Chapter 8: Maze of ice and forgotten shadows.
The wind howled lonely over the snowcovered hills. A few stumps of grass stubbornly clung to life, yet there were no trees or flowers. Dominating the entire area was a humongous and ancient contraption of blackened stone.
“Nice architecture. It’s dark, it’s cold, it’s round and its rock.” Rajn quipped. Aran twitched his lips into half a smile.
“Thank you for the lecture. Anything else?” He replied. Behind the two, Merdrar was standing next to Marsh, the latter of the two covered by five robes layered over each other.
“Was there any point to that observation?” The Dremora asked with his grating voice. Rajn’s ears twitched and she cast an irritated glance at him which made Marsh chuckle.
“There was a point, trust me. She’s just warming up.” The Argonian hissed and flicked his tail.
“Ok, once more, with see-through. Yup, the gate is solid steel with the most complicated lock I’ve ever seen. It has a nice and thick cover that can withstand a battering ram I’d say, not to mention that the lock itself drives a collection of progressively larger weels. I can only assume that the biggest ones open and close the door. Good thing too, I don’t see anyone just flinging it open with a hand. I’ll give the picking a shot, but don’t count on instant success. Beyond that, stairs ending in a room with three gates leading to three corridors. There’s more, but I can’t give you anything solid till we get closer. I do see some motion though. Doesn’t seem quite…..fleshy. Creepy.” Rajn held up a finger at each part of her observation. She then gave Merdrar a smug grin.
“Well, how was that? Good enough to please the almighty?” She asked in a snobbish tone. Merdrar snorted.
“Just open the door already.” He growled. The Bosmer stuck out her tongue and marched for the entrance to the Labyrinthian that dominated the landscape, the others following in her wake.
“You’re hard to please, mister ‘I wear lots of armour and never bathe’. Seriously, take it off and jump in a lake sometime soon. You reek! Have mercy on my poor nose!” Rajn complained as she peered into the lock on the gate and twidled with her clasp of bleached bone.
“I reek? Why, you little twit! You don’t exactly smell so nice either. How many different kinds of perfume did you use?! Twenty? The scent of flowers is vastly overrated!” Merdrar puffed.
“Oh, scared to admit the truth? You reek, and I don’t. I used five flavours, just so you know. Can’t get enough of a good thing, ya know. And your smell is definitely not good.” The girl stabbed playfully. Merdrar glowered and balled his hands into fists, till Aran placed a hand on his chest.
“Bear with her, she’s just trying to ease the tension.” He explained. The Dremora’s shoulders sagged slightly as he relaxed.
“Tension?” He asked. The Dunmer shrugged and turned to watch Rajn work on the lock before answering.
“Last time we went into one of these, Rajn nearly got eaten, I nearly got killed trying to protect her and we were forced to flee through a shiftgate that landed us in this frozen wasteland. I don’t believe any of us is eager for a repeat.”
For six minutes, the only sounds were the howling of the wind and the clicking of the various lockpicks Rajn inserted into the lock and twisted about. Finally she admitted defeat with a sigh and placed the tools back into the grooves of her clasp before tying it back into her hair. She’d gone back to a curly mess.
“Nope, I’ve got nothing. Anyone else have any ideas, or should we start digging?” She said frustrated. Aran shook his head.
“I don’t think we can dig through the ground that easily. We don’t have a shovel and the ground is frozen which makes it as hard as a rock. Look around, do you see a key lying under the snow somewhere? It’s a stretch, but I can’t think of anything better.” He commented. Merdrar roared with laughter, catching everyone else offguard.
“I thought you were a warrior, but now I see that I’m mistaken! Out of the way, you little elves, I’ll show you how it is done.” He boasted, drew his Claymore and moved up to the door. Rajn folded her arms and tapped on the snow with a foot.
“That’s not going to work, I tell ya. Might as well give up now and spare us the humiliation.” She predicted.
“Shut your mouth, shortie. I’ll show you what real power is. Haha, I can’t wait to see your faces after I tear through this little door as if through paper. AAARRRAAAAGGGGHHHH” The Dremore howled as he unleashed a blinding barrage of vicious blows that whipped up snow and sounded a metallic screech each time the Daedric Claymore struck the golden steel. Thirty times he struck and thirty times the lock stubbornly defied him. He stepped back and glared at the obstruction.
“How?!” He bellowed.
Rajn snickered.
“Told ya. That lock is a part of a huge mechanism that runs throughout the whole door, which is five meters thick. You can’t strike the hinges either, for they’re on the inside, not the outside. No way you’re ever going to do much good with that piece of chop-iron. You need a key that can trigger the whole mechanism and make the door open on its own. So in short, you lose.” She gloated. Aran cocked an eyebrow.
“Rajn.” He warned.
“Oh yeah, he’s got a short temper. Sorry, I forgot.”
Merdrar sheathed his sword with more force than was strictly needed.
“Damn you, Tharn. Why do I have to put up with these clowns? It wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t always plead innocence!” He thought furiously.
“Ok, so I didn’t manage to bust the door. But I seem to recall that you weren’t all that successful either.” He retorted. Marsh nodded, the first sign he’d given of following the back-and-forth banter going on.
