments."
"I thought he was a smuggler."
"Yes, that, too. But he was trained to be a thief and assassin. Smuggling luxury goods, people, and information in and out of High Rock and Hammerfell was the company he was assigned during the Great War. That group supplied General Decianus's troops and delivered orders to the Hammerfell Invalids. Since then, well, it's gotten rougher and less noble as the original agents dispersed. Edmund stayed with 'em for reasons."
"If I can get both men, that would be ideal."
It was an easy decision. Rodina was a bard. And while she knew some knife skills and had her fire wolf summons, she would never be a warrior.
Tariq knew Lydia had been a caravan guard before she settled in Whiterun and trained to be a housecarl, learning the basics of accounting, property management, and laws pertaining to her thane's social station. She was a solid fighter, competent hunter, and could spot pickpockets, thieves, and shady merchants. A combat secretary chosen for a foreign-born thane who had baldly stated he was more interested in training his skills than serving Whiterun. Exploring ruins, spelunking caves, and charging into city-sized Dwemer death traps, however, was not in her skillset.
She was learning. Tariq knew she'd been spending coin to talk to adventurers who specialized in grave robbing the many ancient ruins in Skyrim, asking them about equipment, dangers, and other such things.
Her base pay was provided by Jarl Balgruuf. And while he paid his soldiers decently, especially the special agents that acted as housecarls to many of the nobles and officials of his court, it wasn't enough to cover what she spent trying to learn. Tariq was not obliged to pay her, not while she was technically still employed by the Whiterun guards. That was the reality of government-assigned housecarls. The main advantage of that is it gave them limited inside access. They were loaned government agents unless they formally quit and went into private employment.
But they were still government agents. The moment she left for private employment, she would lose her insider access, and officials would no longer be obliged to cooperate with her any more than they would any commoner off the streets. This had been a mutual decision that she would remain in Whiterun's employ. He had no plans for permanent settlement in Skyrim. And when he eventually left, she could return to Whiterun, albeit at a senior level.
Still, it didn't feel right to him that she should pay for extra, specialized knowledge from her own purse. Yes, she was aware her thane was the legendary Dragonborn, and she should expect to be trying to protect such a madman from a dragon attack. However, no one told her she would be plunging into crumbling, haunted ruins of the ancient Dragon Cultists and Dwemer cities or knowingly walking into Falmer caves and tunnels.
She was protecting her own future. Death or disability by misadventure was all too common, even for non-adventurers. Gods willing, she could avoid such with foresight. Tariq allowed her a quarter split of treasures and salvageable equipment found since he was legally obliged to pay for her housing, equipment, travel expenses, and all related taxes.
That had been the arrangement with Argis. Faleen had chosen him for Tariq because he had a knack for interacting with locals and could help a single-minded foreigner navigate the perplexing Nord world he'd charged into. But the Markarth guards would have no use for a cripple and would immediately abandon him with some pittance of a pension. Poor repayment to the soldier who had also become his friend. One of Tariq's first tasks was to go to Faleen and have Argis's employment with the Markarth guards terminated. Argis would manage Tariq's property in Whiterun, and Tariq would let him take ownership of it when he eventually left Skyrim.
So it was best to hire the help Rynon had suggested. Vorstag was an experienced tomb raider. Edmund, he was sure, was equally skilled. Lydia would only benefit from observing them without the pressure to protect her thane.
Vorstag was happy to come along. Blade Edmund was willing, but he was hesitant about revealing too much of his history. He knew Vorstag's reputation — a professional merc, after all, and one's experience had to be public knowledge to get jobs. Vorstag wasn't the type to gossip. But Edmund didn't know Lydia yet. Tariq was sure, however, that he would soon realize Lydia was not the type to talk about her employer's business (outside of official reports to Jarl Balgruuf).
They returned to Markarth. Tariq found Vorstag at his usual table in the Silver-Blood Inn and hired him. Rynon arranged a meeting with Edmund at a fishing spot next to The Warrens. Tariq's excuse for being in the place was to have the female Orsimer smith try to salvage the cheap, damaged sword he'd taken from a Forsworn. And while she did that, he'd wander around, maybe strike up a conversation with someone fishing in the area. Edmund was dressed like one of the poor who had no choice but to fish in the river.
Aye, Edmund was old. Over 50 years, he should have found something less dangerous a decade earlier. He didn't look out of place among these beggars if one didn't look too closely. His thinness was not from starvation but from his natural build. The dirt was superficial, and his flesh was healthy underneath it. His thick and springy hair and beard only appeared filthy and unkempt.
