Chapter 1
Dragon
1E415
A frigid wind blew through the snowy forest of southern Solstheim, whistling past the hardy evergreen trees and threatening to dislodge the mounds of snow that had accumulated on their branches. At first, Vahkiir tried to ignore the gale, as he always did, but when he noticed snowflakes dancing in the breeze, he scowled and cast a wary glance up at the sky.
The clouds above had been a stern grey for the past several hours, but thus far, they had merely loomed ominously. As he stared at them intently, however, he realized – much to his annoyance – that the wind was not merely disrupting loose snowflakes already on the ground. It seemed that the storm that had been threatened since early that morning was finally about to begin.
Vahkiir let out an irritated sigh and ran his mittened hand over his ruddy, wind-weathered face. Even if the impending snowfall was likely to be light, he needed to hurry. He had been tracking an elk for the past two days, and he had only just rediscovered its hoofprints in the snow. The last thing that he needed was to lose his quarry when he was so close to bringing it down.
"Hurry, boy!" Vahkiir called, glancing over his shoulder at the smaller figure struggling through the snow behind him. "We haven't any time to waste."
His son, Strunheim, staggered up beside him and put his hands on his thighs. He panted heavily, his breath misting in the bitterly cold air. "One… one moment please, father," the boy gasped, his russet hair falling into his face. "I simply need… a moment to rest…."
Vahkiir narrowed his eyes and exhaled slowly, letting his breath mist through his teeth to emphasize his annoyance. "Your prey won't allow you to rest," he chided the boy, folding his arms over his chest. "Soon you'll be hunting alone. The elk certainly won't mind if you wish to starve, but I suspect that you'd prefer not to."
Strunheim looked up and glowered at his father through his messy bangs. Vahkiir's eyes widened with anger, and he drew himself up, towering over the boy. Strunheim was nearly thirteen years old, on the cusp of manhood as far as the Skaal were concerned, but no matter his age, Vahkiir would not tolerate insolence from his son. The two males glared at each other for a long, tense moment, before Strunheim sagged and looked away.
"Forgive me, father," he murmured.
Vahkiir relaxed, his anger fading as quickly as it had come. "I am not pushing you like this to be cruel, son," Vahkiir explained as his eyes followed the trail of hoofprints that wound their way through the forest. "But I must impress upon you that Solstheim has no mercy for the weak and the unprepared. Soon you will have a family of your own, and you must provide for them."
"I am learning to smith, the same as mother," Strunheim muttered. "Is that not enough?"
Vahkiir slowly turned to glare at his son, who flinched and shrank away. "Unless you wish to eat copper and stone, you will also need to know how to hunt, boy!" Vahkiir barked. "You cannot live on juniper and snowberries! Though if you dare speak to me like that again, I'll gladly show you that juniper does make a fine switch to use on your backside!"
Strunheim clenched his fists, glaring pointedly at the snow. "Yes, father," he muttered through gritted teeth.
Vahkiir glowered at him for a moment longer, then slowly turned back around. "Now, come here," he ordered sharply. Strunheim reluctantly trudged through the snow to stand beside him, whereupon Vahkiir pointed at the hoofprints. "Tell me where the elk has gone."
Strunheim was silent for a long moment, and Vahkiir could tell that he was considering another tart reply. Wisely, the boy held his tongue and instead knelt down to examine the tracks. When he looked up again, he pointed into the forest. "Based on the position of the sun, it's headed south," Strunheim answered. Before Vahkiir could ask how he knew, the boy quickly added, "Not only are the tracks in the snow still fresh, but it left broken branches and needles in its wake. It's near, and will not be difficult to follow… so long as the snow does not fall too heavily," he added, glancing up at the sky.
Vahkiir smiled slightly and reached down to clap the boy on the shoulder. "So you have learned. Well done," he said proudly. Strunheim responded with a reluctant smile, whereupon Vahkiir nodded to the tracks in front of them. "You lead the way."
Strunheim hesitated, opening his mouth, and Vahkiir scowled, expecting him to protest. Seeing this, Strunheim closed his mouth and silently nodded, then turned to follow the tracks. With his son's back turned, Vahkiir smiled faintly to himself. His constant complaints aside, Strunheim was growing into a fine young man. In many ways, Vahkiir felt as though he watching his younger self as the boy began to carefully stalk the tracks. Strunheim shared his bright red hair, though the boy's was a short, tousled mop of wild strands, while Vahkiir's had grown past his neck, and he often wore it tied in a high tail to keep it out of his face. Strunheim had also inherited his mother's bright blue eyes, a stark contrast from Vahkiir's own deep brown. However, both father and son had the same smattering of freckles over their wind-burned faces, and both had the same short, stocky build. In truth, the only other major feature that distinguished them was the thick red beard that covered the lower half of Vahkiir's face, which he kept tied in a rough knot.
"Father!" Strunheim called out, snapping Vahkiir out of his musings. "It seems that the elk turned here and began heading east. I believe that it has left the forest."
"Indeed?" Vahkiir asked absently as he hiked his pack higher onto his shoulder and began wandering towards his son. "Can you still follow the tracks?"
Strunheim hesitated, glancing up at the sky again. "Perhaps I can follow it to the edge of the treeline, but with the snow falling…."
"Not enough has fallen yet to be concerned," Vahkiir assured his son as he nodded towards the trail of hoofprints. "So long as we make haste, we'll be able to find it. Come."
Vahkiir set off at a light jog, moving tirelessly and effortlessly through the knee-high snow. Behind him, he could hear Strunheim let out a low groan of exasperation, but when Vahkiir turned to glance back at him, he could see his son determinedly struggling to keep pace with him, bringing another smile to Vahkiir's lips. After a moment's consideration, he slowed his pace to a brisk walk. The elk was clearly near enough that there was no reason to tire his son out without reason. Behind him, he could hear Strunheim let out a sigh of relief, and he struggled not to chuckle.
As Strunheim had said, the trail soon led them out of the forest and into a vast, open clearing that allowed them to see for hundreds of yards. They followed the tracks east, and after about twenty minutes of travel, Vahkiir finally spotted his prey near a thick boulder that was jutting out of the snow. He was delighted to see that it was a particularly large beast, just over five feet high at the shoulder, with a thick
coat of wooly fur, and large antlers that ended in ten sharp points.
