Chapter 5: Quest for the Centurion.
It had been a week since we left Hircine’s palace and Carius was now back at Frostmoth. Looking at what we’d been through, things were finally looking up. The Cloudcleaver’s turbines had taken more damage than expected and we were forced to use one as spare parts for the other. As a result our progress was slow and we were grounded as well. The good news was that the Cloudcleaver was as good on water as it was in the air. That, and we’d managed to enlist the help of a Khajiit. M’Aiq. He knew all about Azura’s shrine. Not to mention that the stories he told us were amusing.
“Beyond those pillars. You should see the shrine to your right.” The airship sailed around the stone pillars rising up from the water and we all looked to the right. At the base of the rocky island was nothing but looking up higher we saw a stone platform jutting out, with what looked like a giant statue of a woman holding a crescent and a star in her outstretched hands. Azura’s shrine. I turned to M’Aiq and dropped the screwdriver he so desired in his paws.
“Thank you, this will do.” I thanked him profusely. The Khajiit lifted his yellow hat as a greeting and then jumped overboard. A sound similar to shattering mirrors accompanied each step as he ran over the water’s surface. Back to his fishing rod I presumed.
We brought the Cloudcleaver as close to the coast as we could and disembarked. A type 2 was left at the wheel. He would keep the ship in position against the water’s current.
“So here we are. The shrine of Azura. Rather pompous for something placed in the middle of nowhere.” Zarador noted. He cast a spell of Levitation on us and we ascended to the statue’s base where we found a door leading inside.
“The last step. Now we’ll finally find out where Pelinal is. After that, there’s nothing left to do.” The door opened with the shrieking sound of metal scraping on metal. Whoever built it had neglected smoothing the edge of the door.
The interior of the shrine was dark, lit only by odd braziers hanging from the ceiling. The light they provided was bright, but smothered by the thick smoke those same braziers spat out at the ceiling. Beyond those braziers, the only decoration was a statue at the far end of a large hall. It was the spitting image of the statue found outside, only slightly smaller. We approached it and I jumped on its base to look for a hidden switch or anything else.
“Ro-El, this is a shrine.” Zarador objected when I peeked between two enormous toes.
“Yeah, so?” I asked back.
“You don’t need to look for hidden mechanisms. The best way to get your answers right now is to ask. Allow me.” The Altmer explained. He spoke an odd incantation which sent shivers down my spine.
“You have disturbed the tranquil rest of this place. The Dwemer have fallen, the Chimer’s beauty has been marred by their sins. Numidium was broken in battle. Dreams of conquest, dreams of immortality. All have been shattered by grim reality. Everything so far has gone as I’d decided they would go. Kagrenac’s possession of Lorkhan’s heart, Voryn’s mistake, Pelinal’s awakening. I planted the seeds of all these events in the hearts of the people. Now most actors have left the stage and the final act is about to begin. It is a lesson this world must learn, the lesson of its proper place.” An otherwordly voice spoke from thin air. It was a disconcerting experience. The voice echoed from all around us, without a distinct source. It was not the voice of a person, but the voice of a Daedric prince. Or princess, whatever. It’s a bit hard to determine the gender of a being that can change its gender at will.
“Go, the Centurion awaits.”
There was a loud rumbling and the lights dimmed to non-existence.
“Zarador.” I called out in the darkness.
“Patience, my young friend.” The Altmer called back. Soon I saw light erupt from his staff, not enough to reach the room’s ends but enough to make our immediate surroundings visible. I became aware of another light, a faint red hue coming from beneath my feet. I bent down and touched the floor with a hand. A staircase, leading down deeper into the shrine.
“So Pelinal is under our feet? Only one way to find out.” I said and carefully put my foot on the first step.
“Careful Zarador, these steps are practically invisible.”
How long we descended I don’t know. Time was an elusive essence that slipped through my mind in the darkness we were in. I couldn’t even see my feet, only the light on Zarador’s staff and the red light gleaming from below. I did keep count of how many steps we took but in the end, I lost track of this as well, long after passing two thousand. As we progressed, the red light became more apparent and so did the temperature around us.
“Something’s on your mind.” Zarador said somewhere during our descent. I didn’t reply.
“And I believe I know what it is. It is what Azura said to you, isn’t it?” He continued. I still didn’t reply.
“She has basically admitted that she is the source of everything. Without her, Kagrenac would never have found Lorkhan’s heart. Without her, the Tribunal wouldn’t exist. Without her, the Dunmer would still be Chimer. Without her, the Dwemer would still live.” I froze and the Altmer nearly bumped into me.
“Yeah, that’s what’s bothering me.” I admitted.
“She punished us for trying to achieve immortality. But what right does she have? Without her influence, we woul never have even tried! She played us, and the Chimer as pawns and punished us for it! What right does she have for this sick judgement?” I fell silent and continued down the stairs.
“Who knows how a Daedra thinks? They are so different from us, it is impossible.” I heard Zarador whisper behind me. Finally, we reached the end, after what could have been a scarce two minutes or a long two hours.
We emerged in a peculiar room. It wasn’t much of a room, more of a corridor. There was a ledge where we were standing but beyond that, the floor was submerged by hot magma. About a stone’s throw away, the corridor veered to the left, out of our vision. I looked at the walls, which were perfectly smooth. I looked at the ceiling, which was as smooth as the walls. In short, there was no way for us to climb past this obstacle. We were stuck.
“I’m at a loss here. Got any ideas?” I asked Zarador and sat down. It was warm here, and I was soon wiping the sweat off my face every few seconds. Zarador paced back and forth on the narrow ledge.
“Hmm, the obstacle is like a test. In order to proceed, we must get across the magma. Can we levitate? We can’t see where it ends. We could end up falling into the magma before we’re even halfway.” He muttered to himself. I watched him in silence. It was best not to interrupt his train of thought.
“What is magma? Magma is simple stone, heated to the point where it turns into a liquid state. The requirement for magma is heat, large quantities of heat. Rob it off its heat and it shall return to a solid state. At that point, we can walk.” He continued about for a few more minutes, weighing the pros and cons of a plan of which I only heard a few sketchy details.
Without warning, he turned to the magma and launched an orb of ice into it. The ice was instantly consumed the moment it touched the liquefied rock. A thin vapour was all that was left of it.
“Observation, low scale frost spells are inadequate. Large scale frostspells will be successful however, an estimated continuation of the freezing for about half a minute must occur before the inherent heat of the magma has been nullified after which the solidifying will start. As more heat is lost, the solidification process shall accelerate.”
I stood up and reached behind my back for Forgeheart. I had to push Ephraim’s rapier out of the way first. Wearing two swords was awkward, but each of them was suited for a different style of combat. In this situation, I reasoned that Forgeheart might provide us with the answer.
“Zarador, stop thinking for a moment and see if you can follow me.” I said. Zarador stopped pacing and looked at the sword I held.
“Consider this. Pelinal is controlled by three keys which are shaped like swords. Each key is also enchanted to represent and hold power over a particular element. Fire, Ice and Lightning. Now Pelinal is likely at the end of this obstacle course. Would it not stand to reason that he who reaches Pelinal should be first tested to see if he has the keys?” I continued. The Altmer pulled at his beard for a while and then nodded.
“What would be a better test than to include an obstacle that can only be passed with the key? You’re right, Ro-El. Forgeheart holds an incredible frost enchantment. Dipping it into the magma will bring the prolonged, high-intensity frost spell I required. Hurry up, lower it into the magma!”
I did so and we waited. At first there didn’t seem to happen anything but a thin vapour rising up. Forgeheart’s blade began to glow as it was heated by the magma, slowing approaching its melting point. My heart thumped within my chest. Was Forgeheart too weak for this? Would the ancient sword melt before it overcame the incredible heat? The blade became a dull orange, followed by a brighter yellow and then a blinding white. There it stopped and returned to yellow, to orange, and in the end to its normal colour. At the same time the magma darkened, turning into black and charred stone. While it was still a semi-liquid, I pushed Forgeheart forward into warmer regions and set a foot on the solidified platform I was creating. We slowly pressed on, step by step, cooling the magma before us.
“I wonder though, Ro-El. We only hold one of the keys. Will we be able to make our way across the other two tests?” Zarador said when we reached the bend in the path.
“I don’t know. We’ll just have to try.” I replied. My arms were feeling heavy from holding Forgeheart for so long but I wasn’t willing to rest till we’d made it to the other end.
By the time we did reach the end, my arms felt like lead weights. I was more than happy to sheathe the blade and give them some rest. It was only twenty steps further down though that we reached the next test. A spherical room, made of metal. An empty room, except for the giant sphere that hung in the center. Oh, and countless beams of light weaving an intricate web.
Zarador and I stood in the opening. It was obvious that this was the next test yet just what the test was escaped us.
“The walls are made of metal. It’s not Dwemer steel either. And then that light. Ro-El, this is a clue.” Zarador muttered. I nodded and peered at the sphere in the center.
“Ok, one sphere that looks realy suspicious. Hold on, I’ll throw in a pebble and see what happens.” I said, bent down, picked up a rock the size of my thumb and hurled it into the room. About halfway there, it passed a beam of light, blocking it for a splitsecond. Before we had any idea what was going on, a massive crack hammered at our ears and an equeally massive flash of light blinded our eyes.
We stood there, blinking and trying to get all the coloured spots out of our vision. After several minutes, we could see normally again. The pebble was gone, vanished without a trace.
“What in the name of my white socks just happened?” I asked myself out loud.
“Lightning. A really intense burst of lightning, spread equally across the room. If we’d ventured in there, Ro-El, we would have been vaporized. There wouldn’t be enough ash of us left to fill the bottom of an urn.” Zarador replied.