"Going to Valthume is an easy 'yes,' Dragonborn. I am familiar with Vorstag and have come across him twice before. I appreciate his professionalism. We might have been extracting goods from the same tomb, but he was not one to interfere where he was not paid to do so. Your housecarl, however, I am not sure what knowledge you expect me to share with her. I doubt she wants to learn about assassination techniques or ways to skirt—"
"Lydia's training as a bodyguard is adquate to protect a helpless target. However, she is too often a hindrance to me. She puts herself in the way of my sword. I need a competent supporter. Just give her suggestions from your unique perspective."
"Hm? As you wish, Dragonborn."
"Enough with that title. I am of the Crowns in Hammerfell, but my family is of a priestly line, not ruling nobility."
"Of course, lord."
"There will be no mention of Blades. As far as anyone is concerned, you are Rynon's friend. He has confessed to being a Blade, and Lydia and Rodina may suspect the same of you. But they are sensible women and will say nothing unless you say it first."
"As you say, lord. I will need four days to re-arrange my commitments. I can meet you at Valthume at the end of the week."
"Meet us there," said Tariq. There is a Dwemer ruin nearby, and I wish to look it over on the outside to determine if it's worth exploring in the future."
"Arkngthamz. Yes, it is an interesting place. It's at the center of all the earthquakes in that region and started about ten years ago. I would guess some adventurer pushed a button or flipped a lever they shouldn't have and set something off. It is a place thick with Falmer and the usual metal monstrosities."
Tariq shook his head at the misfortune of that past adventurer. "Ah, bad luck for that one. It can't be helped. One has to push buttons or move levers to explore such a place." He smiled wryly, recalling his past push-button/pull-lever experiences exploring Dwemer ruins.
"Aye. One hopes the machines settle down after a time. That place is mostly solid bedrock, pretty poor for farming, so no large settlements, if one doesn't count the Forsworn. Had there been any city or town, all the buildings would have collapsed from the quaking. There's a book that mentions it called 'The Aetherium Wars.' Likely, several copies floating around this city."
He caught a fish, reeled it in, and grimaced at the visible worms on the flesh and the rotting scales. "Fagh! What has someone dumped this time in the water?" He dropped the fish and pulled his other fishing lines in, too disgusted with the state of the prey to continue. "I'm done here. By your leave, lord." He disappeared into that dark hole everyone knew as "The Warrens," where the poor lived.
… … …
"Arkngthamz? Oh, yes, explored it thirty years ago," said Calcelmo. He found the book Tariq wanted and pulled it out from the related stack of books. "Taron Dreth is the author. He was the apprentice of Katria. You remember Katria, nephew?"
"Yes, uncle. How could I forget? Practically my little sister for a time." Aicantar restacked the books and papers that had fallen over when Calcelmo had pulled the target book out.
"Brilliant, inquisitive mind despite being the child of a stodgy, low-brow soldier and his equally dull-minded wife. Kept badgering me to go on my digs and learned so much on the job that I sponsored her to go to the Imperial College. While there, she found some hints in Ayleid writings about a mystery metal called 'aetherium' that the Dwemer clans were hastily making alliances over. Dwemer clans don't like to share their secrets, so when something comes along that they come to the point of making alliances, then it's something that cannot be ignored.
"She came back with a list of ruins to investigate to find proof of this metal, and I'm afraid she met a bad end in one of them. I believe this Taron Dreth fellow stole her work, but I've no proof of it. He has all the research notes. If only she had shared her notes with me before disappearing into some ruin, I could have protected her authorship."
"She was going to after she returned from her expedition," said Aicantar to Tariq. "I never did like Dreth. Do you know the type? They flatter you just a shade too much. Ingratiating and obnoxious, either trying too hard to be supportive or looking for the most opportune chance to knife you in the back. Oh, he put a nice note of thanks to Katria in the book's introduction as a way to rub dirt in the faces of we who knew her. Stealing her work didn't do him much good, though. He talked about it and made much of it but has yet to produce this mystery metal. No ore, no relic made of the stuff, not one chip. He can vigorously promote himself as the premier scholar of Dwemer metallurgy; however, without solid evidence, he knows serious scholars are snickering behind his back. Still, he manages to cling to respectability on the strength of Katria's workmanship."
"Would you like to accompany me to Arkngthamz?" Tariq asked Aicantar after drawing him out of the hearing range of Calcelmo. He was aware the mer only worked the digs to please his uncle. He did not want Calcelmo to pressure the elf to go along if he didn't want to.