Vahkiir grinned and motioned for his son to stop, a command Strunheim happily obeyed. He then reached over his shoulder and felt around for his weapons. His hand first grasped the long spear that he had brought more for self-defense than for hunting. Its long shaft was made of a hard ash branch that he had found in the southern forest, while the point was fashioned from one of the extraordinarily hard, jet-black stones that one occasionally found scattered around the island. Their durability made them nearly impossible to shape, but Vahkiir had been lucky enough to find one that was already roughly triangular, so it was simply a matter of tying it to the shaft. He usually brought the spear with him on his hunts in case he encountered one of the marauding rieklings – snow goblins – that roamed the island on their vicious bristleback boar mounts. However, it would be of little use in bringing down the elk, so he shoved its haft into the snow and instead felt around until his fingers closed around his other weapon.
His primary tool for hunting was an ash self-bow, reinforced with horker tusk. This, along with a score of copper-tipped arrows, was usually sufficient to bring down any beast he encountered. Elk and wolves were easy enough to kill, but even larger animals like horkers and bears could be slain by one or two arrows, so long as he aimed for their vital organs, which was hardly a challenge for him at less than a hundred feet. He had, after all, been using a bow since before he was Strunheim's age.
As he watched the elk carefully to make sure it wasn't going to run, he strung his bow, then pulled an arrow from the quiver hanging from his hip. He then motioned Strunheim forward and had him crouch in the snow to watch, while Vahkiir nocked an arrow on his bowstring. He had briefly considered allowing Strunheim to fell the animal, but they had already been on the hunt for two days, and he suspected that the boy's stamina was at its limit. The elk was also about fifty feet away from where they were crouching, and while it was not a particularly difficult shot for him, he had his doubts about Strunheim's accuracy from this range. They were also in the open, and he didn't believe they could creep any closer without alerting the elk to their presence. Thus, he would have to fell it himself this time.
"What are the elements of loosing an arrow?" Vahkiir whispered to his son as he drew the arrow back.
"Consistency, breathing, and focus," Strunheim replied dutifully.
Vahkiir nodded as he sighted the elk down the shaft of his bow. "Very good," he murmured. "Now, watch closely."
Vahkiir inhaled sharply, then exhaled slowly, marking the way his arrow rose and lowered with his breath. He inhaled once more, much more smoothly, then let out his breath halfway as he aimed at front half of the elk's body. In the instant that the elk turned towards them and stepped forward, he released the arrow.
The missile flew through the air in a slight arc, and before the elk could react, the copper tip pierced its flank and tore through its heart and lung. The elk let out a pained cry and took a half-step forward, then collapsed into the snow. Beside him, Strunheim let out an elated cry, while Vahkiir smirked to himself before turning to his son.
"Keep quiet," he warned his son in a low voice, though he was struggling to contain his own joy. "We don't wish to attract wolves or rieklings."
Strunheim closed his mouth nodded quickly, and then the pair trudged across the snow towards the fallen creature. Its blood was already staining the snow, and thankfully, Vahkiir could see that it had died quickly. He let out a slow sigh of relief as he pulled the arrow out of its body and wiped it in the snow, then dried it off on a small corner of his furs before turning to his son.
"Would you like to skin it?" he asked.
Strunheim considered the offer for a moment, but as he opened his mouth to reply, his eyes suddenly widened. As Vahkiir frowned, Strunheim pointed behind him. "Look!" he hissed.
Vahkiir glanced over his shoulder in time to see another stag approach a solitary spruce tree about seventy feet away. It wandered calmly under its branches, seemingly oblivious to Strunheim and Vahkiir watching it.
"It seems the All-Father is favoring us," Strunheim said in a hushed, excited voice as he stared at the beast. "Should we slay this one as well?"
As he continued to stare at the animal, Vahkiir felt a deep hunger starting to gnaw at his insides. The feeling went beyond a mere desire for food for the sake of survival. It was raw greed, mixed with a desire to dominate, to prove his superiority over the beast. It would be so easy to simply draw another arrow and take the creature's life. If done properly, the elk likely wouldn't even feel the wound before it was slain. This was a perfect opportunity to demonstrate his prowess as a hunter to his son, and to reaffirm his mastery over the mere beasts of the island.
Vahkiir inhaled sharply, allowing the biting cold to sear his lungs, which helped dispel the bloodlust burning in his veins. It was a feeling that he had struggled with many times on his hunts. Whenever he spotted prey, it was all too easy for him to get caught up in the joy of the hunt itself. At times like this, he had to consciously restrain himself, and remind himself of a simple fact about life on Solstheim.
"No," Vahkiir replied in a low voice to his son. "The All-Father is not favoring us. He is testing us. We have our prey. This elk is more than enough food for at least two weeks. To take any more would disrupt the balance of life on the island."
Strunheim frowned, then sighed and looked away. "Yes, yes… we must not take more than we need," he muttered. After a moment, he glanced over his shoulder at his father. "But what if we need more later?"
"Then we shall hunt for more when we have need of it," Vahkiir replied simply. As he spoke, he knelt beside their kill and drew his bronze knife, which he slid into the elk's belly. "But we must not take any more than that. We may live on this island, but do not forget that we must share it with the other creatures, not only for their sake, but for ours. Even if we can easily slay every elk, bear, and bristleback on Solstheim, we should not, as doing so now would leave nothing for us in the future. As the most skilled hunters on the island, we have more of a duty to restrain ourselves from taking more than we need, lest we doom ourselves by indulging our greed."
Strunheim continued to pout as his father slid the knife along the elk's belly, then he sighed and turned back around. "It's a moot point now," he muttered, folding his arms over his chest. "The elk left anyways."
"Good," Vahkiir replied, inwardly feeling a sense of relief as the hunger in his belly abated. Privately, his innate bloodlust worried him, and he often wondered if the other hunters struggled with the same emotion… or if it was a sign that there was something amiss with him alone. "Now, help me skin this carcass," he continued. "You have your knife, yes?"
"I do-" Strunheim began.