I sat down on the floor and began to think. The room was a giant lightning projector. Blocking the light served as the trigger. The lightning had to come from that sphere. As a Dwemer, I had some experience with artificial lightning, but only in small quantities. Dwemer steel was capable of conducting lightning, but less than normal steel. That’s what keeps our cities from turning into huge lightning-attractors during a thunderstorm. And even a single lightningstrike isn’t that much of a problem with the high melting-temperature.
Melting-temperature. I looked closer at the walls and concluded that it definitely looked like normal steel, not the superior Dwemer steel. Which was probably the answer. To solve the test, one of the three swords had to be used, preferably not Forgeheart. I’d beaten fire with ice. So should lightning be defeated by fire? There was only one way to find out.
“Wow, Ro-El! What are you going to do with that thing?” Zarador shouted and pressed himself flat against the wall. I pressed myself against the opposing wall and tapped one of the Drill-Centurion’s weels.
“I think I’ve got it figured out. To continue, that sphere must be melted down. To do that, throwing Trueflame is probably the intended solution. Now we don’t have the sword of infinite heat. On the other hand, the lightning itself causes the sphere, and the walls and anything else it hits, to heat up. This is where the Drill Centurion comes in. With a triple-layered armoured shell made of really thick Dwemer steel, it’s internal systems are safe from the lightning while the exterior is much more capable of handling heat than the simple steel on the sphere and the walls. We’re simply going to roll it in and wait while that trap over there kills itself.” I explained and gave it the command to proceed into the room, just past the first light-beam.
“Oh, and we’d better move back. Just in case.” I added.
We clamped our hands over our ears and squeezed our eyes shut while we sat on the stairs. Even with the hands covering our ears, the cracking of the lightning was horrible to hear. And the flashes still burned through our eyelids. In the end though, it couldn’t keep going like that forever. The lightning would cease. Once it did, we returned. The walls had melted down entirely, as had the sphere. Only a large pool of smoldering metal in the center of the room spoke of its existence. Closer to us, the Drill Centurion stood as if nothing had happened. Well, almost nothing. The segmented shell had fused into one single piece and the weels had become part of the floor. Dwemer steel was good, but it still had its limits.
“Aye. I’ll get you fixed up once this is done. I’m sure Arkngthand can do it.” I said to the machine and cut its weels free with Forgeheart. It rolled back into my funny pouch, though slower and with plenty of creaking. When I’d tied the pouch back to my belt and looked up, I saw that Zarador had already passed the room. Just to demonstrate how safe it was, the Altmer waved one hand through a beam of light. Apart from a tiny flicker on the ceiling, nothing happened. I hopped past the puddles of molten metal and joined him.
“Two down, one to go.”
Instead of going down, we went up again. Frankly, all these stairs were getting on my nerves by now. Was it really necessary to hide Pelinal this well? A giant, mountain-sized Centurion that requires three unique keys that can only be held by three unique persons is a bit hard to steal no matter where it is parked.
“Ice. The next test will include ice, or perhaps another form of it. Like water or vapour.” I mumbled while counting the steps.
“Indeed, such would seem to be the case. And from the pattern that has been established, we require Hopesfire to succeed. In other words, we’ll require a lot of electricity.” Zarador answered back.
We were both right. The next room was surprisingly not lethal in any way. What we did find however, was even more incredible than the lightningroom of earlier. The place was dominated by a giant scale. One end held up a block of steel which blocked off part of the wall. The other end, which was sitting on the floor, was a giant bucket filled with water. It was quite obvious what we had to do this time. We had to get rid of the water so that the suspended end would become heavier than the lowered end and fall. Only how? We couldn’t possibly scoop it all up with our hands and throw it overboard. That would take forever. Likewise, no amount of heat we had access to could vaporise all that water.
“Ok, I’m stumped. I know what to do, only not how.” I admitted. Zarador merely smiled and stroke his beard.
“Ok, out with it, old man.” I spoke to him in an annoyed tone. This was not the time for jokes in my opinion.
“Listen carefully, young man, and witness the splendour of my idea.” Zarador replied theatrically and coughed.
“Ahem, enough with the exaggerating. It is quite simple. We need a large amount of lightning to split that water into two gasses, one of which is breathable. I have some experience from my alchemy studies a while back. On a smaller scale. Still, the same principle applies. We need a conducting element and electricity. Fortunately, we have both.” He continued, turned around and walked out of the room. I thought I was beginning to see his plan so I followed him. It sounded absolutely crazy but hey, all solutions so far had been pretty crazy. So why not? It was better htan anything I could come up with.
“Remember the second test? After your solution, there are a large number of pools of metal, which we can combine and reshape into a long and reasonably flexible cable. This will be our conductive element. We dip one end in the bucket, plug the other into the hole the lightning comes from and trigger one of the light beams. After say half an hour, we pull it out and see the result. We’ll use Forgeheart as a coolant to keep the cable from melting. From what I’ve seen, the generated heat is not enough to defeat the sword of ice. That, Ro-El. That, is my vision. It should be quite amusing.”
So we did. We worked for hours, Zarador heating the metal so it became soft and I forging them into a long cable. After that, we hauled it over to the bucket and dipped one end into it. Since we were tired and pretty much done for, we ate and slept till morning. The next morning, we commence the plan. Forgeheart was put into place and Zarador used Telekinesis to plug in the cable from a safe distance. The lightshow was pretty, but less intense than when the lightningtrap had been fully operational. I assume that the walls worked to attract the lightning into the open air. Now it just jumped around the cable. After half an hour, Zarador used the same spell to get the cable out and I retrieved Forgeheart. Even after all the abuse we’d put it through, the sword looked brand-new. Kagrenac might have been a genocidal maniac, he sure knew his trade.
Back at the room with the scale, the giant bucket had emptied and risen up while the block of steel had dropped. A door was located on the wall the scale had been guarding. The block now served as a platform to reach it. I could see the handles of a ladder on one side.
“So unless we’re going to go through a second series of tests, this is the last one. Ready, Zarador?” I asked and rubbed my hands with anticipation. I was looking forward to the end. After all this, I could use a vacation. A long vacation.
“Ready as always. But my old limbs aren’t suited for climbing, so I’ll levitate. See you there.” The Altmer replied and floated up towards the door. I used the ladder to follow. We went through the door and found ourselves in a truly humongous chamber, standing on a small ledge suspended high above the ground. Looking right ahead, we stared into the dead eyes of, Pelinal.
Chapter 6: Shield of Resdayn.
I, Zarador, shall take up the quill at this point. The reason is that Ro-El does not remember the following events. Therefore, it is my task to fill up the vacuum that would otherwise occur. As known, we were standing on a ledge, looking right at Pelinal, the second Numidium and the true god of steel. This was the machine that challenged the supposedly invincible Numidium and came out victorious. It was truly a god of the Dwemer. No, it was more than a god. This great giant was House Dwemer itself.
I immediately noticed its resemblance with the type 2 Centurion, albeit on a massive scale. Yet looking closer, it was soon revealed that the similarity was a superficial one. There were infinite differences in the details. The largest difference I could make out by such a short observation were the unexpectedly bulky shoulders. They were like giant pauldrons of a very uncomfortable design. Yet the Dwemer never built things without a reason. Somewhere, these shoulders gave it an advantage in battle.
Battle, it still carried the wounds of its last fight. Many cuts and dents marred its surface, a large rent had torn apart the skin of its chest. The right side of its face had crumpled, as if struck by a mace of titanic proportions. Just the knowledge that the cause of these wounds was Numidium, made my heart skip a beat. Pelinal was just as powerful as that first Centurion, if not even more. The destruction these behemoths could cause if angered was beyond my feeble imagination.
Ro-El was silent. I did not dare to interrupt his thoughts. Two men were inside there. Dumac and Ro-El, two aspects of the same soul. Two personalities, two memories, two lives. It was up to him to bring order to the chaos that whirled inside him. Any interference on my part would only endanger the process.
Something reached out to me. A call, a strong one. A call of Magicka. I surrounded us with a shield just in time, for a fireball soon exploded across the protective bubble.
“I am impressed, old man. Your reflexes are better than you would make them appear to be.” A voice I did not recognize spoke. I looked down the ledge in the direction from where the spell had come. A man stood there, a man whose skin was like grey ash. With a sense of dread, I realized that the skin truly was made of ash.
“You! I thought I turned you into a snowman back there! It was at least twenty degrees below zero!” Ro-El shouted at my side. I could feel the cold coming from the exposed Forgeheart. It bit through my skin and seeped into my bones.
“Returned one, I told you before. I am immortal! Being encased in ice is nothing. This is your last chance! Surrender the key and I’ll let you live. You and your friend.” The man called back. I shook my head resolutely. This was no time for nonsense. It was obvious that he would never let us live.
“Ro-El, move on.” I whispered to my companion.
“Move on. Once Pelinal is awake, there is nothing he can do. I’ll buy you time.”
The shield dissipated. Ro-El dashed ahead, leaping off the ledge, flying across the vast depths. I had to admit I was quite impressed. It takes a great deal of courage to attempt such a jump without any method to slow the fall in case you miss the landing. Nevertheless, this was not the time to admire one’s acrobatics. The ashcreature had set himself into motion to intercept my friend. I fired a spell of my own at him which tore through his shoulder and separated the arm.
“If you desire the key, then come for me! I hold it, I am the keyholder the prophecy has spoken off!” I shouted.
It was all a lie, of course. The keyholder was Ro-El, no one else. Yet it made the creature hesitate, it brought him into an unknown situation. Even as it contemplated which choice to make, I could see its severed arm turn to dust and reattach itself to the shoulder. I could not let it regenerate.