"I think I will if I won't be in your way,"Aicantar answered, surprising Tariq. "I don't care about the aetherium; I just want to find out what happened to Katria. Her parents are retired and live in Haafingar. They blame us for being a bad influence on her and taking her away from them. We didn't mean to, but she was too smart and restless. Uncle may have paid her first year of tuition because she earned it working for him, but she managed to pay for the other years on her own. Still, blame aside, it's only right they also know for certain what happened to her."
"Then I'll see you in two weeks after I've explored Valthume."
… … …
Valthume. It was far enough from Arkngthamz that the tremors couldn't be felt. Those were too regularly timed and uniform intensity to be other than artificially induced. Something was amiss in the depths of the Dwemer ruin. One hoped Aicantar could figure out if there were any ways to fix that.
Tariq didn't see any sign of Edmund.
"Delayed, perhaps?" said Lydia. He'd already discussed with her having her learn as much as she could from Edmund. Vorstag, too, but Edmund would be her primary tutor since Tariq was counting on Vorstag to be his primary backup in exploration and combat.
"No, he's here," said Vorstag laconically. "Behind."
The rest of them turned around to see Edmund. "Got here yesterday," the man said. "Camp's this way. Breakfast, if you want it." The man had his camp expertly hidden so that Tariq didn't even smell the campfire and the pot of food on it. "Porridge and dried fruit." Only Rodina opted to have a second breakfast; the rest had tea. It was bitter, black, and had something to it that spurred to their alertness and nerves. It was much like the roasted beans from Elsewyr that the Khajiit liked to coat with a hard shell of moonsugar. He remarked it, and Edmund said the tea was similar to the beans in its effect but not as strong. Also, cheaper and easier to pack.
"I've already been inside, but only as far as the anteroom," Edmund said, surprising them. "Valdar is the name of the Nord ghost. He's eager to meet you, lord, especially since I told him you are a Companion and a Tongue and have fought dragon priests before."
"And how would you know that?"
"You have shouts. Most of them you can't get without coming across high-level deathlords, dragon priests, or dragons. And I'm including those old dragon priests of High Hrothgar. Although, there are a couple you have to go through Forsworn to get to. He's a Companion himself. I didn't ask him too many questions. I thought I'd leave that to you, miss," he said, nodding at Rodina. "You know best how to make those records you're collecting for Whiterun."
"Not just for Whiterun," she grumbled.
Edmund recommended bringing the horses into the anteroom rather than leaving them outside. There were small Forsworn camps nearby and frequent scouts. They didn't try to enter the ruins. But if they saw the horses, they would take them or kill them the moment Tariq's warhorse showed any aggression.
The ghost was happy to see them and smiled hopefully when introduced to Tariq. It made appreciative sounds as it examined Malika, the Atmoran snow horse. It also admired Cairo, the finest example of Yokudan chargers.
The ghost led them into the throne room. In the center of the room was a sarcophagus with stone pillars at the head and foot. He explained that Valthume was both the palace and tomb of Hevnoraak, who, in his time, ruled the southern half of the reach and part of Falkreath. Valdar explained he had soul-bound himself to Hevnoraak to keep his body locked inside the sarcophagus, but he was growing weak. Unlike Hevnoraak, he had been a warrior with no desire to live forever, much less as an undead. He'd driven out many adventurers, but not all of them. Their deaths strengthened Hevnoraak. And as it grew stronger, Valdar weakened.
He could feel the power in Tariq and asked for his help. "In life, Hevnoraak drained his own blood from his body. His goal was to transfer his power back into himself after death, becoming a powerful lich." The task for Tariq and his party was to find the three blood vessels and bring them to Valdar. When that was done, Valdar would use Hevnoraak's blood to force a confrontation before the priest was at full power. Only then would the thing be utterly destroyed.
Rodina would stay with Valdar to get every bit of history out of him. The ghost looked dismayed and looked at Tariq helplessly.
Tariq patted the air above the intangible shoulder. "Pray, indulge her hunger for stories," he urged Valdar. "She may reward you with a composition to be sung in your Sovngarde. She's an excellent bard."
Hevnoraak had a passion for torture; over half of this tomb/palace was dedicated to torture rooms. It deserved its name, which Valdar had told him mean "brutality." It had been the type to torture victims until they feared it and its dragon gods more than they feared death.
Such an irritating phantom. Now-you-see-me-now-you-don't mind games. They glimpsed it floating just around a corner, just past a window, between the boards of a wooden barricade. The feeling of malevolent eyes watching, observing, studying for the best, most amusing way to destroy the new toys.