“If you would mind, please listen to me for a moment instead of squabbling. We know that the Labyrinthian was built by Shalidor. When I told Rajn to, ahem, investigate the mage guild, I had her search specifically for books whose title contained either Shalidor as well as the Labyrinthian, on top of the list of specific titles I requested of her. When at camp, I’ve taken the time to study and I now know the exact location of Shalidor’s former home. If there is a key to this door, that would be the most likely place to search.” He looked from one face to another, awaiting any questions or objections. When there were none, he turned away from the Labyrinthian and headed back out onto the old trail.
“I’ll lead, you follow.” He hissed.
Northern Cyrodiil
Ra’trith shivered, an involuntary reaction to the chilly water which he viciously suppressed. The pond they were standing in was a circular bowl surrounded by snow-covered boulders. Its water was barely knee-deep, crystal-clear and smooth as a mirror, only marred by the thin sheet of ice on the surface, just thick enough to catch the falling snowflakes without breaking. The Khajiit looked up at the tips of the trees which showed just above the boulders. He was tired, but he wasn’t going to let the old Redguard notice.
“Half a day’s march, spent running, and for what? So I can stand in a pond and have my toes freeze off! I just don’t understand him!” He thought angrily and twitched with his tail.
Five metres to his right, Revarim Kendri stood in the same pond, dressed in little more than a loincloth and the crimson amulet around his neck. His eyes were closed and not a single muscle of his body moved. A fit body, Ra’trith noted instinctively, as powerful as that of a man half his age and more than capable of heavy exertation. Unlike the furred assassin, the old man showed no sign of discomfort whatsoever, though this was likely due to some form of spell he was using rather than mere strength of will. Where he stood, there was no paperthin sheet of ice, but clouds of hot steam that made him seem like a ghost amidst a bank of fog.
“Open your mouth, Kendri! Just why are we standing here like a pair of scary snowmen?” Ra’trith hissed. Revarim Kendri didn’t open his eyes, nor did he shift his balance as he answered the question.
“If you had been more motivated and more successful in your studies, we would be sitting in my cabin right now, by the open fire, rather than stand here bareskinned amidst the snow.” He spoke and chuckled.
“But since you refused to sit still, we’ll just have to add a physical factor to your training. To meditate, one needs to clear his mind of all distractions, I’ve told you that often enough. And so…observe.”
The Redguard’s Shehai blazed in his hand as he called it and he put a step to the left. The water barely rippled when he raised his foot, but when he brought it back down, there was a splash as high as his waist. Without missing a beat, Kendri sliced the wave in two with his Shehai as he turned around, creating two more splashes with his feet. Up and back down to the right the ghostly blade went, cutting one splash vertically and the other horizontally. Again he moved, creating yet even more splashes. The splashes he’d already cut created new, smaller offspring as they came down. The Redguard cut them all, never stopping to move. It was like some form of mysterious dance.
The old man stopped and his Shehai vanished, though not after he’d cut all of the remaining splashes without moving his feet.
“That is how we’ll clear your mind. As you move your feet, you will disturb the water. Strike the disturbance, and you will strike the disturbance in your mind at the same time. It is a technique used by the Ansei, long ago. While it is meant to be done with a sword, I’ll permit you to use your hands instead, since theye are what you are most familiar with.” He spoke softly, forcing the Khajiit to strain his ears in order to hear. Then, the Redguard smiled.
“And if that doesn’t comfort you, just realize that your toes won’t feel frozen anymore once you’ve got the pattern down.” He whispered.
“Now get started!”
Ra’trith looked down at his feet and moved one to the left, just as the old man had done. When he set it down, a splash sprung up. Instantly, he sweeped his left hand across it with an open palm, cutting it in two. He turned with the strike, causing more splashes. Both hands sweeped, striking and cleaving the water. He grinned.
“This is easy.” He thought to himself.
“Faster!” Kendri bade. The Khajiit snarled.
“I’ll do this just as fast or slow as I want to!” He replied and stopped. He immediately felt a soft tingling, as if his fur had gotten charged by nearby lighting. He looked up from the water and found to his surprise that the treetops were no longer visible. Instead, there was a shimmering dome that covered the entire pool.
“You can do it at your own speed, but only once you are able to do this at my speed, will I let you out. Now continue!” Kendri said. Ra’trith estimated that the man’s voice came from just outside the barrier.
“You lousy old man. I’ll kill you someday.” He thought and let out an angry growl. He turned to back to the task and tried again, faster this time. As he went faster, he soon realized that he simply didn’t have enough hands to cut all the splashes, and his feet would only create even more if he tried to use them to kick.
“This is supposed to be meditation? I thought it was all about relaxing, not causing your heart to explode in a whirlwind of activity!” He tried to keep up with the rapid frenzy he’d called into action himself, only to stumble and trip.
“You missed some! Start over!” Kendri ordered mercilessly. Frustrated, Ra’trith stared at the barrier that had trapped him in the pond and began all over again. With some sense of irony though, he noted that the Redguard had been right about one thing. His toes were no longer frozen.
Winterhold, mage guild
“Wait!” Books flew as the wizard was thrown across the room.
“Merdrar, we’re trying to interrogate, not kill him.” Marsh hissed, slightly amused. The Dremora calmly walked over to the wizard, kicking a pile of books out of his path as he went.
“In my experience, people are most willing to talk if you threaten them with physical violence, even moreso if you demonstrate said violence.” He countered and grabbed the bearded Nord by his collar.
“Alright, alright! I’ll tell you! Please don’t claim my soul!” The wizard cried. Marsh picked up a book from the floor and sifted through the pages.