At that moment, his son was cut off as a shrieking, unearthly scream echoed across the snowy plains. It was a sound unlike any that Vahkiir had heard before, and it filled him with an instinctive, primal fear. He could feel every hair on his body stand on end, and he found himself wanting nothing more than to find a deep cave somewhere and hide as deep within it as he could. He quickly looked around, searching vainly the origin of the sound, before turning back to his son. Strunheim had gone pale, and he was shaking like a frightened rabbit.
"Wh… what was that?" he squeaked.
Vahkiir hesitated for a moment, his limbs feeling as though they were frozen. He forced himself to take a slow, deep breath, then pushed himself to his feet, clutching his bow tightly as he did.
"Remain here," Vahkiir told his son, taking a moment to wipe his bloody mittens in the snow. "Continue skinning this beast. I shall try to discover what that was."
Strunheim's eyes widened with terror, and he reached for his father's arm. "You cannot leave me alone!" he cried.
Vahkiir frowned faintly, torn between annoyance and sympathy. Kneeling down, he put his hand on Strunheim's shoulders. "Have courage, boy," he said. "Whatever made that sound must be close, so I shall not travel far. That said, you are far more capable of caring for yourself than you realize. If you feel you are in danger, flee into the forest, and I shall leave you the spear if you must fight. Have faith in yourself, son… and in me. You shall not perish so long as I am near. I shall not allow it," Vahkiir assured him firmly.
Strunheim swallowed, still clearly terrified, but he dutifully nodded. "A-as you say, father," he stammered.
Vahkiir smiled and squeezed his son's shoulders. "Good boy," he praised him. "I shan't be gone long. I hope to see that elk is skinned by the time I return."
With that, Vahkiir turned and set off to the north across the snow-covered plains, roughly in the direction that he believed the sound had originated from. As he jogged, he kept his bow drawn, and an arrow nocked in the string. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears as he moved, but what surprised him most was that his heart wasn't merely racing from fatigue or fear.
Rather, he found that he was strangely excited about the prospect of finding whatever had made that sound. His blood burned with anticipation, very similar to what he felt when he was on the hunt, though far more intense. What's more, he felt… angry. For some reason, the shriek had him bristling with rage and indignation. He felt as though he was being challenged, and he felt compelled to meet whatever had made that noise, to face it and force it to answer for daring to call out to him.
When he recognized the emotion burning through his veins, he wondered if he was going mad. He knew that he should not be so eager to meet anything that was powerful enough to make that sound. He had hunted nearly every beast that inhabited the island, and none had ever screamed like that before. He also still felt the instinctual fear that had filled him when the shriek had first reached his ears, so while one part of him was pushing him to seek the source of the sound, the other was urging him to flee. As such, he was moving quickly but cautiously, both eager and terrified of whatever lay ahead.
After about two minutes of travel, he crested a low, snow-covered hill and spotted a familiar landmark ahead. Jutting out of the ground in a low valley below him was a massive, semicircular stone wall, marked with deep, claw-like gouges. Vahkiir immediately recognized it as one of the ancient walls that had been erected centuries ago as monuments to legendary battles and long-forgotten heroes. He was quite familiar with these walls, as they could be found scattered across the island. He had learned at a young age to use them as landmarks to help orient himself when he was on his hunts, and as he grew older, his became curious about them. Once, he had taken it upon himself to copy the markings onto slabs of clay, which he presented to the village shaman – his mother – and asked her to translate them.
If he recalled correctly, this particular wall spoke of a long-deceased conqueror. In his native tongue, the text read, "Remember well the strength of Miraak, who was once a force of unmatched power, and unbridled fury." Strangely, when he asked his mother who Miraak was, she had refused to speak any more on the subject, no matter how hard he had pressed her.
As he gazed down at the wall, he spotted a figure huddled at its base, wrapped tightly in a bundle of furs and unmoving. Vahkiir narrowed his eyes as he slowly descended the hill and began to approach the stranger, keeping his arrow on the string. While he was certain that they were not the source of the keening scream, perhaps they knew what was. Beyond that, he also wondered if they needed aid. What other reason was there for them to be curled in the snow like they were?
When Vahkiir was about twenty feet from the stranger, they finally raised their head, allowing Vahkiir to see their face. He instinctively flinched and raised his bow slightly before he managed to stop himself. They were clearly male, but to Vahkiir's surprise, their long, pointed ears indicated that they were obviously not human, but elven. His first thought was that they were a Falmer, one of the treacherous Snow Elves that had inhabited Solstheim in ages past. The legends claimed that the Snow Elves had been driven from the island long ago, but some of his fellow Skaal swore that they had seen Falmer in their travels. Vahkiir had doubted their stories, but now that he was clearly face-to-face with an elf, he couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to their claims.
After inspecting the mer for a few moments, however, Vahkiir dismissed his initial thought. For one, the Falmer were said to have skin as pale as the snow itself, and while this stranger did have a slightly bluish tint to their complexion from the cold, their skin was mostly a deep golden color. Their hair was raven-black, and tied into long braids that were gathered at the base of his neck to form a single, thick ponytail. Vahkiir couldn't see any of his clothing, but his body was wrapped tightly in a patchwork of hastily stitched furs that seemed thin and tattered, hardly enough protection from the bitter cold of Solstheim. If this mer was a native Falmer, Vahkiir presumed that he would have been better dressed for the climate.
Vahkiir lowered his bow, and took a few steps towards to the mer, who watched him warily, but didn't react to his approach. Now that he was closer, Vahkiir could see him shivering so badly that his body was visibly trembling, and his back was pressed as tightly against the wall behind him as possible to shield himself from the biting wind.
"Well met," Vahkiir greeted him, letting his bowstring go completely slack. "Are you in need of aid?"
The mer's golden eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Vahkiir saw his hand move under his robes. He took a half-step back, suspecting that the elf might be clutching a knife. "Nord!" he hissed in a guttural, raspy voice. "F-found me at last, have you? C-come to s-slay me on b-behalf of the Empire?"
"The… Empire?" Vahkiir echoed, frowning.
The elf stared at him blankly for a long moment. "You m-mock me," he growled. "The N-Nordic Empire?! The unjust c-conquerors of my homeland?! W-we are enemies!"
Vahkiir lowered his bow and pulled the arrow off his string. "I cannot say I've ever served an empire," he replied honestly. "Nor have I ever counted an elf as one of my enemies, especially when I've never even met one before now." The elf continued to glare at him suspiciously, but he didn't move as Vahkiir took another step forward and knelt in front of him. "So, let me ask again – do you require aid?"