“I challenge you! I am your doom!” I shouted again to keep its attention fixed on me. From the corner of my eyes, I could see that Ro-El had made his jump and was now climbing that massive rent on Pelinal’s chest.
He had made up his mind. I summoned my shield again to thwart the incoming barrage and retaliated with a barrage of my own. The dark chamber was lit up by the fury of our spells. My shield wavered and fell, forcing me to take cover. But not before I’d broken my foe into countless pieces. I knew I had not managed to kill it, but I hoped it would give Ro-El the time he needed. I lied against the cold rock, most of my magicka spent and out of ideas. All I could do now was hope.
“You’re quite good, old man! But not good enough!” Moments after these words had echoed through the chamber, the ledge under my feet turned to dust. I fell, and had to use what precious little magicka I had remaining to slow my fall. I landed at Pelinal’s feet, just a step or two away from that monster. I had only little power remaining. Enough to escape, or to go down in a blaze of glory.
“Do you hear me, old man? You are not good enough! I shall bury you, together with this machine! My storm shall do this! You will never see the daylight again!” The man of ash told me, then turned into a cloud of ash that rose up and vanished through the tiny cracks in the ceiling. A heartbeat later, a loud rumble entered my ears and those cracks became bigger, growing each passing moment. Small pebbles began to fall, soon followed by bigger fragments. I leaned on my staff, unable to move. All I had to do to escape was to cast the spell that would return me to the Cloudcleaver’s deck. Yet I couldn’t. I couldn’t abandon Ro-El to his fate. His fate would be my fate. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable.
The sound of rock hitting ancient steel was deafening. Why had Pelinal not moved yet? Was it too late? I did not know, and didn’t dare think about it. I just stood there, with an odd calmth that didn’t fit the situation. For each moment I lingered, my death would become more certain. So far, I had not been hit by the falling debris yet my luck would not last forever. But I didn’t care. After all, what did my life mean now?
“Here lies the champion of Tamriel. His courage was like a shining beacon to our souls and a scorging light to Tamriel’s foes. May his soul rest in peace. May we follow the example he’s set. May we never falter when all hope seems lost. May we raise our arm in defiance till our last breath. For as long as the stars shine in the sky, may heroes defend the land from evil.” The words came to me without warning. I remembered where I’d read them.
It was in Cyrodiil, some time ago. For an Altmer like me, it was like yesterday. For a human, it was many years. They were enscribed into a small, unasuming tombstone, situated within a grand mausoleum. Flowers graced the grave and countless candles cast their light on the faces of the worshippers. It was the grave of the unnamed champion, the one who had vanquished Tharn. Or so they say.
I whispered the words and turned them over and over within my mouth.
“Why am I standing here? It is foolish! Pelinal is dead, Ro-El cannot be saved! But I will continue the fight in his name! I must leave!” I raised my hand to cast the spell when my luck finally ran out. A heavy rock hit me right above my left ear, knocking me down. Warm blood flowed down my cracked skull.
“Heh, I suppose this is it. Such an embarassing end.” I thought with grim humour. My hands dug through the dust, clawing for my staff. I was hit by a constant stream of pebbles, the sign of a large fragment being ripped out of the ceiling. There was a sudden rush of air. Was it the air displaced by the falling boulder? The world rang, louder than ever.
“Go.” Who had spoken? What was that voice? So calm and so devoid of any emotion. Who was there? I had to see. I forced myself to lift my head. The ceiling had gone, replaced by a dull gold. Gold, why was the ceiling made of gold? And why was it so close?
“Go.” The voice spoke again. Now I knew what I was looking at. A hand, a giant hand of dented steel that was wrapped around me like a protective dome. Pelinal had moved.
“Ro-El, you little show-off! You did it!” I cackled. My hands found my staff and I took hold of it. Its powers flowed into me and I cast the spell of recall.
The taste of the salty air of Azura’s coast nipped at my tongue as my body was transported through a temporal rip in the fabric of Mundus. I let myself sink to the deck of the airship and waited as the last of my powers slowly left me. I wouldn’t die, not without any further injury. We Altmer are of a superior physique compared to the other races. No, I would survive, like always.
Cushioned footsteps moved across the deck.
“Still alive, old man?” The mocking voice of the ash man said.
“Can you smell it, that fresh air? How your lungs struggle to take those breaths. You are defeated. Your shell is wounded, your goal has been crushed by countless tonnes of rock. Yes, not even the Daedric prince could prevent the destruction of her beloved shrine as it went down with the rest of the island. You are defeated old man.” He continued. I laughed weakly.
“No, you are the one who is defeated.” I whispered back. My words were lost on the wind.
The Sixth House member bent down to my face.
“What did you say?” He hissed.
“It takes more than your feeble tricks to destroy a god.”
He bolted upright.
“What?! Surely, that wound must have damaged your mind! I shattered an island! I threw tonnes upon tonnes of rock upon it! And yet you still believe it has survived?!” He shouted enraged.
“I am certain of it.” I no longer had the power to speak, so I kept those words within my mind. I was loosing consciousness, slowly but surely. The last thing I heard was the sound of countless tonnes upon tonnes of rock shifting, being cast aside. The last thing I saw was the Centurion rising from the pile, shrugging off the heavy stone like mere raindrops. Then, I gave in to the darkness.
Ok, back to me then, I suppose. As Zarador said when he began to write, I have no idea what happened while I was inside Pelinal. Actually I wasn’t just inside Pelinal, I was a part of Pelinal. Pelinal only functions when its soul is whole. I am like a detachable piece of the soul, a key to its soul just like how the three swords are keys to its aspects.
I woke up far from where I entered my temporary sleep. I was in a tent, a dome of wood and animal hides. There was a fire burning at the center, and a short man kept watch. I knew that short man. It was Fargoth.
“Hey there, keep calm. You’re still confused.” The Bosmer said and pushed me back onto the bed. I silently thanked him for as soon as I got up, I felt dizzy and would have fallen headfirst into the fire if it wasn’t for his help.
“I know what you’re wondering. How did you get here and what have I been up to since I left Ebonheart.”
The agent made himself comfortable on the floor and poked up the fire with a long bone.
“The second question is easy to tell. After leaving, I went straight for Red Mountain and have been holding a war of stealth with the Sixth House. Each morning I would go out and stalk the edge of the Ghostfence for any creep unlucky enough to stray within range of my bow. During the night, I would rest at the Ghostgate. During the last two weeks, an army like no other had been assembling. Two days ago, the army scaled Red Mountain. The Nerevarine was there as well and defeated Dagoth Ur. It wasn’t hard to know when. The whole top of the mountain blew off. Of course I was one of the first to investigate Dagoth Ur’s citadel after the Sixth House’s defeat.”
My head reeled from the new information. The Sixth House defeated? That was great news.
“There wasn’t much to see to be honest. I went back out and followed the Nerevarine for a bit. He was going west, I don’t know why. Anyway, now for why you are here. Just a few hours after the great hero left, this big machine came stomping and entered the mountain. I followed as usual and found it standing in the middle of a large pool of lava. It didn’t move and the back of its head was open so I took a look. I saw you sitting there, sleeping. Anyway, I brought you here to this Ashlander tent and have been waiting ever since.”
I thought about everything he’d said.
“So it’s all over? Good, I could use a vacation.” I muttered to no one in particular.
“But it is not over. For an agent, there is always work to do. Just hope that your next job won’t require so much brute force and a bit more subtlety.”
Chapter 7: New faces with something old.
A few days later, we were all back at Ebonheart. Leroth was jumping all around me while Zarador stood next to the mirror and watched on. He laughed at the Bosmer’s antics and shifted the bandage around his head back into place.
“Leroth! What is all this for? And finally, why did you guys make my ears grow pointy?!” I stammered. My ears were now indeed pointed, like an elf. I doubted it was a temporary change.
Looking in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. Using Zarador’s questionable ‘beard’ spell, I had produced a wealthy beard, which I instantly trimmed down to a more manageable volume. Zarador was a nice guy, but he was a bit crazy at times. Spending decades just to learn how to magically grow a beard could not be considered normal. It did look intimidating though. Gone was the quivering kid from the eggmine. I looked like a man twice my age. It didn’t change my length, though.
And then the clothes. They were fit for a king, to say the least. Black satin with golden embroidery. Heavy golden bracelets which Zarador had enchanted with some minor shield spells just because he could. A necklace of Ebony, and an Ebony walking-stick with a silver grip at the end. Only a handfull of people knew that the silver grip was actually the hilt of my rapier.
“Hush, young man. Let me look at you. Yes, you look just fine. Now get going, we’ve arranged a grand ball in your honour.” The Bosmer replied after a long wait.
“Ball?” I blurted out.
“Work on your manners, my friend. We originally planned to have the Nerevarine as guest of honour yet he isn’t here. So we settled for the next best thing. Now go out there and behave like the king you are. Forgeheart is behind the throne should you somehow need it.” Zarador quipped.
I was utterly confused right now. There was something going on here, a game that had not been explained to me. In times like these, I would just have to improvise. And why had Forgeheart been hidden behind the Duke’s throne? Was such a measure truly necessary? With that sword, I could freeze over the entire castle. It was too scary to use. And speaking about the Duke, why hadn’t I seen him yet? After all I’d done, at least a debriefing would be expected. Yet none of it. And finally, why did Zarador call me a king?
The two elves shoved me out of the door and closed it behind me. I could hear a lock clicking into place. Ok, so I wasn’t supposed to go back and change into my usual attire. Ok, the message was clear. I moved down the corridor towards the stairs that would take me to the main throne-room. Maybe I could find out what was going on.
The stairs turned out to be blocked by a woman. Looking upon her Dunmeri features, I realized that she looked oddly familiar. As if the duke suddenly switched genders and lost a few years. I bowed down.