“I’ll leave the interrogation up to you then, Merdrar. Aran, Rajn, found anything yet?” He said. The Dunmer and the Bosmer stuck their heads out from the kitchen.
“We found his diner, what’s left of it.” Aran said with a suppressed sigh.
“And his sparkstones!” Rajn added. Marsh flicked his tail.
“Sparkstones?” He repeated. The girl smiled and held up a pair of black pebbles.
“Sparkstones! You can put them inside a rabbit, and ten minutes later you’ll have fried rabbit! It’s a cooking implement!”
Marsh closed the book and glanced at the interrogation in progress. Merdrar didn’t seem to be making much progress. He’d managed to reduce the Nord into a quivering lump of flesh, but at the same time he’d also beaten all the coherence out of the man. The Argonian sighed and shook his head.
“This is not going to work.” He muttered.
“Alright, change of plans. Merdrar, tie up our bearded friend and put him down in a corner. Rajn, go see if you can find any mind-controlling scrolls. Look for a line of symbols that resembles…” He ripped a page out of the book and scrawled something on it.
“Something that resembles this. Aran, see if you can borrow Rajn’s latest toys and fix us something to eat. Me, I’m going to pore over the spellbooks. If the current trend continues, we could use something a step up from the Heyat.”
“So…….why exactly did we come here again?” Rajn asked when her pile of scrolls had grown quite large. She still hadn’t found anything that resembled Marsh’s desired spell though.
“This would be so much easier if they put down a title in simple Tamrielic at the top.” She thought. As unsuccesfull as she was, so succesfull was Marsh.
“Wizard’s Rend….usefull under certain conditions….Rajn, that’s quite simple actually. We are looking for the key that will open the door to the labyrinthian. The information of Shalidor’s old home we got from the Winterhold mage guild. It would be rather unusual if they hadn’t undertaken an expedition to that place already. So the key we need to find, they already collected for us. We only need to ask the wizard which of the hundreds of keys is the right one. And when we have that, we can get into the labyrinthian.”
Northern Cyrodiil
The barrier that had trapped the Khajiit vanished. Ra’trith grew a smug grin.
“So, are you satisfied now, old man?” He snarled. Kendri simply shook his head.
“You have good execution, but your timing is horrible.” He rated.
“Something else came up. If it hadn’t, I would have let you continue your practice. But for now, do what you will. I might be gone for less than an hour or a few days.” He added.
Ra’trith jumped out of the half-frozen pool and gathered up his clothing.
“Something else? Your master perhaps, Tharn?” He asked with genuine interest. The Redguard chuckled and bared his fangs for a moment.
“Tharn indeed. Except he is not my master, but an ally. Don’t mix up those two terms. They are quite different.” The vampire said.
Cyrodiil, palace.
The Imperial Battlemage looked up as he sensed a disturbance in the ambient Magicka. He sat up in his throne and looked at the various guards and pages that were in the room.
“I must get some fresh air, continue with your business.” He said before rising and leaving through the door hidden behind the throne. On the other side, he found a tall and horrendously pale Imperial.
“Aureus.” Jagar Tharn greeted. Aureus made a slight bow and as he did so, the Battlemage felt another disturbance. A shell of silence and darkness had fallen over them.
“You called?” Aureus replied after he’d ensured no one could eavesdrop.
Jagar Tharn began to move through the corridor. He wanted to be away from the throneroom. For this conversation, an abandoned area of the palace was best, even with the precautions that had already been taken.
“There have been complications.” He revealed. The Imperial cast a wry grin, revealing a pair of elongated fangs. A vampire.
“There are always complications in our business.” He chuckled.
“What kind of complications?” He added, all serious.
Tharn took a left and held open his hand. His staff whizzed through the empty corridor towards him and he caught it.
“Dagon has apparently learned about the Battlespire.” He said.
“Battlespire? Someone talked. You know who?” Aureus asked. Jagar’s face was cast in a sickly green hue by the orb that crowned his staff. The sight seemed to add to the power of his words.
“I don’t, and that is what worries me the most. Dagon has other followers, we already knew that. But the Battlespire is not supposed to be common knowledge. This follower…we must find….and eliminate him.” He whispered.
The vampire nodded.
“True. I’ll leave that to your Blades. We can always ask for an assault on all known Mehrunes Dagon cultists, perhaps that shall give us a lead. Those types are known for preaching destruction. Their loss won’t be mourned even if we gain nothing from it.” He agreed.
“But more important right now is the question what we are going to do. Does Dagon plan an invasion?” He continued.
“He does. He wants me to open a shiftgate in two days.” Tharn said.
The Imperial let out a sharp curse, something which was very unusual for him. Tharn was caught off-guard by it and stumbled over a loose stone on the floor.
“Two days. He’s not very patient, for a Daedra. Damn. Tharn, we must move soon. Shall we perform an extraction?” Aureus asked once he’d calmed down slightly. The Imperial Battlemage shook his head.
“No.” He said.
“I know how you feel, Aureus. I know, for I feel the same. But if we want to keep our cards hidden, we must not force an extraction now. Instead, we must sacrifice the Spire.” He added and his voice croaked.
“Sacrifice the Spire?” Aureus voice had grown cold. Tharn felt he had to push through now and reveal his reasoning before he would lose a friend and an ally.
