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Chapter 31
"If you stand here before me to accuse me of …"
Tariq patiently listened to his fellow Redguard's resentful rant against unjust accusations made by ignorant Nords.
"If I thought you guilty of any of those heinous acts, you'd be dead, O Wise One," Tariq said calmly. He looked around at this circular stone platform they were standing in two hours walk from Morthal. It was on a dry mound above the water level. Three dead chaurus monsters lay nearby, killed by the frost demon the mage had summoned. "I am Tariq ibn Zayad al-Zarixa."
"Falion Mostafa Gamendi Riyad." Mage Falion had the distinct hissing Craglorn accent. Common class. Thanks to the gossiping hunters he'd met a week ago, Tariq knew that Falion and his sister had been going home to Hammerfell after Falion had quit his job at the Mages' College in Winterhold (the capital city and the Hold having the same name).
They'd stopped in Morthal, and Jarl Idgrod the Elder had summoned the mage to her the same hour they'd arrived to offer him the job as her Hold's chief mage. Her Hold didn't have enough guards or money to handle growing problems outside of town, and her visions revealed that a Redguard would be the answer to her problems.
All she wanted was for him to handle the monsters; she had no interest in telling him how to do his job. He'd accepted at once. As for his sister, the Jarl loaned her the money to buy the inn from its previous owners, who couldn't wait to quit Hjaalmarch. Jonna had experience, having previously worked at the largest inn in Winterhold.
Mage Falion's fierce expression muted, but he was still frowning. His eyes looked Tariq over again, seeing Dwemer armor, hearing the coastal accent of Sentinel, the white skin, green eyes, and above-average height that marked a particular family of nobles of the Crowns faction. The Nord woman standing behind him was more sensibly armored for swamp battles in leathers that gave her more flexibility. Her sword and shield had inlays of silver. She also carried a long, curved two-handed Akaviri sword on her back. That thing radiated deadly magic.
Hjaalmarch's problems… Falion wondered if his Jarl's visions had gotten confused as to which Redguard was to protect her Hold.
"Then, what are you doing here in the swamp at this hour?" he asked.
For an answer, the fair-skinned nobleman held out a booklet. Falion took it, put up a candlelight spell, and skimmed through the booklet. "Stupid bitch," he pronounced afterwards. "How did you get this from her? Did she—"
Tariq interrupted, saying, "I was watching the grave of Hroggar's child. I was curious this morning and had gone to the burned shell. A ghost child appeared to ask if I could be her friend and play a game with her. The game was to find where she was hiding. Naturally, I was appalled the little one had not started her journey to the Far Shores. She told me someone else was playing this game, a woman who came to kiss her neck, and, despite the agony of the burns killing her, she felt cold and fell asleep. The child hoped I would find her first. I found her grave and waited. Before midnight, a woman came to claw at the grave. The vampire the child feared, who would find her first and take her away.
"I confronted the vampire and slew it. Her husband appeared. He had glimpsed his missing wife and was rushing after her to bring her home. At first, he was angry at me but soon realized the dreadful truth of his wife's condition. I got the name 'Alva' from him. But he'd also fallen under that demon's spell and refused to believe she was the one who'd killed his wife, turned her, and taunted him afterward by saying his wife had abandoned him and their son to join the Stormcloaks. After that, I detained Hroggar at the bar while my housecarl searched Alva's house."
"That was dangerous thing for your housecarl to do," said Falion, glancing at Lydia. She shrugged.
"She's fought vampires with me before. She watched Alva walk out of the town in that direction of the swamp." He pointed. Falion turned his head, staring in the direction Tariq pointed.
"Movarth's Lair is in that direction," Falion said grimly. He slapped the book against the palm of his other hand. "Somehow, some way, he must have revived, or someone revived him. He was a Third Era vampire hunter who fell at last to a most insidious species of Cyrod vampires. Knowledge vampires. They pose as scholars, teachers, and scribes, and no one thinks it odd if they prefer reading in dim and dark libraries throughout the night and sleep during the day. They are happy to share their knowledge, but it comes with a price, as you may well imagine. The story of Movarth's quest and fall is immortalized in a book published by the vampire he unwittingly trusted.