“Milady. I hope you are doing well.” I said politely, staring at my own shoes and wondering how long these extravagant frills would last in the cold snow of Solstheim.
“I am doing well, thank you. And speak normal, noble doesn’t suit you. Please, call me Ilmeni.” The woman giggled.
Ilmeni Dren turned around and went down the stairs, beckoning me to follow.
“Listen, the houses have been kept in an uneasy balance by Dagoth Ur. With him gone and the Nerevarine out of the picture as well, there is nothing to keep them from falling on each other like hungry wolves. The Duke has come up with a plan. That is where you come in, lord Dwemer.” She said softly, pausing whenever we passed a near invisible peekhole. I was beginning to see the plan now and understood why I was dressed like this, why I had to grow a beard and why we were having a ball.
“I will present myself as the lord of a reborn House Dwemer. With several thousand Centurions at my command, a number that grows each day, I can serve as the counterweight and fill up the void Dagoth Ur left behind.” I interupted the Duke’s daughter.
“That is correct.”
Ilmeni dropped the subject and we chattered about inconsequential things all the way to the throne room. Inconsequential in that they were only meant to keep the spies distracted. I suppose we could sweep the place and clean out any foreign spies but that would only be messy. So we tolerated them, out of necesity.
The throne room was filled with a large assortment of nobles, who all took at least one glance at the short newcomer, some longer than others. Ilmeni picked up the pace and elegantly strode over to her father, who stood up out of his throne and embraced her. The Duchess who I’d never seen before did the same thing. It was both a sign of tenderness and a cold political act. Or perhaps not cold, because it could also be translated as follows.
“This is my daughter, who I love. Hurt her, and I shall hunt you forever and make you beg for death.”
I followed at a slower pace, both out of political correctness and because I was a bit nervous with that big crowd. Five steps away from the throne, I made a slight bow to the Duke, his wife and Ilmeni. Slight, because I’d begun to play the game. It was a sign to those looking on that I respected the Duke as a host and an equal, but not necessarily my superior. If I was to revive House Dwemer, I had to act it.
“Duke Dren, I thank you for your invitation.” I spoke solemnly. There was no invitation, but that was one of those things that had to be covered up.
The Duke made the exact same bow I’d made earlier, another sign.
“I welcome you, lord Dumac of House Dwemer, to my humble abode.” Inwardly, I relished a mental grin at the collective gasp that drew through the room. Yes, lord Dumac had returned. I felt the slight tug of Magicka being used. Someone had recalled out of the room, a great breach of protocol. So the game was now in full swing.
The Duke turned to his other guests.
“And to you, I extend my welcome as well. Allow me to introduce, my friend and ally, lord Dumac of House Dwemer.” He spoke loudly.
“Friend and ally. Heh, it never harms to look out for yourself, milord.”
The nobles were in a hushed yet frantic discussion. I could pick up a few words.
“Dumac?”
“Is he crazy?”
“But the Dwemer are gone, right?”
“Maybe not, just look at him. Pale skin, beard, elven ears. He looks like a Dwemer. And aren’t they called Dwarves by some?”
There was another tug of Magicka. Someone had returned. No, two had returned. Dren moved closer to me without anyone noticing.
“I’ve been hearing rumours about those two for a long time. I leave this up to you.” He whispered. I wondered who he meant. The doors swung open and I laid my eyes on….a very familiar face.
I looked on in silence as the two made their way towards the throne. One I knew only from reports. Divayth Fyr, one of the oldest and arguably the most powerful mage in House Telvanni. Fortunately for us, also one of the most isolationist. Till now, it seemed. The other, was a man I’d known long before. Or rather, a man I’d known when I still carried the name of Dumac.
The two stopped before the Duke, but I knew that their eyes were on me.
“Duke, allow me to introduce a friend of mine who has spent the last few years in my Corprusarium. Yagrum Bagarn. I must leave now. Farewell.” Divayth spoke with no modesty whatsoever and poofed away. Yagrum exchanged some smalltalk and then had himself escorted to a room, claiming he was still weak from his miraculously cured Corprus.
“A real Dwemer. Talk about timing. He might cause trouble. Want me to….deal with him?” Fargoth whispered behind my back. He then extended a plate with several glasses into my view. I couldn’t quite imagine Fargoth as a servant, but he probably pulled it off quite well. I took a glass of wine and pretended to thank him for it.
“No, everything’s under control. Let him do whatever he wants.” I whispered back in reality.
I kept to myself at first. I mingled in enough to play my role, but not so much that I’d risk making a slip. I also danced a few times with Ilmeni, who taught me a few new tricks on the spot. I hadn’t danced since before I died. Though the Floating Butterfly style did bear some resemblance, so it wasn’t that hard to get back into it. I was a bit distracted though, both with Yagrum Bagarn in the back of my head and the prospect of an assassin on my doorstep every morning.
A few hours later, the ball was beginning to calm down, for which I was grateful. I was tired and bored, two things that don’t go well with the act I was playing. I played with the full glass of wine I’d taken from Fargoth hours ago and asked myself if I should drink it or remain sober. From the corner of my eyes, I saw two Bosmer approach, one dressed like a noble and the other in a dress with markings that looked distinctly magelike to me.
“Good evening, sir. I must say that I am honoured to meet the famous king of the Dwemer. I am Leroth and this here is Galbedir, my wife-to-be.” He spoke courteously. I took a double-take on the woman he was with. It was indeed Galbedir, the Bosmer I’d brought him in touch with. I wondered if spying and being married went together but kept that question to myself.
“The honour is mine. I wish you a very joyous and long life.” I replied with a polite nod. So now I was acting formal to old friends. That was a bit annoying. But I couldn’t let Galbedir know I was the kid from the Balmora mage guild.
“You have grown a lot, Ro-El. The beard looks cute.” Galbedir whispered and winked. So she did know. Hell, I bet she’d been drafted into the order just because she was Leroth’s ‘totally hot Bosmer chick’. In that case, no need to play around.
“It’s a new one to me. Since it’s created through magicka, I don’t know if I need a knife or a spell to shave.” I laughed, but still making sure I kept my voice down.
“Anyway, this Yagrum Bagarn fellow has been asking for a conversation with Dumac. He’ll meet you on the northern balcony.” Leroth whispered, casting a few quick glances at a Telvanni. He was with a member of the mage guild, so some wariness around Galbedir’s great rivals was not out of place.
I said my farewell to the happy couple and casually slinked to curtains hanging behind the throne. When no one was looking, I grabbed Forgeheart and vanished in the servant’s corridor just behind the throne, giving the signal to the guards who were hidden there. They stepped aside and allowed me to pass. Now safely hidden from prying eyes, I attached the scabbard to my back. Holding Dumac’s sword would make it easier to convince Yagrum of my identity.
Yagrum said nothing at first when I joined him. He simply looked me over with a blank expression, lingering on the hilt of Forgeheart for a while. Time had not been kind to him. While once he was a cranky old man, now he looked like a pile of half-rotten fat slapped on top of a giant spider Centurion.
“So you’re Dumac. I don’t know if I should believe that. If you are, you’ve changed. If you’re not, you act like a good impostor.” He finally said.
“Hello, Bagarn.” I replied with the same neutral tone.
Yagrum Bagarn turned away and gazed over the land.
“It has been so long since I saw the sky. The land has changed. Does anyone remember me?” He spoke to himself, using the Dwemer language.
“I do.” I replied. His eyes shot to me, the confusion at hearing someone actually speak Dwemer clearly evident.
“Then what do you remember, lord?” He asked, slipping back into Tamriellic.
“Not much, a few vague pictures and feelings.” I answered, slipping back to Tamriellic as well.
For a moment, we were both silent again and watched the moons in the nightsky.
“You know, I made a promise.” I said softly while I leaned on the railing. I saw a cloaked man move through the streets below, heading for the harbour.
“What kind of promise, lord?” Yagrum asked without looking at me.
“Remember Forgeheart, Yagrum?” I asked in return.
“Forgeheart….yes, I do. I remember how Kagrenac slaved on it for days without rest. It was his masterpiece, one of the six great tools of Lorkhan. That’s what he called it and its siblings. Now though, this sounds like nonsense. The heart is no more. I felt its demise. We all did.”
I shook my head.
“No, not all of us did. I didn’t, and ended up trying to fight Dagoth Ur a day after he’d been killed. After risking my life again and again, it was a bit of an anti-climax to be honest.” I said.
“Now what was this promise?” Yagrum asked again.
“I promised that I would right the wrongs that had been committed against Dwemer like Nebrighk. I swore it on Forgeheart.” I told him. I was still following the cloaked man with my eyes, and was now also looking at the shadow that seemed to follow him. We were silent again. I knew I had convinced him that I really was Dumac the moment I spoke Dwemer.
I raised my voice.
“You there! Behind you!” I shouted and pointed at the shadow. The cloaked man didn’t look at me as I’d expected, but immediately turned on the assassin that had been stalking him. I watched the battle that began to unfold.
“That is a fine promise, but I fear it has little use. What good would it do those of us who are gone? No one has been called Kagrenac since Red Mountain. Since the day the Dwemer perished.” Yagrum said, apparently unconcerned with the battle raging below.
“Yeah, no one will really feel better if I avenge the Dwemer.” I muttered.
“And what is there to avenge? They could have chosen immortality, yet they chose for an eternal sleep. I must go now, lord. I am tired.” Yagrum Bagarn said and began to walk back to the door a few steps away.
“I never break a promise, neither the one I made to Nebrighk, nor the one I made to you…..Kagrenac.” I spoke solemnly and pulled Forgeheart free from the block of frozen flesh and steel.