“Yes, we will sacrifice the Spire. We will sacrifice all of my colleagues, those I trained and those who studied with me. But we will not necessarily sacrifice him. Aureus, in two days, a shiftgate will open in the main hall of the Spire. Tonight however, a smaller shiftgate shall open on the path leading to the Battlespire. You will travel that path and play our card.”
They left the dark maze of hidden passages and emerged in the Emperor’s bedroom. The Imperial’s eye was instantly drawn by a wrapped package lying on the bed.
“The power that emanates from it. Is that?” He began to ask but could not bring himself to finish the sentence.
“It is. Put it in his room. I trust you in this Aureus. The gate will only be open for an hour. I can’t risk to expose it any longer. Don’t be late.”
Oblivion, path to Battlespire.
Instantly, he became aware of the utter lack of air to breath. That was no problem for him though. He was a vampire, and a powerful one at that. He could easily form the air he required to breathe for years, using only the magicka stored in his flesh. There were other factors though that were a greater obstacle than the lack of an atmosphere. The world was cast in utter darkness. No sun hung in the sky, no moons, no stars. Nothing. There was nothing. Nothing but a biting cold, darkness and a pain he wasn’t used to.
Aureus sank to his knees. He thought he was losing his vision, but he couldn’t be sure if there wasn’t anything to see anyway.
“Well, he could have warned me.” The Imperial thought as he dipped into his store of magicka. His form was wrapped in warm flames that pushed back the intense cold. The fire also brought light. What the light revealed didn’t look very inviting.
Jagged rocks jutted out of the ground at every angle. Cracks cut through the world in a chaotic pattern. What wasn’t either a sharp slab of rock or a gaping gash, was a cloud of dust. The only object that told him the world wasn’t truly the dead rock it appeared to be, was the platform he’d arrived on. That platform was composed of a smoothed slab, placed horizontally and kept aloft just above the surface by a ring of purple crystals.
Aureus attempted to draw a deep breath, but he only succeeded at reminding himself where he was.
“Well, time’s wasting and I don’t have much of it. I’d better get moving.” He said, his voice lost in the vacuum.
“There is no clear path to the Battlespire, no convenient road of Cyrodiilic cobblestones, no visual signs. The keep can’t be seen from the platform, and that is assuming there was enough light around to see all the way. There isn’t even a trail of Magicka you can follow. The only way to reach the Battlespire, is by knowing the route.” Jagar Tharn’s words echoed within his head.
The vampire ran to the edge of the platform and stopped.
“Find the two crystals that are cracked. The crack is only visible with a magnifying glass. However, due to the crack they resonate. The levitating force is slightly diminished there. Only one with magically enhanced senses, or a vampire, could detect them. Pass between them, and head straight.” He closed his eyes and focussed on his feet. There, the platform was tipped over to his left, by an immeasurably small amount. He turned till he was facing the right direction, and then jumped.
“There is no solid ground. Do not be mistaken by the slabs of stone you find everywhere. These stones are suspended as well, floating in a thick soup of dust. They are also hollow, so they’re actually lighter than you are, relatively speaking. If you try to walk over the dust or the rocks, you will sink to the core of the world.” He teleported ahead, shifting his location roughly twice a second as he moved through the air.
“Keep a velocity as fast as a good horse, for two minutes.” He counted the seconds as he flew over the rocks and dust.
“If you’ve done everything right, the next step should be easy. Land on the surface of the dust, then turn right eighty degrees and continue moving forward with a downward angle of twenty. You’ll have to move around the rocks, but maintain your heading as much as possible.” He did as his instructions told and dove into the soup. With the dust swirling all around him, visibility was reduced to less than a single metre, even with the light the fire brought. He had to slow down and switch to conventional levitation in order to proceed. As he moved further, he let his thoughts wander.
What was this place? Obviously it had been discovered by pure accident. There was nothing that might draw someone here. He couldn’t even sense any ambient magicka, which was a miracle of its own. Even when within a powerful field of dispel or better yet, when within an area that had its magicka drained, he had always been able to sense some remaining strands. But here, there was nothing.
And then the world itself. It looked as if it had been struck by some great cataclysm long ago, an event which had been powerful enough to shatter it and turn it into a loose collection of rocks and dust. Perhaps if he went deeper, the pressure would make the world more solid but here at the surface, it felt more as if he was flying through a dry ocean. He chuckled. The metaphor was odd as well.
Or what about the stars, or rather, the lack of them? Aureus felt as if he had not only moved from one place to another, but through time as well. The universe around him felt cold, empty, dead.
“What if this is Nirn, as it will be countless eras from my time?” It was an unnerving thought.
He continued moving for minutes and gradually, the feeling that he’d gone the wrong way came over him. He felt disturbed, for if he had become lost, he would not only never find the Battlespire, but he would be stranded here as well. If this was truly the case, his fate would be to wander for perhaps a hundred years before the inhospitable climate would put him at rest. He was just about to stop and turn in the hope of finding the platform again before it was too late, when he felt a familiar sensation, at the edge of his consciousness.
“Magicka. There is still some left.”
He followed the strand with his senses, upward and as he extended his reach, the sensation grew in strength. Finally, he smiled and felt relief wash over him. The pocket of magicka he had discovered was a potent one, which could mean only one thing.
“The Battlespire. It must have drawn in all the ambient magicka over the years. That makes sense. Being an academy in the arts of magicka among other things, it leaves a mayor signature on the surrounding area. Placing a magicka tap in the building and getting rid on any ambient magicka that can pass on this signature makes it harder to find. It seems that I have found it.”