The elf considered him for a long moment as his shivering became even more violent, but he stubbornly shook his head and glanced away. "N-no," he choked out, his teeth chattering audibly as he spoke. "P-please l-leave me b-be."
Vahkiir frowned and looked him up and down. "Come now, you seem on the verge of freezing to death," he insisted. "I cannot in good conscience allow you to die if it is within my power to prevent it. If you don't wish to move, then very well, but at least allow me to build you a fire."
The elf shook his head insistently. "M-my well-being is n-none of your concern!" he protested. "Now b-begone! Even if you are not h-hunting me, a b-beast that you cannot c-comprehend is! And if you do not w-wish for it to slay you t-too, you would be wise to leave while you c-can!"
Vahkiir smirked and pushed himself up. "I'm not concerned. I have not yet met the beast that I cannot fell," he boasted as he slung his bow over his shoulder. "If you fear you shall be attacked, rest assured. I can protect you."
The mer narrowed his eyes. "Fool," he hissed.
Vahkiir scowled, but he understood from the elf's tone that the word was not meant as an insult, but as a plea for him to not involve himself further.
"Perhaps," Vahkiir replied simply as he pushed himself up. "Wait here."
Before the elf could respond, Vahkiir turned and jogged back up the hill. Once at the top of it, he gazed down into the valley below, where his son was still skinning the elk. When Strunheim saw him gazing down at him, he lowered his knife and looked up.
"What was that sound?" he called up.
"Nevermind that right now," Vahkiir shouted back. "Leave the elk for the moment and collect some firewood for me."
Strunheim stared at him, his brows furrowed in confusion. "But… the kill-!" he protested.
"Can wait!" Vahkiir barked. "A man is on the verge of death and needs a fire! Do not argue!"
Strunheim quickly swallowed his next complaint and nodded. Vahkiir smiled slightly to himself, then turned and hurried back down the hill, returning to the word wall. To his relief, he saw that the elf had not moved.
"Good. I had feared you might leave while you had the opportunity," Vahkiir remarked as he knelt down beside the elf. "Are you hungry?"
"N-no. Th-thank you," the elf replied, before sighing and resting his head back against the cold stone behind him. "I d-did consider trying to leave, but I f-fear that my limbs are half-frozen by now."
Vahkiir frowned deeply. "Show me," he demanded.
The elf hesitated, then reluctantly poked his arm out from between the gap in his furs. Vahkiir immediately noticed that he was wearing much thinner clothing under the robe. His tunic seemed to be made of thin, leathery cloth that offered little protection from the biting cold.
"You came to this island recently, didn't you?" Vahkiir asked as he leaned in and inspected the elf's arm carefully.
"T-two d-days ago," the elf replied. "I had not p-planned to voyage this far north, but the beast chasing me is… persistent, sh-shall we say. I was simply fortunate that there were f-furs in the boat that I used to m-make my escape, else I would have f-frozen long before now."
"Indeed," Vahkiir remarked grimly as he turned the elf's hand over. While much of his golden skin was red with cold, and he was certain that the elf's limbs were numb, there were no indications of severe frostbite. "You are fortunate. If we warm you immediately, this will heal," Vahkiir commented.
Before the elf could reply, the unearthly, wailing shriek once again echoed across the frozen plains, setting Vahkiir's teeth on edge. Worse, it was much louder this time, which suggested that whatever was making the noise was now much closer.
"If I am unharmed, then l-leave me," the elf said in a low, breathless voice. Vahkiir frowned as his golden-brown eyes grew wide with panic and concern.
"Not yet," Vahkiir insisted stubbornly. "Not until we build you a fire-"
"If you r-remain here, you will die!" the elf snapped suddenly. "I've told you, I am being h-hunted, and if you are found with me, you will be s-slain as well!"
The elf's insistent tone made Vahkiir hesitate. After weighing the demand for a moment, he replied softly, "If you believe so, then at least tell me what it is that's pursuing you."
Suddenly, a massive shadow passed over them, too large for a bird, and too fast for a cloud. Vahkiir glanced up, squinting in the bright sunlight, and when he caught sight of an enormous shape circling in the air above them, his blood froze. The gargantuan beast suddenly swooped down, much more swiftly than Vahkiir would have thought possible for a creature of its size, and it landed heavily on the granite wall, which thankfully did not collapse under its weight. Vahkiir threw his arm over his face as snow crystals pelted him from the force of its landing, and when he lowered his arm, his heart began hammering in his chest.
The creature before them was over forty feet long, and more than eight feet high at its shoulder. Its heavy body was covered in thick, sapphire-blue scales that shimmered in the midday sun. Huge, leathery wings extended out from under its arms, and its feet ended in sharp, curved talons that clutched the hard wall beneath it for balance. Its head was crowned with four bony spikes, and when it opened its mouth to snarl down at the two men, Vahkiir could clearly see the pointed, foot-long teeth that filled its mouth. Malevolent yellow eyes briefly raked over Vahkiir before settling on the elf below him, whereupon the creature let out a low, malicious chuckle.
"At last," it hissed, its low, bassy voice rumbling across the snow and sending shivers through Vahkiir's body. "I had nearly sizaan you, little mortal. To think that you would have the fen to flee this far, to this forgotten island. I suppose your stubbornness is commendable, at least."
Vahkiir's eyes flicked from the enormous beast down to the elf, who remained curled in the corner of the wall. However, his eyes burned not with fear, but with defiance, as he stared up at the monster looming above him. "I h-hope it w-was worth the trouble, d-dragon," he snarled.
"It was indeed," the beast confirmed in a low growl, its yellow eyes flashing with fury. "You will aus for the trouble you have caused me, forcing me to bo across the sea to find you." The monster then turned to Vahkiir and snarled. "And what are you?" it demanded. "A fahdon of this one?"
"No!" the elf interjected sharply before Vahkiir could reply. "He's no f-friend. Merely an interloper. He has no p-part in this."
The dragon considered Vahkiir silently for a long moment, then jerked its head to the right in a dismissive gesture. "Then begone," it commanded.