"I don't know why Movarth came to Skyrim. All that is known is that his last stand was in old iron mine where he was finally killed and buried, so it became known as Movarth's Lair.
"But now he's back. That explains why Alva is wagging her tail more than usual and why none of the wives have driven her out of town."
"Has she tried to take you in?" ask Tariq.
"No. She actively avoids me. She also avoids going near Jonna. She's likely noticed my sister always wears the silver dagger I enchanted against the undead. We grew up near ruins with many Anka-Ra."
Anka-Ra were stone statues possessed by the accursed spirits of the warriors of the Ra Gada, the First Wave, and who followed self-crowned Emperor Tarish-Zi.
"Are you two going to raid Movarth's Lair? At night, when they are strongest? Just you two?" Falion asked in disbelief.
"It would seem wiser to wait until day and ask the jarl for soldiers. However, it would be beyond foolish if Alva has made thralls of any of them as she has done with Hroggar."
Falion flipped open Alva's journal to glance through it again. "Right. And she's had a half year to get a good number of people now that I think on it."
"We have a duty to the dead to see that they can start their journey to the Far Shores without interference."
Falion's smile was cynical. "I am a Conjurations mage. As you've seen, I work with Oblivion creatures. And I study necromancy, but I do not use the dead as tools any longer than I have to for my research. I am willing to go with you now if you think you can stomach my aid. If not, if you fall, if Movarth gives you the choice of becoming a vampire, take it. I tell you this because one of the fruits of my research is that I have found a way to return a vampire to mortal life. This stone platform we stand upon is the remains of a dark altar. I do not know what gods it was dedicated to, but it is a portal to a world of lost souls. Bring a filled black soul with you if you can. If you do not have one, I might have one or two that can be bought.
"Now tell me, do you want me to come with you?"
Tariq's first impulse was to refuse. Refuse the mage's company as he would refuse the choice to become a vampire. But the news that this Movarth was once a vampire hunter before he died meant he had combat skills. Most vampires relied on their supernatural strength, speed, and overwhelming magic. Few were skilled warriors. And those, in Tariq's experience, were the most dangerous. It would make sense to take a skilled dark mage along. He was about to ask Falion how many and what type of demons he could call forth when a woman's voice came out of the darkness.
"If you fall, Falion, what shall I tell my mother?"
They all turned, surprised and ready to fight at the hidden woman's question.
"I saw you come out of Alva's house," the woman said as she walked slowly into the light of Falion's magic orb. The disappointment of Hjaalmarch, Idgrod the Younger, was looking at Lydia. "I foolishly followed you instead of alerting the guards because I had a strong notion that the secret of Hroggar's strange passion for Alva was what you were stealing. So. Vampires. Mother's been having nightmares of a blood-drinking darkness seeping down from the northwest, from the border of High Rock. She sees tendrils winding through the swamp fog. It's overwhelming because it twines with her war memories of the Dominion. It confuses her. Too much knowledge, old and new, that she cannot untangle. Me, I don't have the weight of her experiences or the strength of her visions. I just feel eyes. Of course, it may just be paranoia." She paused and met the eyes of each of them. "Half the guards are under Alva's control. If the light is right, I sometimes think I can see their uniforms splashed with blood. Alva hasn't bothered with most of the male villagers except the unmarried, influential ones."
Falion gave her Alva's journal. "When you go back, talk to Jonna first. Show her that. She knows how to brew a poison that can subdue a thrall and inhibit a vampire's control over the thrall's body.
"If it is, indeed, Movarth, remember that he was a deadly hunter of vampires. He was a warrior with skills beyond what the town guards train for. The Jarl should try to hire a Companion, but it will have to be one of the Circle, their best."
"Expensive," said the woman.