Cyrodiil
Jagar Tharn watched the still waters of the Shiftgate. Behind him, was the royal bath. Over the past few years, he had cultivated the image of a frail health, the image of a man who took regular baths to help fight his arthritis, one who preferred to take those baths in solitude. It was rather ironic, for the man he portrayed had reached the peak of his strength. Still, he mused as he observed the portal, this image was a priceless advantage in the game he was playing. Whenever the need arose, he would always have an excuse that would separate him from his otherwise everpresent guards. And everpresent spies.
“No doubt there is a spy who hopes to glean some critical information from me even now.” He thought.
“But that spy is only a Breton. He can’t look past the illusion I play before his eyes. He doesn’t even realize there is an illusion, or any other form of magicka, at play here.”
He smirked and reached for a bottle of perfume. While he was here, he might as well add some truth to the deception.
“Besides, no one said there was a limit on how often an Emperor is allowed to bathe.” His eyes turned from the bath back to the Shiftgate. It had been over half an hour now.
“Hurry up, Aureus. You are an old friend, wed to my only sister even. Yet I can’t make an exception, no matter how much I want to. One hour, it is all the time I can give you.”
Gate to Battlespire.
With a silent howl, a wall of purple flames, pierced with a hail of ice and a storm of lightning, erupted in front of him. Aureus swore as he found his path blocked by the obstacle.
“Well, no one said it would be that easy. First they hide this place in the farthest corner of time, space and the countless planes of existence. And even that is not enough. They have to place a defensive mechanism that can hold back every single army ever to exist, combined. No wonder Dagon needs the help of a Royal Battlemage to break in here. He could never do it on his own.” He noted. He dug his hands in his robe and retrieved a clasp. A golden dragon, with eyes made of rubies, one hand holding a sword and the other a staff. A silver gout of flame shot from its open maw and its wings were spread wide, as if it could take flight at any moment.
Knowing that it came from Tharn, Aureus considered it to be oddly out of place. The Tharn he knew was a man with little use for jewelry and other signs of ‘high-standing’. It wasn’t till he’d taken the place of the Emperor that he’d come to openly flaunt expensive clothes and heavy jewelry. Yet, this was not part of an Emperor’s attire.
“The symbol of a Royal Battlemage. Most people see in it an icon of his office but in reality, it is a key. A key to the place where we are born. Hold it out in front of you and speak my name. None of the Battlespire’s defences shall oppose you then.”
The Imperial held the clasp out in front of him as he’d been instructed.
“I am Jagar Tharn, the Royal Battlemage of Nirn! I demand to be given passage, as is my right granted to me by this symbol! Let me pass and enter!” He spoke. Despite the fact that the vacuum robbed all sound from his voice, the wall heard him and split, revealing an ornate gate of bronze, with a gigantic version of the Battlespire’s dragon engraved into it. The doors opened, revealing a surprisingly mundane room of crude stone. Aureus smiled and stepped inside. Behind him, the doors closed and he assumed that the wall had closed as well.
The only furniture he could see were a few sofas, not fit for a noble yet still comfortable enough to serve a commoner. He was clearly in a waiting room of sorts.
“I’m inside. Now I just need to find the right room, drop off the package and make it back to the Shiftgate on time, unseen. Easier said than done.” He muttered as he moved for the simple wooden door on the other side of the room.
Cyrodiil
Tharn’s eyes opened slowly. For a moment, they gazed at the ceiling unfocussed. Then, they narrowed and shot to the door. He could hear footsteps, heavy footsteps. His face contorted into a hateful snarl. The sound of metal striking wood as a gauntleted hand rapped its surface.
“I do not wish to be disturbed. Come back later.” The Battlemage said. He reached out with his mind and sensed for the lock. He reconfirmed he’d sealed it and sighed in relief.
The knocking continued.
“This is important, Emperor.” A grating voice called from the other side. Jagar froze and glanced at the Shiftgate. It probably was important, but it could never be more important than what he was trying to do right now. Although, he didn’t recognize the voice. He glanced at the clock. Under half an hour remained.
“If it can wait for half an hour, let it wait.” He said authoratively. The doorbolt lowered and he could hear the door click in its lock. Tharn grit his teeth. He had locked the door, but this lock would not hold.
Making up his mind, he walked to the door and turned the key on his side. Instantly, the door was swung open, only to stop just short of hitting the Imperial Battlemage.
“What?” The Legionnaire on the other side gasped. The rim of the door was covered by a greenish glow. While the man had little experience with magic, he knew that this glow was what had kept him from throwing the door open in its entirety.
Tharn’s eyes lowered to the sword in the Legionnaire’s hand. They then flicked back up to his face.
“Sloppy, that was sloppy. That particular model of uniform has been replaced seven years earlier and even if it wasn’t, no guard would be allowed to wear something in such a poor shape.” He spoke with a voice colder than ice.
“On top of that, I don’t allow beards. And even if I’d ignored all previous points, there is still the matter of your voice being one I don’t recognize.”
The assassin growled and attempted to trust. Tharn’s lips formed a smile devoid of any emotion. Without warning, the blade splintered and turned to dust.
“I don’t fear steel, nor the hand that wields it.” His hand suddenly struck out and hit the false Legionnaire in the chest.
“That’s because I’m not the frail old man you think I am. Stasis Crush.”