Vahkiir swallowed, glancing down at the elf, his grip tightening on his bow. The elf met his gaze and nodded silently, encouraging him to obey. Even so, he continued to hesitate. He knew that it was not his place to involve himself in the affairs of the elf and this monster, but….
"What do you intend to do with him?" Vahkiir asked.
The dragon snarled and whipped its head around, narrowing its yellow eyes angrily at Vahkiir. "It's no concern of yours!" it hissed. "I am sparing your laas, mortal. Do not spit in the face of my mercy. I could krii you as easily as I draw breath.. I shall not warn you again. Begone!"
Vahkiir glared up at the monstrous beast, which growled ferociously at him as he continued to defy it. Although he was half-paralyzed with terror, Vahkiir could also once again feel his innate bloodlust burning inside of him. The sensation was far stronger than ever before. It was as though he had finally found his ultimate prize, the prey that he was born to hunt.
Even more strangely, even as the dragon glared down at him, Vahkiir noticed another emotion flickering behind the creature's malicious yellow eyes: fear. It was clear that despite its bravado, the dragon had no desire to face him, even though it was five times his size and he was armed only with a weak self-bow and a few copper arrows. He could see that it also instinctively felt that Vahkiir had a sort of natural dominance over it, and it was trying to send him away out of terror, rather than condescending mercy.
Before Vahkiir could respond, however, the elf below him coughed lightly, drawing his attention away from the beast. Vahkiir looked down to see the elf smile faintly and shake his head.
"P-please," he said softly. "I have n-no wish for you to lose your life over a matter that you know nothing about. I admire your c-courage and thank you for your k-kindness, but I beg you, leave now while you have the ch-chance."
Vahkiir frowned at him, then glanced up at the dragon again. He scowled as it tilted its head back imperiously, and Vahkiir could swear that it almost seemed to be smirking. With an irritated sigh, Vahkiir turned back to the elf and reluctantly nodded.
"Very well," he agreed sullenly.
He cast a last glower at the dragon, then turned and stalked back over the hill. Once he was out of sight, however, he immediately threw himself onto his belly and crawled forward, peering just over the top of the mound. From here, he could watch the pair, and so long as it was quiet enough – which it was, as the wind was remarkably still – he could still just barely hear their conversation.
As he laid in the snow and strained to hear, a voice asked from behind him, "Father?" Vahkiir glanced over his shoulder to see Strunheim walking up the hill towards him with a curious look on his face. Vahkiir hurriedly shushed him, then motioned for him to lay down as well. The boy frowned, but did as his father bade, and then he crept forward until he was peeking over the edge of the hill. His eyes widened at the sight of the dragon below them, but before he could say anything, Vahkiir clapped a mittened hand over his mouth and shook his head. Strunheim gasped in surprise, then nodded slowly, whereupon Vahkiir released his mouth and turned back towards the scene below them.
"Now then!" the dragon cried as the elf pushed himself up onto unsteady legs and staggered away from the wall to face it directly. "I shall ask only once. Your answer will determine how painfully I krii you. Where is the claw?"
Vahkiir frowned to himself as the elf tilted his head back, meeting the dragon's burning yellow gaze. "Remind me… what was your name, dragon?" the elf asked calmly.
The dragon let out a furious roar, thrashing its tail. "Do not test my patience!" it bellowed.
The elf shook his head, clutching his furs more tightly around himself. "I would know the n-name of the one who is to slay me," he replied calmly. "I deserve that much."
The dragon hissed, then reared back up onto its hindquarters, towering over the elf. "Very well. You do not deserve the zin, but I shall grant your final hind. I am Iizlaarah. In your barbaric vun, it means 'Ice-Water-Hunter.'"
The elf nodded thoughtfully. "Yes… that w-was the name," he murmured mockingly. "The Nords call you the L-Lord of the Northern Seas. They say that the icebergs are your islands, and the waves answer to your beck and call."
Iizlaarah chuckled. "So they say," it preened.
The elf let out a laugh of his own. "Very g-good. Then you should have little finding your prize," he sneered.
The dragon's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward so that his snout was inches from the elf. "Explain," it hissed.
The elf shrugged nonchalantly. "As I said, you need only search your d-domain to find what you seek." He lowered his head slightly, and though Vahkiir couldn't see it, he suspected the elf was smirking. "You can swim, yes?"
Iizlaarah let out a furious roar, arching his back and barking, "You nok! You would not dare allow an artifact so valuable out of your sight! You have as much reason as my master to keep it!"
"Yes, but I also know w-when I am defeated," the elf replied calmly. "You pursued me across the sea, so I've no doubt that you would ch-chase me to the ends of Nirn to retrieve the claw. Thus, I offered it to the sea. I would rather neither of us claim it than allow it to fall into your hands."
Iizlaarah's upper lip quivered as it reared back onto its hind legs. "Then you are a mey," it growled in a soft, livid tone. "If what you claim is true, then I shall not grant you the mercy of a slow dinok, Chimer. I shall spend days crushing your limbs and searing your flesh, until you beg me to krii you."
"Do what you must," the elf replied stoically. "But you still shall not have the claw."
The dragon roared and reached down to close its teeth around the elf. As it did, the elf suddenly jumped back and rolled across the snow, narrowly avoiding its jaws. Iizlaarah growled furiously and drew a wing back to swipe at him, but as it did, Vahkiir suddenly threw himself over the edge of the hill.
"Leave him be!" he bellowed, drawing his bow and nocking an arrow. Iizlaarah looked up and snarled at him, while beneath him, the elf's eyes widened with horror. Behind him, he heard Strunheim gasp and shrink below the hill.
"Fool! I told you to flee!" the elf barked.
Vahkiir shook his head as he slowly descended the hill, still aiming an arrow directly at the looming beast above the elf. "And I told you that I shall not allow you to die," he replied stubbornly. "I do not break oaths."
The dragon let out a low, cruel chuckle as it lowered its head threateningly. "You believe you can best me?" it growled.
Vahkiir hesitated for a moment, his natural sense of caution urging him to flee. However, he remembered the flash of fear that he had seen in the dragon's eyes, and a slow smirk spread across his lips under his beard. "I do," he replied.
Iizlaarah hissed and spread its wings. "Let us see," it growled.