Of odd comfort was the background murmuring of Edmund's soft, matter-of-fact lectures to Lydia on common traps and puzzles found in Nord and dragon cult tombs, how to spot them, and disarm them. Also, suggestions for when the fail-safes no longer worked because of inevitable damage caused by time. She had plenty of questions about equipment to bring and skills to develop. Nothing off-set useless mind games than working on practical skills.
Practicals. Like, Bleakfalls Barrow. Edmund had him describe the traps and circumstances. To Edmund, it was simple enough. Pretend to be a robber. The necromancers wouldn't know who was actually part of the robbers's group and the robbers would be in no condition to identify their own members because they were dead or so thoroughly mind-controlled they wouldn't know their own names. Some magic to defend one's mind, and one could slip deeper into the tomb. None of the tomb traps Tariq described were unusual or particularly difficult
They found all three vessels, and Tariq learned a new dragon word, a hide-and-seek word that brought to mind Kvenel's tomb in The Pale. Was it something to expand the power of the aura shout he'd learned there? If so, in what way?
Sep's scales. He'd have to go kill another dragon. What an irritating way to learn new knowledge. Was this the way of dragons? Did even dragons have to earn the power of words only by killing each other?
He shook his head. Enough wasting of time with allegories. They needed to return to Valdar.
The ghost sprang up from his chair with unseemly haste, his expression pitifully eager. Tariq believed it was less the anticipation of using the vessels to finally end his guardianship but more the rescue from Rodina's inquisition.
Valdar led them from the anteroom back into the grand reception chamber, and he instructed Tariq to fill the bowl on the throne dais and then sit on the throne. Valdar would work the magic to reanimate Hevnoraak's corpse. Though he again professed he wasn't a mage, much less a necromancer, he'd been soul-bound to the priest so long that they each had come to know the other's secrets and memories. Just as he knew the spells the priest longed to recite to give itself a new semblance of life, Hevnoraak knew his accursed jailer's desire to quit this tomb for the hall of Sovngarde.
"Are you ready?" Valdar asked again. "It will take all my energy to force Hevnoraak out. Once he is raised, I cannot suppress him again."
"Understood. Rodina…"
"Yes, I know. I'll go outside and stay with the horses again. If you don't come out in the next two hours, I'll head to Markarth to tell Mage Calcelmo there's a revived dragon priest on the loose."
Tariq emptied the vessels into the offering bowl and sat nonchalantly on the throne. Lydia, Vorstag, and Edmund stood at compass points around the sarcophagus. When Hevnoraak burst out of its coffin, it screamed with rage to see him there. Tariq sprang up, silver sword in hand.
"Feim." The blade glowed with spirit energy. The shout was meant to momentarily shift one's physical body into spirit form. But Tariq's training and desire was to draw out his spirit into a physical sword manifestation, his Ansei. By will and intent, he was re-shaping the meaning of the word. "The sword carves itself upon the swordsman."
His understanding, he knew, wasn't perfect. He needed a physical prop for his newly-sprouted concept. If an elf legionnaire could gild his sword with magic to give it an extra edge, he could do the same with spirit. It was a green sprig of power but grafted to a silver sword, and against a weakened dragon priest, it was more than enough.
Hevnoraak could fly about, it could throw fireballs at him, it could shout all it wanted. But it couldn't escape. No, the soul-bond Valdar had imposed upon it anchored it to this place. While Valdar was here, it couldn't leave the room. It couldn't break the bond. The accursed Nord had planned it this way.
All Hevnoraak could do was run around the room, one foot caught in a merciless beartrap, squawking until Tariq could catch up to it and cut off its head.
Brutal.
Rodina insisted they pack up Valdar's bones to take back to Whiterun. His grandparents had all been of the original crew of Jorrvaskr, hauling the great ship down from Winterhold's coast to the gold plains because Captain Jeek had the crazy notion to float his boat on the largest lake in this part of the world. But they'd found Kynareth's hawk and its fiery nest on the way. The crew had roasted a mammoth on it, drunk their last reserves of mead, and refused to haul the boat another step. Captain Jeek had given in, and his precious boat was overturned and made into what it was now. The winds of Kynareth, the wings of his boat on the water, had blown its last voyage to her hearth; and so here this group of Companions would stay. Valdar's dearest wish was to have his bones soaked in a barrel of Atmoran beer and tossed onto the coals of the hearth. He'd settle for Honningbrew mead if that's all they had at Jorrvaskr. As long as it was booze. Good, strong, knock-me-into-Oblivion booze.
Rodina didn't need to insist too hard. Tariq was happy to fulfill the last with of an admirable spirit.
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