"They might accept a lower fee just for the challenge," said Tariq dryly. "If I do not return, this is a danger to all of Skyrim that they cannot, in good conscience, ignore. Killing the Dragonborn should require retribution, do you not agree?"
"Damn," said Falion flatly. "I'm coming with you then, even if you don't want me to. So the rumors are true that the Dragonborn is a Redguard, not a Nord." He eyed Tariq. "I can see the confusion," he remarked with a touch of grim humor. "Aren't you also a Companion?"
"I was," said Tariq. "However, I felt it was time for me to go my own way for a while to better learn the duties of a Dragonborn. I came to Morthal for the dragon walls I've heard are here."
"If we're going into a vampire's den, I strongly insist we wait until daylight," said Falion. "It gives us time to prepare the proper weapons and protections and better chances to sneak attack a sleeping vampire."
Idgrod hummed, a dissenting sound. "That would be the smart thing to do, except that Alva is missing her journal. She's running to her master to warn him. He'll question her about its contents, forcing her to reveal just how stupid and careless she's been to write down all their plans. I fear he'll go to Morthal and order the guards she's already enthralled to kill anyone of influence, starting with the Jarl. You can't wait until morning."
… … …
"Volkihar," pronounced Falion, looking at the uniform worn by the vampire they'd just slain. "The Volkihar clan of the north coast. They're an old clan from the First Era. They pose as richly dressed drowned bodies in the water to lure poor fools to pull them in for some harmless salvaging. Smaller boats that ignore them get overturned when the dead body suddenly swims up and grabs their boat, flipping it. The Thalmor have an agreement with them. They provide Volkihar a steady supply of meat, and, in return, the Volkihar let their ships pass. They also get tacit protection as locals won't wander or sail near that part of the coastline for fear of the vampires."
They'd gotten past the thralls guarding the outer rooms or burying the excess bodies not used for food or deemed unworthy or unusable as thralls. Like many mines, it had multiple tunnels dug in the quest for ores. The tunnel they were currently in seemed to be the sleeping area with beds and coffins. At this time of night, no one was sleeping. They'd come across a vampire who appeared to be just standing around. Possibly a sentry and a bored one. Falion, who had cast spells to detect undead and their thralls, said most were in the centralized tunnel. Their movements were calm. Most were stationary and spaced as if around a large table. They were eating or planning something or both. The numbers weren't good. At least a dozen vampires, another dozen thralls, and still-living dinners usable as combatants if they still had most of their limbs.
Someone moved in the darkness ahead. Falion flung his silver knife. The vampire attempted to dodge, but in vain. The knife angled after it and drove deep into the torso.
"Nice trick," commented Tariq.
"Telekinesis. It's handy as long as I have line of sight," admitted Falion. "Ah, it's Alva." His knife floated back to his hand.
He whispered the detect undead spell again. "Grab the body. There are others coming this way."
Lydia grabbed the corpse and stuffed it under a bed. While she did that, Falion cast the detect life spell. "Two thralls with the vampires. Damn. A third thrall coming up fast behind us."
Tariq readied to face the third thrall running towards them. As it came into sight, it flung a bundle at him. Rocks scattered in mid-flight, spreading a thready net that bound his sword. The delay to rip through the nuisance tactic gave him time to recognize Idgrod.
"Mother was right; that worked," she hissed, smiling. "Falion, here. Jonna said you'd need this." She tossed a thick leather roll at him. Falion partially unrolled the bundle revealing six-inch silver needles threaded with ribbons that Tariq knew had sacred prayers written on them. So, he was not the only only who'd learned things from the Ash'abah. He immediately realized that a telekinetic spell would make these formidable weapons.
He looked Idgrod over. She'd changed from an unremarkable gown and cape to a mix of light leather body armor, short leather cape, and legionnaire scout's gauntlets and boots. A brimmed leather cap with strings tied under her chin completed the outfit, giving an oddly whimsical flair to her new business look. He eyed doubtfully the youth's recurve bow that seemed to be her primary weapon. That wasn't a bow for battle, and she wore no quiver. He sensed a blessing on her bow, likely a spell against the undead.