Without warning, the beast suddenly lunged at him, propelling itself forward across the snow on its wings and hind legs far more swiftly than Vahkiir had expected. He immediately loosed his arrow, which whistled through the air, straight for the dragon's head. However, when the copper tip of the bolt struck the beast directly between the eyes, it harmlessly bounced off its hard scales and disappeared into the snow.
Vahkiir let out a cry as the dragon lunged at him, snapping its jaws. He dove to the side, and the massive beast barreled past him, letting out a furious roar as it did. Digging its wing into the snow, it swung around, lashing its tail at Vahkiir as it did. The appendage snapped through the air just over his head, cracking like a whip as it did. Vahkiir's heart stopped for a moment as he imagined what would have happened if the appendage had struck him. He would have surely been sent flying dozens of feet, and probably would have snapped a few bones.
As the dragon turned towards him, he hastily fumbled for another arrow and nocked it. Iizlaarnah tossed its head back, starting to cry, "FO-!" In that instant, it exposed its soft white underbelly. Vahkiir loosed the arrow, and before the dragon could lower its head, the bolt pierced its thick hide, burying itself into its chest.
Iizlaarnah let out an enraged roar that echoed across the plains, thrashing wildly. Vahkiir felt a momentary sense of satisfaction at Iizlaarnah's pain, but he quickly suppressed his elation. While the arrow had managed to wound it, it was also clear that the dragon was more furious than injured. Of course a single bolt would not cause much harm to a creature of the dragon's size.
Before he could prepare another arrow, Iizlaarnah inhaled sharply and tossed its head back again. "FO KRAH DIIN!" it bellowed, and as it thrust its head down, it opened its mouth wide. As Vahkiir dove to the side again, a stream of ice and snow erupted from the dragon's maw. The torrent narrowly missed him, but he was close enough to feel his right side become half-numb from the sheer cold that was expelled from the dragon's open jaws. The right half of his face burned, as though he was standing too near a fire. He immediately realized that if he was touched by the dragon's breath, he would likely die instantly.
The dragon closed its mouth and hissed irritably as Vahkiir pushed himself up and scrambled away from it, trying to put some distance between them. He threw himself behind the semicircular wall and pressed his back against it, panting heavily. He knew that he had only a few moments to decide how he was going to slay this beast. The only weakness he had learned of thus far was that its underbelly was softer than its back, and that the dragon certainly would not fall from a mere few arrows. He suspected that its eyes were also vulnerable, but he doubted that he would be able to shoot such a small target, especially if the dragon kept moving its head. Perhaps its wings were also weak, but since it seemed to be more than a match for him even on the ground, he doubted that attacking its arms would do him much good either.
At that moment, the dragon threw itself over the edge of the wall and opened its mouth once more. Vahkiir quickly scrambled around the side just as its jaws snapped at him. Unfortunately, he didn't escape unscathed. Two of the dragon's teeth grazed his left arm, opening deep gashes in his forearm. Vahkiir let out a cry of pain as he scrambled around the other side of the wall, blood streaming down his wrist as he tried to escape the dragon's wrath.
Before he could recover, the dragon leapt over the wall and lashed out at him with its tail once more. Injured and with his back turned, Vahkiir was unable to fully dodge the attack. His body was thrown forward as the tip of Iizlaarnah's tail struck him in the back and sent him sprawling facedown into the snow. Fortunately, he remained conscious, but his breath had been knocked out of his lungs, and his vision swam as he blearily raised his head, groaning in pain.
As he tried to push himself up, a shadow fell over him, and the dragon slammed into the ground in front of him. Vahkiir slowly looked up to see that the dragon was looming above him, snarling down at him with a look of utter hatred in its eyes. "Mey!" it bellowed, its voice ringing painfully in Vahkiir's ears. "Did you believe that you could best a dovah with that toy zun of yours?! You think yourself a hunter?! You are no more than a skeever chasing insects before my might! You are vermin, and as vermin, I shall take great pleasure in ridding this world of your filth!"
"Hold!" a voice cried behind him. Vahkiir glanced over his shoulder to see the elf standing with his hands outstretched in entreaty. "I am the one you sought, not him!"
"And I shall slay you next!" Iizlaarnah roared. "This one dared bare his fangs at me, and now he shall die for his arrogance!"
As the elf and the dragon argued, Vahkiir noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned back around, and his eyes widened as he saw his son creeping around behind the dragon. In his arms, Strunheim was cradling the ebony-tipped spear that Vahkiir had left him for his protection.
Vahkiir's eyes met his son's, and Strunheim froze in place. He fearfully glanced up at the dragon, then looked back down at his father, who was staring at the spear. Silently, Vahkiir motioned with his hand, beckoning his son to throw it to him. A terrified expression flitted across his son's face, but then he nodded resolutely. Vahkiir smiled proudly at his son as he inhaled and tossed the spear towards him.
Iizlaarnah must have noticed the movement in the periphery of its vision, but just as it swung around, Vahkiir pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the spear out of the air. Before the dragon could turn back around, he gripped the spear tightly with both hands and plunged its black point into Iizlaarnah's unprotected chest. The spear slid easily into the dragon's softer underbelly, and he could feel the sharp tip tearing through several organs. Hot, dark red blood erupted from the wound, gushing out around the opening in the beast's chest and soaking Vahkiir's hands and upper arms. He grit his teeth as he shoved the spear halfway down its hilt, before the dragon reared up and screamed, ripping the weapon from his hands.
Vahkiir sprinted out from beneath Iizlaarnah as it thrashed about, letting out wild screams of rage, pain, and terror. He grabbed his son by the arm and hauled him away from the writhing monster as it fell to the ground and flailed about in the snow, flapping its wings and whipping its tail madly. Its thrashing sent it rolling into the heavy stone wall, slamming its body against its cold, smooth surface. Deep cracks appeared in the ancient stones, and as Vahkiir watched in fascinated horror, it began to crumble. With a resounding crash, part of the wall toppled onto Iizlaarnah's skull and neck, and Vahkiir winced as he heard a sickening crack. The dragon's body twitched once or twice, then lay still, its deep red blood still seeping into the snow.