Green bands of magicka wrapped around every single joint the man possessed, squeezing, crunching, breaking, grinding. He tried to scream but found that he couldn’t, his jaws having been broken into a fine powder. Tharn turned his back on the quivering wreck which was only held up by the murderous bands.
“In your next life, assassin, stick to the traditional tools. Poison slipped into a goblet of wine, a knife hidden under a bed at night. They would be as succesfull as your current attempt, but I might have granted you my admiration, rather than my disdain.” He noted casually. More footsteps reached his ears and he spun around. But it was too late.
Another Legionnaire, or rather a pair of them this time, had entered the chamber. One of the two turned to the assassin while the other glared at the motionless water in the bath. The latter turned to his companion for a moment and nodded.
“Tharn, release him. We will see to him.” He then said in a tone that would not allow any objections. Tharn simply nodded and the green bands vanished. But the damage had already been done. Even if they saw to him, he doubted there was any healer within the province who could regenerate joints from nothing.
The first Legionnaire hoisted the assassin onto his shoulder and walked off. The bearded man had lost consciousness and his head bobbed up and down like a broken doll at each step. Now only Jagar Tharn and the second Legionnaire remained. The Legionnairre looked at the bath again.
“I sense power coming from that water. Would this be the Shiftgate you described to our master?” The Legionnaire asked. As he did so, he closed the door to the bathroom and turned the key.
Tharn closed his eyes. Both on the outside and on the inside, he was perfectly calm.
“Aureus. Forgive me. I cannot maintain a lie to this monster.” He thought as he reopened his eyes.
“It is.” He simply answered.
The Legionnaire’s form wavered. The silver plate turned to a vile black smeared with crimson. The man’s skin, paled from constant service indoors, blackened to the colour of ash. His blue eyes became raging orbs of red. What was an Imperial of Cyrodiil one moment, was a Dremora from beyond Nirn the next.
“You have betrayed us…Tharn.” The Dremora hissed.
Tharn looked indignant.
“There is something I must retrieve from Battlespire.” He answered calmly.
“You should have asked us, we would have considered retrieving this object for you.” The Dremora stated.
“Garvis, I will be blunt with you. I do not trust those Scamps you keep as servants. They are noisy, clumsy and prone to mischief. If they broke the trinket I desire, I would be angered.” Tharn replied.
Garvis nodded. He understood what the Battlemage meant.
“Your view of them is quite accurate. However, that does not change the fact you opened a Shiftgate before the right moment, without informing us first.” He motioned at the silent pool.
“The servant you sent, he is less important than our goals. Close this Shiftgate. I will personally retrieve this trinket for you when I travel to Battlespire tomorrow.”
Tharn didn’t even blink.
“Yes, he is less important.” He said and with a sweep of his hand, waves returned to the magical water which had now become normal water.
“Has the Shiftgate been closed?” Garvis asked.
“You may. Find out for yourself.”
The Dremora dipped his hand in the water and pulled it back.
“The Shiftgate is no more. Very well, Tharn. What was this trinket you desire?” He grunted.
“The trinket is a golden clasp, shaped like a Dragon. It holds a staff in one claw and a sword in the other. It breathes a flame of silver. The clasp is a symbol of my office, as well as a key. If you wish to enter the Battlespire’s deepest regions, you require this object and you require me to operate it.” Tharn answered.
“Aureus, I am truly sorry. You will have to find your own way out now.”
The wind howled lonely over the snowcovered hills. A few stumps of grass stubbornly clung to life, yet there were no trees or flowers. Dominating the entire area was a humongous and ancient contraption of blackened stone.
“Nice architecture. It’s dark, it’s cold, it’s round and its rock.” Rajn quipped. Aran twitched his lips into half a smile.
“Thank you for the lecture. Anything else?” He replied. Behind the two, Merdrar was standing next to Marsh, the latter of the two covered by five robes layered over each other.
“Was there any point to that observation?” The Dremora asked with his grating voice. Rajn’s ears twitched and she cast an irritated glance at him which made Marsh chuckle.
“There was a point, trust me. She’s just warming up.” The Argonian hissed and flicked his tail.
“Ok, once more, with see-through. Yup, the gate is solid steel with the most complicated lock I’ve ever seen. It has a nice and thick cover that can withstand a battering ram I’d say, not to mention that the lock itself drives a collection of progressively larger weels. I can only assume that the biggest ones open and close the door. Good thing too, I don’t see anyone just flinging it open with a hand. I’ll give the picking a shot, but don’t count on instant success. Beyond that, stairs ending in a room with three gates leading to three corridors. There’s more, but I can’t give you anything solid till we get closer. I do see some motion though. Doesn’t seem quite…..fleshy. Creepy.” Rajn held up a finger at each part of her observation. She then gave Merdrar a smug grin.
“Well, how was that? Good enough to please the almighty?” She asked in a snobbish tone. Merdrar snorted.
“Just open the door already.” He growled. The Bosmer stuck out her tongue and marched for the entrance to the Labyrinthian that dominated the landscape, the others following in her wake.
“You’re hard to please, mister ‘I wear lots of armour and never bathe’. Seriously, take it off and jump in a lake sometime soon. You reek! Have mercy on my poor nose!” Rajn complained as she peered into the lock on the gate and twidled with her clasp of bleached bone.
“I reek? Why, you little twit! You don’t exactly smell so nice either. How many different kinds of perfume did you use?! Twenty? The scent of flowers is vastly overrated!” Merdrar puffed.