The End.
It had been a week since we left Hircine’s palace and Carius was now back at Frostmoth. Looking at what we’d been through, things were finally looking up. The Cloudcleaver’s turbines had taken more damage than expected and we were forced to use one as spare parts for the other. As a result our progress was slow and we were grounded as well. The good news was that the Cloudcleaver was as good on water as it was in the air. That, and we’d managed to enlist the help of a Khajiit. M’Aiq. He knew all about Azura’s shrine. Not to mention that the stories he told us were amusing.
“Beyond those pillars. You should see the shrine to your right.” The airship sailed around the stone pillars rising up from the water and we all looked to the right. At the base of the rocky island was nothing but looking up higher we saw a stone platform jutting out, with what looked like a giant statue of a woman holding a crescent and a star in her outstretched hands. Azura’s shrine. I turned to M’Aiq and dropped the screwdriver he so desired in his paws.
“Thank you, this will do.” I thanked him profusely. The Khajiit lifted his yellow hat as a greeting and then jumped overboard. A sound similar to shattering mirrors accompanied each step as he ran over the water’s surface. Back to his fishing rod I presumed.
We brought the Cloudcleaver as close to the coast as we could and disembarked. A type 2 was left at the wheel. He would keep the ship in position against the water’s current.
“So here we are. The shrine of Azura. Rather pompous for something placed in the middle of nowhere.” Zarador noted. He cast a spell of Levitation on us and we ascended to the statue’s base where we found a door leading inside.
“The last step. Now we’ll finally find out where Pelinal is. After that, there’s nothing left to do.” The door opened with the shrieking sound of metal scraping on metal. Whoever built it had neglected smoothing the edge of the door.
The interior of the shrine was dark, lit only by odd braziers hanging from the ceiling. The light they provided was bright, but smothered by the thick smoke those same braziers spat out at the ceiling. Beyond those braziers, the only decoration was a statue at the far end of a large hall. It was the spitting image of the statue found outside, only slightly smaller. We approached it and I jumped on its base to look for a hidden switch or anything else.
“Ro-El, this is a shrine.” Zarador objected when I peeked between two enormous toes.
“Yeah, so?” I asked back.
“You don’t need to look for hidden mechanisms. The best way to get your answers right now is to ask. Allow me.” The Altmer explained. He spoke an odd incantation which sent shivers down my spine.
“You have disturbed the tranquil rest of this place. The Dwemer have fallen, the Chimer’s beauty has been marred by their sins. Numidium was broken in battle. Dreams of conquest, dreams of immortality. All have been shattered by grim reality. Everything so far has gone as I’d decided they would go. Kagrenac’s possession of Lorkhan’s heart, Voryn’s mistake, Pelinal’s awakening. I planted the seeds of all these events in the hearts of the people. Now most actors have left the stage and the final act is about to begin. It is a lesson this world must learn, the lesson of its proper place.” An otherwordly voice spoke from thin air. It was a disconcerting experience. The voice echoed from all around us, without a distinct source. It was not the voice of a person, but the voice of a Daedric prince. Or princess, whatever. It’s a bit hard to determine the gender of a being that can change its gender at will.
“Go, the Centurion awaits.”
There was a loud rumbling and the lights dimmed to non-existence.
“Zarador.” I called out in the darkness.
“Patience, my young friend.” The Altmer called back. Soon I saw light erupt from his staff, not enough to reach the room’s ends but enough to make our immediate surroundings visible. I became aware of another light, a faint red hue coming from beneath my feet. I bent down and touched the floor with a hand. A staircase, leading down deeper into the shrine.
“So Pelinal is under our feet? Only one way to find out.” I said and carefully put my foot on the first step.
“Careful Zarador, these steps are practically invisible.”
How long we descended I don’t know. Time was an elusive essence that slipped through my mind in the darkness we were in. I couldn’t even see my feet, only the light on Zarador’s staff and the red light gleaming from below. I did keep count of how many steps we took but in the end, I lost track of this as well, long after passing two thousand. As we progressed, the red light became more apparent and so did the temperature around us.
“Something’s on your mind.” Zarador said somewhere during our descent. I didn’t reply.
“And I believe I know what it is. It is what Azura said to you, isn’t it?” He continued. I still didn’t reply.
“She has basically admitted that she is the source of everything. Without her, Kagrenac would never have found Lorkhan’s heart. Without her, the Tribunal wouldn’t exist. Without her, the Dunmer would still be Chimer. Without her, the Dwemer would still live.” I froze and the Altmer nearly bumped into me.
“Yeah, that’s what’s bothering me.” I admitted.
“She punished us for trying to achieve immortality. But what right does she have? Without her influence, we woul never have even tried! She played us, and the Chimer as pawns and punished us for it! What right does she have for this sick judgement?” I fell silent and continued down the stairs.
“Who knows how a Daedra thinks? They are so different from us, it is impossible.” I heard Zarador whisper behind me. Finally, we reached the end, after what could have been a scarce two minutes or a long two hours.
We emerged in a peculiar room. It wasn’t much of a room, more of a corridor. There was a ledge where we were standing but beyond that, the floor was submerged by hot magma. About a stone’s throw away, the corridor veered to the left, out of our vision. I looked at the walls, which were perfectly smooth. I looked at the ceiling, which was as smooth as the walls. In short, there was no way for us to climb past this obstacle. We were stuck.
“I’m at a loss here. Got any ideas?” I asked Zarador and sat down. It was warm here, and I was soon wiping the sweat off my face every few seconds. Zarador paced back and forth on the narrow ledge.
“Hmm, the obstacle is like a test. In order to proceed, we must get across the magma. Can we levitate? We can’t see where it ends. We could end up falling into the magma before we’re even halfway.” He muttered to himself. I watched him in silence. It was best not to interrupt his train of thought.
“What is magma? Magma is simple stone, heated to the point where it turns into a liquid state. The requirement for magma is heat, large quantities of heat. Rob it off its heat and it shall return to a solid state. At that point, we can walk.” He continued about for a few more minutes, weighing the pros and cons of a plan of which I only heard a few sketchy details.
Without warning, he turned to the magma and launched an orb of ice into it. The ice was instantly consumed the moment it touched the liquefied rock. A thin vapour was all that was left of it.
“Observation, low scale frost spells are inadequate. Large scale frostspells will be successful however, an estimated continuation of the freezing for about half a minute must occur before the inherent heat of the magma has been nullified after which the solidifying will start. As more heat is lost, the solidification process shall accelerate.”
I stood up and reached behind my back for Forgeheart. I had to push Ephraim’s rapier out of the way first. Wearing two swords was awkward, but each of them was suited for a different style of combat. In this situation, I reasoned that Forgeheart might provide us with the answer.
“Zarador, stop thinking for a moment and see if you can follow me.” I said. Zarador stopped pacing and looked at the sword I held.
“Consider this. Pelinal is controlled by three keys which are shaped like swords. Each key is also enchanted to represent and hold power over a particular element. Fire, Ice and Lightning. Now Pelinal is likely at the end of this obstacle course. Would it not stand to reason that he who reaches Pelinal should be first tested to see if he has the keys?” I continued. The Altmer pulled at his beard for a while and then nodded.
“What would be a better test than to include an obstacle that can only be passed with the key? You’re right, Ro-El. Forgeheart holds an incredible frost enchantment. Dipping it into the magma will bring the prolonged, high-intensity frost spell I required. Hurry up, lower it into the magma!”
I did so and we waited. At first there didn’t seem to happen anything but a thin vapour rising up. Forgeheart’s blade began to glow as it was heated by the magma, slowing approaching its melting point. My heart thumped within my chest. Was Forgeheart too weak for this? Would the ancient sword melt before it overcame the incredible heat? The blade became a dull orange, followed by a brighter yellow and then a blinding white. There it stopped and returned to yellow, to orange, and in the end to its normal colour. At the same time the magma darkened, turning into black and charred stone. While it was still a semi-liquid, I pushed Forgeheart forward into warmer regions and set a foot on the solidified platform I was creating. We slowly pressed on, step by step, cooling the magma before us.
“I wonder though, Ro-El. We only hold one of the keys. Will we be able to make our way across the other two tests?” Zarador said when we reached the bend in the path.
“I don’t know. We’ll just have to try.” I replied. My arms were feeling heavy from holding Forgeheart for so long but I wasn’t willing to rest till we’d made it to the other end.
By the time we did reach the end, my arms felt like lead weights. I was more than happy to sheathe the blade and give them some rest. It was only twenty steps further down though that we reached the next test. A spherical room, made of metal. An empty room, except for the giant sphere that hung in the center. Oh, and countless beams of light weaving an intricate web.
Zarador and I stood in the opening. It was obvious that this was the next test yet just what the test was escaped us.
“The walls are made of metal. It’s not Dwemer steel either. And then that light. Ro-El, this is a clue.” Zarador muttered. I nodded and peered at the sphere in the center.
“Ok, one sphere that looks realy suspicious. Hold on, I’ll throw in a pebble and see what happens.” I said, bent down, picked up a rock the size of my thumb and hurled it into the room. About halfway there, it passed a beam of light, blocking it for a splitsecond. Before we had any idea what was going on, a massive crack hammered at our ears and an equeally massive flash of light blinded our eyes.
We stood there, blinking and trying to get all the coloured spots out of our vision. After several minutes, we could see normally again. The pebble was gone, vanished without a trace.
“What in the name of my white socks just happened?” I asked myself out loud.
“Lightning. A really intense burst of lightning, spread equally across the room. If we’d ventured in there, Ro-El, we would have been vaporized. There wouldn’t be enough ash of us left to fill the bottom of an urn.” Zarador replied.