Vahkiir's mouth hung open as the cloud of snow that had been kicked up by the Iizlaarnah's thrashing slowly began to settle over the fallen wall and the dragon's body. Strunheim clung to his arm tightly as he crept forward to tentatively inspect the beast. For several long moments, he feared that the dragon might abruptly jerk back to life and attack them once more, but when he laid his gloved hand on the creature's scaly hide and felt no breath, he finally began to relax.
Just as he did, however, the dragon's scales began to crack and dissolve, and Vahkiir let out a startled cry as he backed away from the corpse. Golden light, tinged with a multicolored aurora, poured forth from beneath its skin, reducing the monster to bones in a matter of moments. The stream of light then suddenly rushed towards Vahkiir, and before he could react, his body was enveloped in a radiant nimbus. A strange, comforting warmth spread through his tired, half-frozen limbs, invigorating him and filling him with an odd sense of satisfaction. The nimbus lingered around him for a few moments before dimming and finally fading entirely, leaving him standing before the bare skeleton of the dragon with an utterly bewildered look on his face.
"What… was that?" he murmured to himself as he looked down at his hands and slowly turned them over, half-expecting to find himself somehow changed.
"Father?" Strunheim asked beside him. Vahkiir turned to see his son staring at him with a worried frown. "Are you unharmed?"
Vahkiir slowly looked up from his blood-soaked hands, exhaling softly as he did. His arm still throbbed where the dragon's teeth had grazed him, and his limbs were beginning to tremble with exhaustion as the adrenaline faded. However, he did not seem to have been severely injured in the struggle, nor did he seem to have suffered any ill-effects from the light that had surrounded him.
"No… but none of my injuries are severe," he assured Strunheim. He then looked over his shoulder at the broken wall and sighed, then continued, "We should make camp here while we still have plenty of light. I must tend to my wounds… and I would like to learn more about our elven friend there," he added. Turning back to his son, he asked, "Did you begin gathering firewood?"
"A few pieces," Strunheim said evasively, glancing away.
Vahkiir frowned at him. "Bring what you have, then go collect more," he said shortly. When Strunheim's face fell, he added, "Unless you'd prefer to drag the elk here instead while I collect wood?"
"I'll fetch the wood!" Strunheim replied quickly.
Vahkiir nodded. "Very good," he said gruffly. "I'll be along shortly. As I said, I wish to speak with the elf first. Mind yourself in the meantime. Our kill might have attracted some wolves, especially since we left it unattended while we were fighting this dragon. If they try to claim it from you, allow them. It is not worth risking your life for a few scraps of meat."
"Yes, father," Strunheim replied, then turned and began hurrying across the snow. Vahkiir watched him until he disappeared over the hill, then made his way around to the other side of the broken wall. There, he saw the elf furiously digging through the snow, his furs wrapped tightly around his hands to keep them from freezing as he worked.
"I believe I am owed some answers," Vahkiir announced, folding his arms over his chest.
The elf paused and glanced over his shoulder, scowling. "Are you?" he retorted tartly. "You imposed yourself in m-my affairs after I told you to l-leave me be." Vahkiir narrowed his eyes, but then the elf sighed and added, "And in d-doing so, you s-saved my life. For that, you have my g-gratitude. Very well. Ask your q-questions," he prompted, before turning back around and resuming digging through the snow.
"First… who are you?" Vahkiir asked, taking a seat on one of the broken stones.
The elf glanced up, meeting Vahkiir's gaze. "Brevyn," he replied, inclining his head by way of greeting. "Dagoth Brevyn. I am a w-warrior of the Chimer resistance that s-stands against the Nordic occupation of our homeland, the Land of Veloth."
"I see. Is your homeland far from here?" Vahkiir asked, picking up a piece of the broken wall as he spoke and idly tossing it from hand to hand.
Brevyn chuckled humorlessly. "It's near enough that I n-needed only to sail for two d-days before I reached this Azura-forsaken island," he replied coldly. "As for why I c-came here – I was fleeing from that d-dragon. I did not intend to land on this island, m-mind you. I was m-merely trying to place as much distance as possible b-between it and myself, in the hopes that it would cease its pursuit. Obviously, I was m-mistaken."
"Then you must have angered him greatly," Vahkiir remarked. "What did you do to enrage him so?"
Brevyn suddenly stopped digging, then grinned as he pulled his hands out of his robes and plunged them into the snow. When he raised them again, he was holding what seemed to be a large bronze dragon claw, twice the size of Brevyn' hands.
"He was pursuing me because I stole this," Brevyn explained simply.
Vahkiir frowned and peered closer at the strange artifact, then raised an eyebrow. "You lied," he stated, somehow unsurprised.
"Of c-course I did," Brevyn replied dismissively. "D-do you truly think I w-would surrender something so v-valuable? Not that it f-fooled the dragon."
"Clearly. What is it?" Vahkiir asked.
"In truth? I'm uncertain," Brevyn admitted as he tucked the claw back into his robes. "All I know is that the N-Nords who were occupying my v-village seemed to believe that their master would be quite p-pleased to have it."
Vahkiir stared at him. "And you felt it wise to simply steal it from them, without even knowing what it was?" he asked incredulously.
Brevyn grinned roguishly as he took a seat at the base of the broken wall and leaned back against it. "If my enemies believe th-this is important, then it is in my best interest to ensure that they c-cannot use it, and so much the better of my people c-can," he replied simply. "Mephala t-teaches us that when we spot a thread, we should d-decide whether to leave it or sever it. I believed that choosing to s-sever it was the wisest action in this case." He paused, then added airily, "Though admittedly, I d-did not expect a dragon to pursue me. Though I s-suppose that I should have."
"Why is that?" Vahkiir asked, frowning.
Brevyn chuckled grimly. "I have heard r-rumors that one of the new Nordic g-generals has the power to control dragons, though I d-did not believe the t-tales. Evidently, they're t-truer than I had realized."
Vahkiir's frown deepened as he looked down at the fragment of stone in his hands. Before today, he had only ever heard of dragons in tales. It was said that they had taught men language and ruled over them in ages past. In fact, the very wall they were sitting beside had supposedly been written in the draconic language.
Vahkiir ran his fingers along the gouges in the stone, tracing the marking for the word "force" – fus, he recalled. Strangely, the rune in his hand seemed to be beckoning him in a way it never had before, and he thought he heard whispering in the back of his mind. His heart began to pound, and he quickly shook his head to dispel the strange sensation.