“Oh, scared to admit the truth? You reek, and I don’t. I used five flavours, just so you know. Can’t get enough of a good thing, ya know. And your smell is definitely not good.” The girl stabbed playfully. Merdrar glowered and balled his hands into fists, till Aran placed a hand on his chest.
“Bear with her, she’s just trying to ease the tension.” He explained. The Dremora’s shoulders sagged slightly as he relaxed.
“Tension?” He asked. The Dunmer shrugged and turned to watch Rajn work on the lock before answering.
“Last time we went into one of these, Rajn nearly got eaten, I nearly got killed trying to protect her and we were forced to flee through a shiftgate that landed us in this frozen wasteland. I don’t believe any of us is eager for a repeat.”
For six minutes, the only sounds were the howling of the wind and the clicking of the various lockpicks Rajn inserted into the lock and twisted about. Finally she admitted defeat with a sigh and placed the tools back into the grooves of her clasp before tying it back into her hair. She’d gone back to a curly mess.
“Nope, I’ve got nothing. Anyone else have any ideas, or should we start digging?” She said frustrated. Aran shook his head.
“I don’t think we can dig through the ground that easily. We don’t have a shovel and the ground is frozen which makes it as hard as a rock. Look around, do you see a key lying under the snow somewhere? It’s a stretch, but I can’t think of anything better.” He commented. Merdrar roared with laughter, catching everyone else offguard.
“I thought you were a warrior, but now I see that I’m mistaken! Out of the way, you little elves, I’ll show you how it is done.” He boasted, drew his Claymore and moved up to the door. Rajn folded her arms and tapped on the snow with a foot.
“That’s not going to work, I tell ya. Might as well give up now and spare us the humiliation.” She predicted.
“Shut your mouth, shortie. I’ll show you what real power is. Haha, I can’t wait to see your faces after I tear through this little door as if through paper. AAARRRAAAAGGGGHHHH” The Dremore howled as he unleashed a blinding barrage of vicious blows that whipped up snow and sounded a metallic screech each time the Daedric Claymore struck the golden steel. Thirty times he struck and thirty times the lock stubbornly defied him. He stepped back and glared at the obstruction.
“How?!” He bellowed.
Rajn snickered.
“Told ya. That lock is a part of a huge mechanism that runs throughout the whole door, which is five meters thick. You can’t strike the hinges either, for they’re on the inside, not the outside. No way you’re ever going to do much good with that piece of chop-iron. You need a key that can trigger the whole mechanism and make the door open on its own. So in short, you lose.” She gloated. Aran cocked an eyebrow.
“Rajn.” He warned.
“Oh yeah, he’s got a short temper. Sorry, I forgot.”
Merdrar sheathed his sword with more force than was strictly needed.
“Damn you, Tharn. Why do I have to put up with these clowns? It wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t always plead innocence!” He thought furiously.
“Ok, so I didn’t manage to bust the door. But I seem to recall that you weren’t all that successful either.” He retorted. Marsh nodded, the first sign he’d given of following the back-and-forth banter going on.
“If you would mind, please listen to me for a moment instead of squabbling. We know that the Labyrinthian was built by Shalidor. When I told Rajn to, ahem, investigate the mage guild, I had her search specifically for books whose title contained either Shalidor as well as the Labyrinthian, on top of the list of specific titles I requested of her. When at camp, I’ve taken the time to study and I now know the exact location of Shalidor’s former home. If there is a key to this door, that would be the most likely place to search.” He looked from one face to another, awaiting any questions or objections. When there were none, he turned away from the Labyrinthian and headed back out onto the old trail.
“I’ll lead, you follow.” He hissed.
Northern Cyrodiil
Ra’trith shivered, an involuntary reaction to the chilly water which he viciously suppressed. The pond they were standing in was a circular bowl surrounded by snow-covered boulders. Its water was barely knee-deep, crystal-clear and smooth as a mirror, only marred by the thin sheet of ice on the surface, just thick enough to catch the falling snowflakes without breaking. The Khajiit looked up at the tips of the trees which showed just above the boulders. He was tired, but he wasn’t going to let the old Redguard notice.
“Half a day’s march, spent running, and for what? So I can stand in a pond and have my toes freeze off! I just don’t understand him!” He thought angrily and twitched with his tail.
Five metres to his right, Revarim Kendri stood in the same pond, dressed in little more than a loincloth and the crimson amulet around his neck. His eyes were closed and not a single muscle of his body moved. A fit body, Ra’trith noted instinctively, as powerful as that of a man half his age and more than capable of heavy exertation. Unlike the furred assassin, the old man showed no sign of discomfort whatsoever, though this was likely due to some form of spell he was using rather than mere strength of will. Where he stood, there was no paperthin sheet of ice, but clouds of hot steam that made him seem like a ghost amidst a bank of fog.
“Open your mouth, Kendri! Just why are we standing here like a pair of scary snowmen?” Ra’trith hissed. Revarim Kendri didn’t open his eyes, nor did he shift his balance as he answered the question.
“If you had been more motivated and more successful in your studies, we would be sitting in my cabin right now, by the open fire, rather than stand here bareskinned amidst the snow.” He spoke and chuckled.
“But since you refused to sit still, we’ll just have to add a physical factor to your training. To meditate, one needs to clear his mind of all distractions, I’ve told you that often enough. And so…observe.”