Ah, she did not carry a quiver because she could conjure ghostly arrows.
"I see Jonna lent you her bow. What potions are those?" asked Falion, glancing at the small bottles tied to her belt.
"The ones you said she can brew. She told me to hit the thralls first to cause confusion and leave the vampires to you."
"Yes, that's our usual tactic."
"Do you need Lydia and I to do anything?" Tariq asked with dry politeness.
"You can take them down if we miss," said Falion, smiling with equal dryness.
They didn't miss. The thralls preceded their masters. Igdrod's arrows made no sound and penetrated armor and flesh easily. The thralls collapsed and swore as they tried to get the arrows out. The vampires lunged at Falion with superhuman speed. His silver needles went out at the speed of thought, piercing through eyes and into the brains, the threaded spell-prayers ripping souls from dead flesh and sending them to Oblivion.
Falion walked over to the thralls. "Are you sane now, or do you still want to fight for the vampires?" he asked.
"I have a wife and family in Bruma. I'm with the Bruma Fighters' Guild, hired to escort a merchant train headed for Solitude. They caught me when I was scouting ahead. Please, help me!"
"Trust me to put you to sleep then," said Falion. "Idgrod, give him a bottle. You, drink a mouthful only. This will paralyze your muscles, hindering the vampires from controlling you. It can be terrifying, like when you wake from sleep and can't move. And what about you?" he asked, looking at the other thrall.
"I'm a guard at Stonehills. I was out on patrol when they got me. My partner, my brother, is already dead. Don't put me down. Let me help fight. I don't care if I die. I want to kill those filthy creatures!"
"I appreciate the sentiment, but once a vampire's gotten you, you're too easy to control again. If we win, you can help scatter the ashes." The man swore bitterly but accepted the paralysis potion.
"Four down, another two dozen to go," sighed Falion. "I've got twenty needles, but I can't guarantee any more easy kills, not with so many to aim at. Using telekinesis is not just a 'release-and-go' spell; I have to consciously guide each needle to its destination, and I can handle only two at a time. At best, the wounds will slow them down and hinder the magic of the weaker ones. I'll have to trust you, sword-singer, to take on Movarth."
"Do you wish me to use the bow?" Lydia asked Tariq.
"No. Use Serpent's Fang. Paralyze as many as you can," he replied. "Idgrod, you should also aim to wound as many as you can with your potions."
"Stay close to me, my lady," said Falion. "That way I can shield us both. Did Jonna loan you anything else besides her bow?"
"Her necklace against general magics and ring against poison."
"What's the magic on your armor?"
"It's my mother's old armor. Endurance, underwater breathing, and general thief skills."
"Thief skills?" asked Lydia.
"Mother did a lot of work in Dominion territory."
"I see. And why underwater breathing?"
"Easiest way to get in and out of Summerset."
"Swimming?"
"Of course not. She hammered a net to an enemy ship below the water line and rode in the net."
Lydia opened her mouth to ask another question but Tariq interrupted. "Interesting. But we can ask Jarl Idgrod later if she's willing to share her war exploits. First, we must win this battle."
… … …
The needles and ghostly arrows flew in furious volleys, felling thralls and the weaker vampires.
Movarth and four of the strongest vampires seemed to ignore the needles and arrows. Fire, ice, and lightning crashed against Falion's shield, forcing him to keep it up and preventing him from attacking as they rushed towards him despite knowing that their physical attacks would easily penetrate an energy shield as their magic could not.
Tariq and Lydia now charged forward. Lydia put herself in front of Falion's shield. Serpent's Fang lashed out, biting and paralyzing any it touched. Falion dropped his shield and shot bolts of flame around her. Two ice titans materialized and began throwing their fists about, smashing down on vampires. Idgrod's arrows re-pierced thralls, injecting more of the drugs.