"If your adversary can control dragons, will he send more to this island?" Vahkiir asked softly.
The color drained out of Brevyn' face as he considered the question. "I… s-suppose he m-might," he admitted uneasily. Vahkiir glared at him, and he added quickly, "Though I am uncertain. Even if h-he does control d-dragons, it will likely be several days before he r-realizes that his s-servant has not returned, and even then, I doubt he knows where I was f-fleeing to. If you fear for the safety of your people-"
"I do," Vahkiir said curtly.
"They will likely still be safe," Brevyn tried to assure him. "You should not d-dwell upon it."
"And if you're wrong?" Vahkiir demanded.
Brevyn grimaced, then sighed and slammed his fist into the wall. "Then I cannot say!" he snapped. "Can your people not d-defend themselves?! You carry weapons! You even slayed a dragon yourself! And this island does n-not seem to take kindly to either men or mer, yet clearly you have l-lived here for ages! Should you f-fear for them?!"
Before Vahkiir could reply, a loud cracking sound split the air above them. The pair glanced up in time to see one of the larger pieces of stone start to tumble over the edge of the wall, where it had been sitting precariously before Brevyn had disturbed it. The Chimer gasped and tried to throw himself out of the way before the stone towards him, but his feet slipped in the deep snow, and he tripped over another broken section of wall. As he fell to the ground, his eyes fixated on the teetering boulder, silently begging it not to fall. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side, and he was left helpless as the stone toppled towards him and plummeted to the ground. Vahkiir could only watch in horror, helpless to intervene. He prayed that Brevyn might scramble out of the way, or that a particularly strong gust of wind might force the falling stone off-course.
As that thought crossed his mind, he felt an instinctive, primal power swell within him, as though answering his desperate plea. His thoughts flashed to the draconic rune for "force," and he could feel a low, thrumming pulse fill his body. He inhaled sharply, allowing his lungs to be filled to the brim with cold air, as his eyes fixated on the falling stone. A moment before it would have struck the helpless mer, Vahkiir opened his mouth and shouted at the top of his lungs, "FUS!"
The air in front of his mouth erupted outwards, striking the stone and knocking it off-course to land heavily in the snow five feet to the right of Brevyn. The elf's eyes widened as he stared at the object that had nearly crushed him, then slowly looked back to Vahkiir. For his part, Vahkiir was just as shocked as the mer. He slowly raised one mittened hand to his throat and gingerly touched it, still staring at the rock jutting out of the ground.
"What… did you do?" Brevyn whispered in a dazed voice.
"I… I don't know," Vahkiir replied, before coughing. His throat felt raw after his shout, and his voice was raspy. He cleared his throat, then continued in a slightly clearer voice, "I just… wished to push that boulder, and somehow…."
"Are you a mage?" Brevyn asked hesitantly.
Vahkiir shook his head rapidly. "I know nothing of magic, and have never cast a spell in my life," he replied firmly. "In truth, I don't know what that was."
Brevyn slowly looked back to the fallen boulder, then back to Vahkiir, before shaking his head. "I see," he murmured. There was a long pause, and then he let out a soft chuckle. "Well… n-no matter. It seems that I owe you my l-life twice over."
Vahkiir shook his head again. "You owe me nothing," he murmured. "Perhaps that was simply the will of the All-Father. Maybe he acted through me, or sent a gust of wind-"
Brevyn held up his hand. "Enough," he said simply. "If you don't know what you d-did, then so be it. I won't p-press you. Regardless, you have my g-gratitude. For now, let's leave it at that."
"As you wish," Vahkiir agreed, privately relieved that Brevyn had chosen not to push the subject. "Now then… we still have plenty of light, and we must tend our injuries. Let us make camp here for now. We shall sleep here tonight, and in the morning, if you require aid or sanctuary, I shall take you to my village. I am certain that our chieftain can assist you."
"Would he?" Brevyn asked, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "I would be even further in your debt, but with the dragon d-dead, I will not deny your aid if you are offering it."
"Then please, rest while my son and I make camp… preferably a fair distance from this wall," Vahkiir added, warily eyeing the broken structure. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Strunheim was returning from over the hill with armfuls of firewood, and he turned to relieve his son of his burden.
After he informed his son that they were finished traveling for the day, he and Strunheim built a fire for Brevyn and then set about tending their wounds and pitching their tents. He then had Strunheim help him butcher their kill while Brevyn watched, shivering by the fireside. Very little was said between them, as the elf seemed to feel that he had divulged enough about himself, and Vahkiir still did not trust him. However, he did offer Brevyn part of the elk's roasted haunch, which the elf gratefully accepted, along with a few handfuls of pine nuts and dried snowberries. It was a poor meal, but at least they would not sleep hungry.
When the sun began to set below the horizon, he offered Brevyn one tent, while he and his son shared the other. By the time night had fully fallen, his son's soft snores were filling the small tent. Vahkiir, however, lay awake on his sleeping furs, staring silently up at the stitched leather canvas above him. His mind was still reeling from the events of the day – the discovery of an elf from a far-off land, the fight with the dragon, and most of all, the strange power he had used. He suspected that the light was the cause of his sudden ability to use magic, which he had never shown any talent for – much to his mother's disappointment, he recalled bitterly. Did this mean that he was a mage now? Had shattering the wall released some ancient spirit that had possessed him? Or, perhaps, had the dragon cursed him with its death?
His heart hammered as those thoughts weighed heavily on him, until he finally shook his head and forced himself to push them out of his mind. Surely his mother would know more, he reasoned, as he rolled over onto his side. Until then, there was nothing to be gained by fretting about what could not be changed. In the meantime, he could only hope that the dragon they had slain was the only one that had followed Brevyn to Solstheim… and that its peers did not intend to exact vengeance on his home.
Eventually, his adrenaline faded, and his eyes began to feel heavy. However, in the twilight realm between wakefulness and sleep, where he was uncertain if he was dreaming, he thought he heard a voice rumbling in his mind, filling it with a single, resounding word.
"DOVAHKIIN!"
A/N: For those of you wondering, I will share the fates of Telepe and his companions later on. For now, I hope you enjoy this new story!