I sat down on the floor and began to think. The room was a giant lightning projector. Blocking the light served as the trigger. The lightning had to come from that sphere. As a Dwemer, I had some experience with artificial lightning, but only in small quantities. Dwemer steel was capable of conducting lightning, but less than normal steel. That’s what keeps our cities from turning into huge lightning-attractors during a thunderstorm. And even a single lightningstrike isn’t that much of a problem with the high melting-temperature.
Melting-temperature. I looked closer at the walls and concluded that it definitely looked like normal steel, not the superior Dwemer steel. Which was probably the answer. To solve the test, one of the three swords had to be used, preferably not Forgeheart. I’d beaten fire with ice. So should lightning be defeated by fire? There was only one way to find out.
“Wow, Ro-El! What are you going to do with that thing?” Zarador shouted and pressed himself flat against the wall. I pressed myself against the opposing wall and tapped one of the Drill-Centurion’s weels.
“I think I’ve got it figured out. To continue, that sphere must be melted down. To do that, throwing Trueflame is probably the intended solution. Now we don’t have the sword of infinite heat. On the other hand, the lightning itself causes the sphere, and the walls and anything else it hits, to heat up. This is where the Drill Centurion comes in. With a triple-layered armoured shell made of really thick Dwemer steel, it’s internal systems are safe from the lightning while the exterior is much more capable of handling heat than the simple steel on the sphere and the walls. We’re simply going to roll it in and wait while that trap over there kills itself.” I explained and gave it the command to proceed into the room, just past the first light-beam.
“Oh, and we’d better move back. Just in case.” I added.
We clamped our hands over our ears and squeezed our eyes shut while we sat on the stairs. Even with the hands covering our ears, the cracking of the lightning was horrible to hear. And the flashes still burned through our eyelids. In the end though, it couldn’t keep going like that forever. The lightning would cease. Once it did, we returned. The walls had melted down entirely, as had the sphere. Only a large pool of smoldering metal in the center of the room spoke of its existence. Closer to us, the Drill Centurion stood as if nothing had happened. Well, almost nothing. The segmented shell had fused into one single piece and the weels had become part of the floor. Dwemer steel was good, but it still had its limits.
“Aye. I’ll get you fixed up once this is done. I’m sure Arkngthand can do it.” I said to the machine and cut its weels free with Forgeheart. It rolled back into my funny pouch, though slower and with plenty of creaking. When I’d tied the pouch back to my belt and looked up, I saw that Zarador had already passed the room. Just to demonstrate how safe it was, the Altmer waved one hand through a beam of light. Apart from a tiny flicker on the ceiling, nothing happened. I hopped past the puddles of molten metal and joined him.
“Two down, one to go.”
Instead of going down, we went up again. Frankly, all these stairs were getting on my nerves by now. Was it really necessary to hide Pelinal this well? A giant, mountain-sized Centurion that requires three unique keys that can only be held by three unique persons is a bit hard to steal no matter where it is parked.
“Ice. The next test will include ice, or perhaps another form of it. Like water or vapour.” I mumbled while counting the steps.
“Indeed, such would seem to be the case. And from the pattern that has been established, we require Hopesfire to succeed. In other words, we’ll require a lot of electricity.” Zarador answered back.
We were both right. The next room was surprisingly not lethal in any way. What we did find however, was even more incredible than the lightningroom of earlier. The place was dominated by a giant scale. One end held up a block of steel which blocked off part of the wall. The other end, which was sitting on the floor, was a giant bucket filled with water. It was quite obvious what we had to do this time. We had to get rid of the water so that the suspended end would become heavier than the lowered end and fall. Only how? We couldn’t possibly scoop it all up with our hands and throw it overboard. That would take forever. Likewise, no amount of heat we had access to could vaporise all that water.
“Ok, I’m stumped. I know what to do, only not how.” I admitted. Zarador merely smiled and stroke his beard.
“Ok, out with it, old man.” I spoke to him in an annoyed tone. This was not the time for jokes in my opinion.
“Listen carefully, young man, and witness the splendour of my idea.” Zarador replied theatrically and coughed.
“Ahem, enough with the exaggerating. It is quite simple. We need a large amount of lightning to split that water into two gasses, one of which is breathable. I have some experience from my alchemy studies a while back. On a smaller scale. Still, the same principle applies. We need a conducting element and electricity. Fortunately, we have both.” He continued, turned around and walked out of the room. I thought I was beginning to see his plan so I followed him. It sounded absolutely crazy but hey, all solutions so far had been pretty crazy. So why not? It was better htan anything I could come up with.
“Remember the second test? After your solution, there are a large number of pools of metal, which we can combine and reshape into a long and reasonably flexible cable. This will be our conductive element. We dip one end in the bucket, plug the other into the hole the lightning comes from and trigger one of the light beams. After say half an hour, we pull it out and see the result. We’ll use Forgeheart as a coolant to keep the cable from melting. From what I’ve seen, the generated heat is not enough to defeat the sword of ice. That, Ro-El. That, is my vision. It should be quite amusing.”
So we did. We worked for hours, Zarador heating the metal so it became soft and I forging them into a long cable. After that, we hauled it over to the bucket and dipped one end into it. Since we were tired and pretty much done for, we ate and slept till morning. The next morning, we commence the plan. Forgeheart was put into place and Zarador used Telekinesis to plug in the cable from a safe distance. The lightshow was pretty, but less intense than when the lightningtrap had been fully operational. I assume that the walls worked to attract the lightning into the open air. Now it just jumped around the cable. After half an hour, Zarador used the same spell to get the cable out and I retrieved Forgeheart. Even after all the abuse we’d put it through, the sword looked brand-new. Kagrenac might have been a genocidal maniac, he sure knew his trade.
Back at the room with the scale, the giant bucket had emptied and risen up while the block of steel had dropped. A door was located on the wall the scale had been guarding. The block now served as a platform to reach it. I could see the handles of a ladder on one side.
“So unless we’re going to go through a second series of tests, this is the last one. Ready, Zarador?” I asked and rubbed my hands with anticipation. I was looking forward to the end. After all this, I could use a vacation. A long vacation.
“Ready as always. But my old limbs aren’t suited for climbing, so I’ll levitate. See you there.” The Altmer replied and floated up towards the door. I used the ladder to follow. We went through the door and found ourselves in a truly humongous chamber, standing on a small ledge suspended high above the ground. Looking right ahead, we stared into the dead eyes of, Pelinal.
Chapter 6: Shield of Resdayn.
I, Zarador, shall take up the quill at this point. The reason is that Ro-El does not remember the following events. Therefore, it is my task to fill up the vacuum that would otherwise occur. As known, we were standing on a ledge, looking right at Pelinal, the second Numidium and the true god of steel. This was the machine that challenged the supposedly invincible Numidium and came out victorious. It was truly a god of the Dwemer. No, it was more than a god. This great giant was House Dwemer itself.
I immediately noticed its resemblance with the type 2 Centurion, albeit on a massive scale. Yet looking closer, it was soon revealed that the similarity was a superficial one. There were infinite differences in the details. The largest difference I could make out by such a short observation were the unexpectedly bulky shoulders. They were like giant pauldrons of a very uncomfortable design. Yet the Dwemer never built things without a reason. Somewhere, these shoulders gave it an advantage in battle.
Battle, it still carried the wounds of its last fight. Many cuts and dents marred its surface, a large rent had torn apart the skin of its chest. The right side of its face had crumpled, as if struck by a mace of titanic proportions. Just the knowledge that the cause of these wounds was Numidium, made my heart skip a beat. Pelinal was just as powerful as that first Centurion, if not even more. The destruction these behemoths could cause if angered was beyond my feeble imagination.
Ro-El was silent. I did not dare to interrupt his thoughts. Two men were inside there. Dumac and Ro-El, two aspects of the same soul. Two personalities, two memories, two lives. It was up to him to bring order to the chaos that whirled inside him. Any interference on my part would only endanger the process.
Something reached out to me. A call, a strong one. A call of Magicka. I surrounded us with a shield just in time, for a fireball soon exploded across the protective bubble.
“I am impressed, old man. Your reflexes are better than you would make them appear to be.” A voice I did not recognize spoke. I looked down the ledge in the direction from where the spell had come. A man stood there, a man whose skin was like grey ash. With a sense of dread, I realized that the skin truly was made of ash.
“You! I thought I turned you into a snowman back there! It was at least twenty degrees below zero!” Ro-El shouted at my side. I could feel the cold coming from the exposed Forgeheart. It bit through my skin and seeped into my bones.
“Returned one, I told you before. I am immortal! Being encased in ice is nothing. This is your last chance! Surrender the key and I’ll let you live. You and your friend.” The man called back. I shook my head resolutely. This was no time for nonsense. It was obvious that he would never let us live.
“Ro-El, move on.” I whispered to my companion.
“Move on. Once Pelinal is awake, there is nothing he can do. I’ll buy you time.”
The shield dissipated. Ro-El dashed ahead, leaping off the ledge, flying across the vast depths. I had to admit I was quite impressed. It takes a great deal of courage to attempt such a jump without any method to slow the fall in case you miss the landing. Nevertheless, this was not the time to admire one’s acrobatics. The ashcreature had set himself into motion to intercept my friend. I fired a spell of my own at him which tore through his shoulder and separated the arm.
“If you desire the key, then come for me! I hold it, I am the keyholder the prophecy has spoken off!” I shouted.
It was all a lie, of course. The keyholder was Ro-El, no one else. Yet it made the creature hesitate, it brought him into an unknown situation. Even as it contemplated which choice to make, I could see its severed arm turn to dust and reattach itself to the shoulder. I could not let it regenerate.