Tariq shield-rushed Movarth. The master vampire clutched the shield as he was pushed back. He regained his footing and wrenched the shield. Tariq was forced to let it go to save his arm. Movarth leaped back to avoid Tariq's sword sweep. Arrows flew past him to torment Movarth, winning Tariq precious moments to ready his next attack.
Tariq was impressed. Idgrod's seemed as good as Aela when it came to placing her arrows, but she lacked the strength and speed of a werewolf to draw a war bow. But while Idgrod's child's bow could in no way compare in power and distance, her arrows were as the stings of a bee, painful and poisonous. Movarth was moving at the speed of a vampire. Aela would have been challenged to hit him. Yet Idgrod's aim was a preternatural skill that anticipated Movarth's movements. It was as if Movarth moved deliberately into the path of Idgrod's arrows.
"FEIM," he hissed, standing still to let the vampire close in. Movarth's clawing hands passed through him. The vampire stumbled, not expecting empty resistance. Tariq solidified and brought his sword across Movarth's back with all his might, cutting past the loose, fluttery silk shirt. But the vampire had hidden a vest of thin-scale armor beneath. Tariq's blade chopped through the scales, striking to the bone, but it was not quite enough to kill the vampire. He wanted to FUS at the creature, smash it against the floor, but the ache in his throat let him know he must wait before shouting again.
Movarth rolled away and back onto his feet, whirling around to face Tariq again. Blood was drawn, and he was now wary of his opponent's power. He was hunched, moving awkwardly. His hidden armor had saved him from a quick death, but his speed was crippled. The cumulative poisoning by the ghost arrows was sapping his strength.
Movarth looked around. The bitch with the Akaviri sword had somehow felled the lower vampires, and the accursed mage guarding Morthal was burning their bodies. The thralls were useless. Most were alive if unconscious, yet that shouldn't have mattered. Most of them were broken in spirits and minds, and their flesh laced with spells that should force them, conscious or not, to protect their masters. Why were their bodies not responding to his commands?
Spells to animate a corpse wouldn't work on a thrall that still had a semblance of life. He would try it, but his opponent was too close. He was not going to give him the chance to cast the spells that would animate a dead body.
The three remaining Volkihar agents circled the warrior, mage, and archer warily. Movarth glanced around, wondering where the fifth agent was. Then he glimpsed her just inside the passage to the alchemy room. He sidled left, maneuvering his opponent's back towards her. The Dwemer armor his opponent wore was troublesome. It had strong defense enchantments to reduce magical damage, forcing physical attacks only. He recognized Ash'abah techniques and spells now. He had not had the opportunity to learn those skills when he was alive, the Ash'abah proving elusive and clannish with their secrets. He wondered how this fair-skinned Nord had won that tribe's favor to be taught their secrets. If they could take this one alive, the secrets they could get from him if they could turn him into one of them would be invaluable, enough that he could surely challenge the Volkihar's leadership.
Like that spell he'd used that turned him elusive as air.
Tariq's throat felt better. His first impulse was to use the SU GRAH shout to speed his battle reflexes, but his sense told him it would be better to know how many foes may be hiding. Besides, the vampire's eyes were shifting about too much, not concentrating on him, so it was also assessing attack strength and positions.
He was aware of other tunnels leading to this room, and the vampire had moved to force him to put his back to one such entrance. That entrance was above the floor level. Anything coming from there would have to run downstairs or simply jump off the platform if it was a vampire. If it was an archer or spellcaster, it would have the height advantage. His current position was unacceptable.
The seeker shout was best. He cautiously backed away. "LAAS YA," he whispered and risked a quick glance around.
Ah, two in the upper tunnel behind him, one more distant in the tunnel to the left with a wooden walkway. Unlike the spells Falion cast, Tariq couldn't detect if these hidden enemies were thralls or vampires. It would be best to assume the worst.
Tariq smiled grimly at Movarth, anticipating…
As soon as he felt a body hit him from behind, he let his hand clutch one of the arms, locking it in place, and threw himself forward into a roll to crush the troublesome rider. Movarth didn't try to jump on him because Tariq continued to point his sword at him even as he rolled. As he'd anticipated, the second vampire used its greater strength to push him off it, incidentally helping him back upright, and he used the momentum to lunge at Movarth. Movarth wasn't as fast now to dodge, and Tariq chopped into the right inner thigh, bringing Movarth down.
He spun around, sword slicing, to hit the other vampire jumping at him again. The Volkihar leather armor wasn't thick enough to blunt the slice that eviscerated her below the ribs.
Two ghost arrows hit the vampire as it fell.
He whirled back to face Movarth. That one wasn't doing so well. Tariq saw the tail ends of a prayer ribbon sticking out of his neck and another in his other leg.
He beheaded Movarth and turned to look at how the others were doing. Falion was seeing to Lydia, who was sitting on the ground in exhaustion. Idgrod stood guard, her bow half drawn. She grinned at him. He nodded back and held two fingers up to show two more vampires were in hiding, and his sword pointed at the tunnels.
The upper tunnel led to a storage room with an alchemy table. He didn't hesitate to cut down the thrall there. That one had already been dead with unholy magic animating its rotted flesh.
The archer thrall in the other tunnel was still alive. As Idgrod was not here to dose him, Tariq was forced to kill him. The continuing tunnel from this place looped ended in a garbage dump of bones, eviscerated offal, and other refuse.
By the time he'd backtracked to the feast hall, reinforcements from Morthal had arrived. An old woman, clearly Idgrod the Elder, was sitting in judgment of the thralls. Some had already been executed, some sat off to the side, and the rest were either unconscious or bound under the watch of guards.
Falion gestured him over. "My Jarl, the esteemed Tariq ibn Zayad. His family is an ancient and noble line, having many holy priests of Ruptga and sword saints. He is also the lauded Dragonborn of your legends."
Tariq glanced at him in surprise. He had not expected Falion to know his family.
"So, life has brought you to Morthal, and to me. Welcome."
He bowed deeply in respect. "I am honored to meet you, O noble Jarl of Hjaalmarch."
She made a quick hum of amusement. "It seems we are the ones honored by your service in solving the mystery of Hroggar's house fire and your quick resolution to this particular spot of darkness. There is more to come, but I have no doubt you will carry the fire that will light the way of the lost. Now, stand straight and let me have a good look at you." He did as she ordered, and she looked him up and down, making him feel like a stud stallion put up for auction. When their eyes met, she smiled, eliciting an uncomfortable feeling as if he'd forgotten something very important.
"Do as you see fit," she said, but to her daughter. "It's a dangerous world out there. However, there will be no greater opportunity to learn what you need."
Tariq cleared his throat to reclaim her attention. When he had it, he turned his head and nodded to the executed thralls.
"Broken beyond repair," she answered before he could ask. "There is nothing left, and it is only kindness to send them on their way. And some were criminals destined for eventual execution," she added. Of the ones sitting quietly on the side, she said, "Those have a chance to recover their lives. But not Hroggar. Hroggar fell on his own sword when he recovered his mind.
"Now, let me finish here. Helgi is waiting to say goodbye to you. Go and talk to her."
Tariq stilled. "Where shall I find the child, my lady?"
She glanced to her daughter who came to take Tariq's left arm and pull him after her. "I'll take you to her," she said. "Mother and Falion will finish up here." Lydia followed after them.
They were heading back towards the entrance. They passed other soldiers and villagers inspecting the tunnels and collecting items.
"Were you injured, Lydia?" Tariq asked.
"Yes, my thane, but Mage Falion has excellent healing skills. I'm only sore in places where I got clawed. He expunged the poisons and closed the wounds. And he instructed me to rest for the next two days because of blood loss."
"Ah, excellent."
Past the first chamber with the spiders, at the top of the ramps, he could see the ghostly form of the child. She smiled as he approached. "You did it! I knew you could! I came to say 'thank you.' Mother's calling me. I feel so sleepy."