“I challenge you! I am your doom!” I shouted again to keep its attention fixed on me. From the corner of my eyes, I could see that Ro-El had made his jump and was now climbing that massive rent on Pelinal’s chest.
He had made up his mind. I summoned my shield again to thwart the incoming barrage and retaliated with a barrage of my own. The dark chamber was lit up by the fury of our spells. My shield wavered and fell, forcing me to take cover. But not before I’d broken my foe into countless pieces. I knew I had not managed to kill it, but I hoped it would give Ro-El the time he needed. I lied against the cold rock, most of my magicka spent and out of ideas. All I could do now was hope.
“You’re quite good, old man! But not good enough!” Moments after these words had echoed through the chamber, the ledge under my feet turned to dust. I fell, and had to use what precious little magicka I had remaining to slow my fall. I landed at Pelinal’s feet, just a step or two away from that monster. I had only little power remaining. Enough to escape, or to go down in a blaze of glory.
“Do you hear me, old man? You are not good enough! I shall bury you, together with this machine! My storm shall do this! You will never see the daylight again!” The man of ash told me, then turned into a cloud of ash that rose up and vanished through the tiny cracks in the ceiling. A heartbeat later, a loud rumble entered my ears and those cracks became bigger, growing each passing moment. Small pebbles began to fall, soon followed by bigger fragments. I leaned on my staff, unable to move. All I had to do to escape was to cast the spell that would return me to the Cloudcleaver’s deck. Yet I couldn’t. I couldn’t abandon Ro-El to his fate. His fate would be my fate. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable.
The sound of rock hitting ancient steel was deafening. Why had Pelinal not moved yet? Was it too late? I did not know, and didn’t dare think about it. I just stood there, with an odd calmth that didn’t fit the situation. For each moment I lingered, my death would become more certain. So far, I had not been hit by the falling debris yet my luck would not last forever. But I didn’t care. After all, what did my life mean now?
“Here lies the champion of Tamriel. His courage was like a shining beacon to our souls and a scorging light to Tamriel’s foes. May his soul rest in peace. May we follow the example he’s set. May we never falter when all hope seems lost. May we raise our arm in defiance till our last breath. For as long as the stars shine in the sky, may heroes defend the land from evil.” The words came to me without warning. I remembered where I’d read them.
It was in Cyrodiil, some time ago. For an Altmer like me, it was like yesterday. For a human, it was many years. They were enscribed into a small, unasuming tombstone, situated within a grand mausoleum. Flowers graced the grave and countless candles cast their light on the faces of the worshippers. It was the grave of the unnamed champion, the one who had vanquished Tharn. Or so they say.
I whispered the words and turned them over and over within my mouth.
“Why am I standing here? It is foolish! Pelinal is dead, Ro-El cannot be saved! But I will continue the fight in his name! I must leave!” I raised my hand to cast the spell when my luck finally ran out. A heavy rock hit me right above my left ear, knocking me down. Warm blood flowed down my cracked skull.
“Heh, I suppose this is it. Such an embarassing end.” I thought with grim humour. My hands dug through the dust, clawing for my staff. I was hit by a constant stream of pebbles, the sign of a large fragment being ripped out of the ceiling. There was a sudden rush of air. Was it the air displaced by the falling boulder? The world rang, louder than ever.
“Go.” Who had spoken? What was that voice? So calm and so devoid of any emotion. Who was there? I had to see. I forced myself to lift my head. The ceiling had gone, replaced by a dull gold. Gold, why was the ceiling made of gold? And why was it so close?
“Go.” The voice spoke again. Now I knew what I was looking at. A hand, a giant hand of dented steel that was wrapped around me like a protective dome. Pelinal had moved.
“Ro-El, you little show-off! You did it!” I cackled. My hands found my staff and I took hold of it. Its powers flowed into me and I cast the spell of recall.
The taste of the salty air of Azura’s coast nipped at my tongue as my body was transported through a temporal rip in the fabric of Mundus. I let myself sink to the deck of the airship and waited as the last of my powers slowly left me. I wouldn’t die, not without any further injury. We Altmer are of a superior physique compared to the other races. No, I would survive, like always.
Cushioned footsteps moved across the deck.
“Still alive, old man?” The mocking voice of the ash man said.
“Can you smell it, that fresh air? How your lungs struggle to take those breaths. You are defeated. Your shell is wounded, your goal has been crushed by countless tonnes of rock. Yes, not even the Daedric prince could prevent the destruction of her beloved shrine as it went down with the rest of the island. You are defeated old man.” He continued. I laughed weakly.
“No, you are the one who is defeated.” I whispered back. My words were lost on the wind.
The Sixth House member bent down to my face.
“What did you say?” He hissed.
“It takes more than your feeble tricks to destroy a god.”
He bolted upright.
“What?! Surely, that wound must have damaged your mind! I shattered an island! I threw tonnes upon tonnes of rock upon it! And yet you still believe it has survived?!” He shouted enraged.
“I am certain of it.” I no longer had the power to speak, so I kept those words within my mind. I was loosing consciousness, slowly but surely. The last thing I heard was the sound of countless tonnes upon tonnes of rock shifting, being cast aside. The last thing I saw was the Centurion rising from the pile, shrugging off the heavy stone like mere raindrops. Then, I gave in to the darkness.
Ok, back to me then, I suppose. As Zarador said when he began to write, I have no idea what happened while I was inside Pelinal. Actually I wasn’t just inside Pelinal, I was a part of Pelinal. Pelinal only functions when its soul is whole. I am like a detachable piece of the soul, a key to its soul just like how the three swords are keys to its aspects.
I woke up far from where I entered my temporary sleep. I was in a tent, a dome of wood and animal hides. There was a fire burning at the center, and a short man kept watch. I knew that short man. It was Fargoth.
“Hey there, keep calm. You’re still confused.” The Bosmer said and pushed me back onto the bed. I silently thanked him for as soon as I got up, I felt dizzy and would have fallen headfirst into the fire if it wasn’t for his help.
“I know what you’re wondering. How did you get here and what have I been up to since I left Ebonheart.”
The agent made himself comfortable on the floor and poked up the fire with a long bone.
“The second question is easy to tell. After leaving, I went straight for Red Mountain and have been holding a war of stealth with the Sixth House. Each morning I would go out and stalk the edge of the Ghostfence for any creep unlucky enough to stray within range of my bow. During the night, I would rest at the Ghostgate. During the last two weeks, an army like no other had been assembling. Two days ago, the army scaled Red Mountain. The Nerevarine was there as well and defeated Dagoth Ur. It wasn’t hard to know when. The whole top of the mountain blew off. Of course I was one of the first to investigate Dagoth Ur’s citadel after the Sixth House’s defeat.”
My head reeled from the new information. The Sixth House defeated? That was great news.
“There wasn’t much to see to be honest. I went back out and followed the Nerevarine for a bit. He was going west, I don’t know why. Anyway, now for why you are here. Just a few hours after the great hero left, this big machine came stomping and entered the mountain. I followed as usual and found it standing in the middle of a large pool of lava. It didn’t move and the back of its head was open so I took a look. I saw you sitting there, sleeping. Anyway, I brought you here to this Ashlander tent and have been waiting ever since.”
I thought about everything he’d said.
“So it’s all over? Good, I could use a vacation.” I muttered to no one in particular.
“But it is not over. For an agent, there is always work to do. Just hope that your next job won’t require so much brute force and a bit more subtlety.”
Chapter 7: New faces with something old.
A few days later, we were all back at Ebonheart. Leroth was jumping all around me while Zarador stood next to the mirror and watched on. He laughed at the Bosmer’s antics and shifted the bandage around his head back into place.
“Leroth! What is all this for? And finally, why did you guys make my ears grow pointy?!” I stammered. My ears were now indeed pointed, like an elf. I doubted it was a temporary change.
Looking in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. Using Zarador’s questionable ‘beard’ spell, I had produced a wealthy beard, which I instantly trimmed down to a more manageable volume. Zarador was a nice guy, but he was a bit crazy at times. Spending decades just to learn how to magically grow a beard could not be considered normal. It did look intimidating though. Gone was the quivering kid from the eggmine. I looked like a man twice my age. It didn’t change my length, though.
And then the clothes. They were fit for a king, to say the least. Black satin with golden embroidery. Heavy golden bracelets which Zarador had enchanted with some minor shield spells just because he could. A necklace of Ebony, and an Ebony walking-stick with a silver grip at the end. Only a handfull of people knew that the silver grip was actually the hilt of my rapier.
“Hush, young man. Let me look at you. Yes, you look just fine. Now get going, we’ve arranged a grand ball in your honour.” The Bosmer replied after a long wait.
“Ball?” I blurted out.
“Work on your manners, my friend. We originally planned to have the Nerevarine as guest of honour yet he isn’t here. So we settled for the next best thing. Now go out there and behave like the king you are. Forgeheart is behind the throne should you somehow need it.” Zarador quipped.
I was utterly confused right now. There was something going on here, a game that had not been explained to me. In times like these, I would just have to improvise. And why had Forgeheart been hidden behind the Duke’s throne? Was such a measure truly necessary? With that sword, I could freeze over the entire castle. It was too scary to use. And speaking about the Duke, why hadn’t I seen him yet? After all I’d done, at least a debriefing would be expected. Yet none of it. And finally, why did Zarador call me a king?
The two elves shoved me out of the door and closed it behind me. I could hear a lock clicking into place. Ok, so I wasn’t supposed to go back and change into my usual attire. Ok, the message was clear. I moved down the corridor towards the stairs that would take me to the main throne-room. Maybe I could find out what was going on.
The stairs turned out to be blocked by a woman. Looking upon her Dunmeri features, I realized that she looked oddly familiar. As if the duke suddenly switched genders and lost a few years. I bowed down.
“Milady. I hope you are doing well.” I said politely, staring at my own shoes and wondering how long these extravagant frills would last in the cold snow of Solstheim.
“I am doing well, thank you. And speak normal, noble doesn’t suit you. Please, call me Ilmeni.” The woman giggled.
Ilmeni Dren turned around and went down the stairs, beckoning me to follow.
“Listen, the houses have been kept in an uneasy balance by Dagoth Ur. With him gone and the Nerevarine out of the picture as well, there is nothing to keep them from falling on each other like hungry wolves. The Duke has come up with a plan. That is where you come in, lord Dwemer.” She said softly, pausing whenever we passed a near invisible peekhole. I was beginning to see the plan now and understood why I was dressed like this, why I had to grow a beard and why we were having a ball.
“I will present myself as the lord of a reborn House Dwemer. With several thousand Centurions at my command, a number that grows each day, I can serve as the counterweight and fill up the void Dagoth Ur left behind.” I interupted the Duke’s daughter.
“That is correct.”
Ilmeni dropped the subject and we chattered about inconsequential things all the way to the throne room. Inconsequential in that they were only meant to keep the spies distracted. I suppose we could sweep the place and clean out any foreign spies but that would only be messy. So we tolerated them, out of necesity.
The throne room was filled with a large assortment of nobles, who all took at least one glance at the short newcomer, some longer than others. Ilmeni picked up the pace and elegantly strode over to her father, who stood up out of his throne and embraced her. The Duchess who I’d never seen before did the same thing. It was both a sign of tenderness and a cold political act. Or perhaps not cold, because it could also be translated as follows.
“This is my daughter, who I love. Hurt her, and I shall hunt you forever and make you beg for death.”
I followed at a slower pace, both out of political correctness and because I was a bit nervous with that big crowd. Five steps away from the throne, I made a slight bow to the Duke, his wife and Ilmeni. Slight, because I’d begun to play the game. It was a sign to those looking on that I respected the Duke as a host and an equal, but not necessarily my superior. If I was to revive House Dwemer, I had to act it.
“Duke Dren, I thank you for your invitation.” I spoke solemnly. There was no invitation, but that was one of those things that had to be covered up.
The Duke made the exact same bow I’d made earlier, another sign.
“I welcome you, lord Dumac of House Dwemer, to my humble abode.” Inwardly, I relished a mental grin at the collective gasp that drew through the room. Yes, lord Dumac had returned. I felt the slight tug of Magicka being used. Someone had recalled out of the room, a great breach of protocol. So the game was now in full swing.
The Duke turned to his other guests.
“And to you, I extend my welcome as well. Allow me to introduce, my friend and ally, lord Dumac of House Dwemer.” He spoke loudly.
“Friend and ally. Heh, it never harms to look out for yourself, milord.”
The nobles were in a hushed yet frantic discussion. I could pick up a few words.
“Dumac?”
“Is he crazy?”
“But the Dwemer are gone, right?”
“Maybe not, just look at him. Pale skin, beard, elven ears. He looks like a Dwemer. And aren’t they called Dwarves by some?”
There was another tug of Magicka. Someone had returned. No, two had returned. Dren moved closer to me without anyone noticing.
“I’ve been hearing rumours about those two for a long time. I leave this up to you.” He whispered. I wondered who he meant. The doors swung open and I laid my eyes on….a very familiar face.
I looked on in silence as the two made their way towards the throne. One I knew only from reports. Divayth Fyr, one of the oldest and arguably the most powerful mage in House Telvanni. Fortunately for us, also one of the most isolationist. Till now, it seemed. The other, was a man I’d known long before. Or rather, a man I’d known when I still carried the name of Dumac.
The two stopped before the Duke, but I knew that their eyes were on me.
“Duke, allow me to introduce a friend of mine who has spent the last few years in my Corprusarium. Yagrum Bagarn. I must leave now. Farewell.” Divayth spoke with no modesty whatsoever and poofed away. Yagrum exchanged some smalltalk and then had himself escorted to a room, claiming he was still weak from his miraculously cured Corprus.
“A real Dwemer. Talk about timing. He might cause trouble. Want me to….deal with him?” Fargoth whispered behind my back. He then extended a plate with several glasses into my view. I couldn’t quite imagine Fargoth as a servant, but he probably pulled it off quite well. I took a glass of wine and pretended to thank him for it.
“No, everything’s under control. Let him do whatever he wants.” I whispered back in reality.
I kept to myself at first. I mingled in enough to play my role, but not so much that I’d risk making a slip. I also danced a few times with Ilmeni, who taught me a few new tricks on the spot. I hadn’t danced since before I died. Though the Floating Butterfly style did bear some resemblance, so it wasn’t that hard to get back into it. I was a bit distracted though, both with Yagrum Bagarn in the back of my head and the prospect of an assassin on my doorstep every morning.
A few hours later, the ball was beginning to calm down, for which I was grateful. I was tired and bored, two things that don’t go well with the act I was playing. I played with the full glass of wine I’d taken from Fargoth hours ago and asked myself if I should drink it or remain sober. From the corner of my eyes, I saw two Bosmer approach, one dressed like a noble and the other in a dress with markings that looked distinctly magelike to me.
“Good evening, sir. I must say that I am honoured to meet the famous king of the Dwemer. I am Leroth and this here is Galbedir, my wife-to-be.” He spoke courteously. I took a double-take on the woman he was with. It was indeed Galbedir, the Bosmer I’d brought him in touch with. I wondered if spying and being married went together but kept that question to myself.
“The honour is mine. I wish you a very joyous and long life.” I replied with a polite nod. So now I was acting formal to old friends. That was a bit annoying. But I couldn’t let Galbedir know I was the kid from the Balmora mage guild.
“You have grown a lot, Ro-El. The beard looks cute.” Galbedir whispered and winked. So she did know. Hell, I bet she’d been drafted into the order just because she was Leroth’s ‘totally hot Bosmer chick’. In that case, no need to play around.
“It’s a new one to me. Since it’s created through magicka, I don’t know if I need a knife or a spell to shave.” I laughed, but still making sure I kept my voice down.
“Anyway, this Yagrum Bagarn fellow has been asking for a conversation with Dumac. He’ll meet you on the northern balcony.” Leroth whispered, casting a few quick glances at a Telvanni. He was with a member of the mage guild, so some wariness around Galbedir’s great rivals was not out of place.
I said my farewell to the happy couple and casually slinked to curtains hanging behind the throne. When no one was looking, I grabbed Forgeheart and vanished in the servant’s corridor just behind the throne, giving the signal to the guards who were hidden there. They stepped aside and allowed me to pass. Now safely hidden from prying eyes, I attached the scabbard to my back. Holding Dumac’s sword would make it easier to convince Yagrum of my identity.
Yagrum said nothing at first when I joined him. He simply looked me over with a blank expression, lingering on the hilt of Forgeheart for a while. Time had not been kind to him. While once he was a cranky old man, now he looked like a pile of half-rotten fat slapped on top of a giant spider Centurion.
“So you’re Dumac. I don’t know if I should believe that. If you are, you’ve changed. If you’re not, you act like a good impostor.” He finally said.
“Hello, Bagarn.” I replied with the same neutral tone.
Yagrum Bagarn turned away and gazed over the land.
“It has been so long since I saw the sky. The land has changed. Does anyone remember me?” He spoke to himself, using the Dwemer language.
“I do.” I replied. His eyes shot to me, the confusion at hearing someone actually speak Dwemer clearly evident.
“Then what do you remember, lord?” He asked, slipping back into Tamriellic.
“Not much, a few vague pictures and feelings.” I answered, slipping back to Tamriellic as well.
For a moment, we were both silent again and watched the moons in the nightsky.
“You know, I made a promise.” I said softly while I leaned on the railing. I saw a cloaked man move through the streets below, heading for the harbour.
“What kind of promise, lord?” Yagrum asked without looking at me.
“Remember Forgeheart, Yagrum?” I asked in return.
“Forgeheart….yes, I do. I remember how Kagrenac slaved on it for days without rest. It was his masterpiece, one of the six great tools of Lorkhan. That’s what he called it and its siblings. Now though, this sounds like nonsense. The heart is no more. I felt its demise. We all did.”
I shook my head.
“No, not all of us did. I didn’t, and ended up trying to fight Dagoth Ur a day after he’d been killed. After risking my life again and again, it was a bit of an anti-climax to be honest.” I said.
“Now what was this promise?” Yagrum asked again.
“I promised that I would right the wrongs that had been committed against Dwemer like Nebrighk. I swore it on Forgeheart.” I told him. I was still following the cloaked man with my eyes, and was now also looking at the shadow that seemed to follow him. We were silent again. I knew I had convinced him that I really was Dumac the moment I spoke Dwemer.
I raised my voice.
“You there! Behind you!” I shouted and pointed at the shadow. The cloaked man didn’t look at me as I’d expected, but immediately turned on the assassin that had been stalking him. I watched the battle that began to unfold.
“That is a fine promise, but I fear it has little use. What good would it do those of us who are gone? No one has been called Kagrenac since Red Mountain. Since the day the Dwemer perished.” Yagrum said, apparently unconcerned with the battle raging below.
“Yeah, no one will really feel better if I avenge the Dwemer.” I muttered.
“And what is there to avenge? They could have chosen immortality, yet they chose for an eternal sleep. I must go now, lord. I am tired.” Yagrum Bagarn said and began to walk back to the door a few steps away.
“I never break a promise, neither the one I made to Nebrighk, nor the one I made to you…..Kagrenac.” I spoke solemnly and pulled Forgeheart free from the block of frozen flesh and steel.
The End.