"You've had a very trying time, child. You should go rest peacefully this time," said Tariq, smiling down at her.
"Yes, I think I will. Momma and Poppa also say, 'Thank you.'"
"I was glad to help, child. Now off to bed with you. Get some rest for the journey ahead of you."
When she faded away, Tariq raised his hands, palms up, and his eyes upward. "Go your way to the land of the Ancestors, where they wait for you with open arms, there on the shores between this world and the next. See, there they stand. Ancestral spirits, welcome this one to the place where we all must go."
Lydia added softly, "Go to the feast in Sovngarde; face the judgment of Tsun with the song courage on your lips and the strength of your heart in your arms."
"Who is Tsun? A wise judge of souls? I have been in Skyrim for over a year, and I confess to being lax to learn of your gods of death. Is he another name for Arkay?"
"Tsun the Bear. He was the shield-thane of Shor, and died protecting Shor in battle against the mer gods. For this he was set as the one who stands at the Whalebone Bridge to the Hall of Valor of Sovngarde and judges the worthiness of the souls that seek to enter."
"How does he judge the worth of one's soul?"
"How else? A warrior's test of arms."
"That little girl is expected to battle a warrior god?"
"Beg pardon, thane, but is your Far Shores any kinder? If I understand it correctly, souls must walk the darkness between the stars, face the terrors and dangers of that journey, and complete the journey before Satakal sheds its skin and burns the shedding to ash. Must they do it each alone? Or will the family be able to walk it together?"
"That is their choice. Either alone or with companions they knew in life. It is a sort of judgment, is it not, to die and discover who waits for you or who you are willing to wait for?"
… … …
"My lady, there are safer ways to see the world," said Tariq cautiously. "You understand I am on a journey to hone my skills. This means accepting dangerous situations and quests for the sake of danger, not for riches. I will not guarantee your safety."
"I didn't ask for that," said Idgrod the Younger. "As you say, 'a journey to hone my skills.' I can't do that in Morthal or Solitude, short of joining the Imperial Legion, and I won't do that. Every little vision I have says a certainty of death at the hands of the Dominion. My mother and little brother ― stronger seers than I ― say the same. I once considered joining the Companions, but then I sat at dinner with one of the senior members, and the night afterward were all horrible visions of hunger and running battles I couldn't win. But if I go with you, I know I'll face danger and a chance of dying. But that's it ― it's only a chance. I'm not asking you to play my bodyguard or my teacher. I have my own things to learn. I'm willing to take the subordinate role like your housecarl. Lydia's your shield arm; I can be the archer of your group. I'm just asking to travel with you for a year. Two at most because I have duties here I must resume."
"You performed wall against the vampires despite such a weak weapon," admitted Tariq.
"I took archery lessons from a Bosmer hunter in Riverwood, and he says I'm as good as I can be so long as I kept to lighter bows. Speed over power, and I can only be that if I stick to lightweight children's bows. My advantage is I have a knack for predicting my target's movements to lead my shots. I learned enough Conjurations magic to summon Oblivion arrows so I never run out of ammunition. I also know field survival and scouting skills. Well, the skills for surviving the swamps of Hjaalmarch and woodlands like around Riverwood and Falkreath. Those skills I learned from my parents. I haven't had the opportunity to train in other terrains, like Winterhold, The Reach, or mountains and deserts. I've never delved deeply into burial crypts or Dwemer ruins. I know basic alchemy, and my cooking, I'm told, is decent. I can carry my own weight in travel and, I daresay, in combat."
"No objections from me," said Lydia. She yawned and looked wearily down at her beef stew. She should be sleeping, but had stubbornly insisted on cleaning their armor. If she didn't go to bed after eating, as she'd said she would, Tariq would strong-arm her to her cot.
"I plan to go to Elders Peak to see if there's a dragon wall up there. I may also look into Rannveig's Fast, which I am told is haunted. Come if you want, and we'll see if we can work together."
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