The Redguard’s Shehai blazed in his hand as he called it and he put a step to the left. The water barely rippled when he raised his foot, but when he brought it back down, there was a splash as high as his waist. Without missing a beat, Kendri sliced the wave in two with his Shehai as he turned around, creating two more splashes with his feet. Up and back down to the right the ghostly blade went, cutting one splash vertically and the other horizontally. Again he moved, creating yet even more splashes. The splashes he’d already cut created new, smaller offspring as they came down. The Redguard cut them all, never stopping to move. It was like some form of mysterious dance.
The old man stopped and his Shehai vanished, though not after he’d cut all of the remaining splashes without moving his feet.
“That is how we’ll clear your mind. As you move your feet, you will disturb the water. Strike the disturbance, and you will strike the disturbance in your mind at the same time. It is a technique used by the Ansei, long ago. While it is meant to be done with a sword, I’ll permit you to use your hands instead, since theye are what you are most familiar with.” He spoke softly, forcing the Khajiit to strain his ears in order to hear. Then, the Redguard smiled.
“And if that doesn’t comfort you, just realize that your toes won’t feel frozen anymore once you’ve got the pattern down.” He whispered.
“Now get started!”
Ra’trith looked down at his feet and moved one to the left, just as the old man had done. When he set it down, a splash sprung up. Instantly, he sweeped his left hand across it with an open palm, cutting it in two. He turned with the strike, causing more splashes. Both hands sweeped, striking and cleaving the water. He grinned.
“This is easy.” He thought to himself.
“Faster!” Kendri bade. The Khajiit snarled.
“I’ll do this just as fast or slow as I want to!” He replied and stopped. He immediately felt a soft tingling, as if his fur had gotten charged by nearby lighting. He looked up from the water and found to his surprise that the treetops were no longer visible. Instead, there was a shimmering dome that covered the entire pool.
“You can do it at your own speed, but only once you are able to do this at my speed, will I let you out. Now continue!” Kendri said. Ra’trith estimated that the man’s voice came from just outside the barrier.
“You lousy old man. I’ll kill you someday.” He thought and let out an angry growl. He turned to back to the task and tried again, faster this time. As he went faster, he soon realized that he simply didn’t have enough hands to cut all the splashes, and his feet would only create even more if he tried to use them to kick.
“This is supposed to be meditation? I thought it was all about relaxing, not causing your heart to explode in a whirlwind of activity!” He tried to keep up with the rapid frenzy he’d called into action himself, only to stumble and trip.
“You missed some! Start over!” Kendri ordered mercilessly. Frustrated, Ra’trith stared at the barrier that had trapped him in the pond and began all over again. With some sense of irony though, he noted that the Redguard had been right about one thing. His toes were no longer frozen.
Winterhold, mage guild
“Wait!” Books flew as the wizard was thrown across the room.
“Merdrar, we’re trying to interrogate, not kill him.” Marsh hissed, slightly amused. The Dremora calmly walked over to the wizard, kicking a pile of books out of his path as he went.
“In my experience, people are most willing to talk if you threaten them with physical violence, even moreso if you demonstrate said violence.” He countered and grabbed the bearded Nord by his collar.
“Alright, alright! I’ll tell you! Please don’t claim my soul!” The wizard cried. Marsh picked up a book from the floor and sifted through the pages.
“I’ll leave the interrogation up to you then, Merdrar. Aran, Rajn, found anything yet?” He said. The Dunmer and the Bosmer stuck their heads out from the kitchen.
“We found his diner, what’s left of it.” Aran said with a suppressed sigh.
“And his sparkstones!” Rajn added. Marsh flicked his tail.
“Sparkstones?” He repeated. The girl smiled and held up a pair of black pebbles.
“Sparkstones! You can put them inside a rabbit, and ten minutes later you’ll have fried rabbit! It’s a cooking implement!”
Marsh closed the book and glanced at the interrogation in progress. Merdrar didn’t seem to be making much progress. He’d managed to reduce the Nord into a quivering lump of flesh, but at the same time he’d also beaten all the coherence out of the man. The Argonian sighed and shook his head.
“This is not going to work.” He muttered.
“Alright, change of plans. Merdrar, tie up our bearded friend and put him down in a corner. Rajn, go see if you can find any mind-controlling scrolls. Look for a line of symbols that resembles…” He ripped a page out of the book and scrawled something on it.
“Something that resembles this. Aran, see if you can borrow Rajn’s latest toys and fix us something to eat. Me, I’m going to pore over the spellbooks. If the current trend continues, we could use something a step up from the Heyat.”
“So…….why exactly did we come here again?” Rajn asked when her pile of scrolls had grown quite large. She still hadn’t found anything that resembled Marsh’s desired spell though.
“This would be so much easier if they put down a title in simple Tamrielic at the top.” She thought. As unsuccesfull as she was, so succesfull was Marsh.
“Wizard’s Rend….usefull under certain conditions….Rajn, that’s quite simple actually. We are looking for the key that will open the door to the labyrinthian. The information of Shalidor’s old home we got from the Winterhold mage guild. It would be rather unusual if they hadn’t undertaken an expedition to that place already. So the key we need to find, they already collected for us. We only need to ask the wizard which of the hundreds of keys is the right one. And when we have that, we can get into the labyrinthian.”
Northern Cyrodiil
The barrier that had trapped the Khajiit vanished. Ra’trith grew a smug grin.
“So, are you satisfied now, old man?” He snarled. Kendri simply shook his head.
“You have good execution, but your timing is horrible.” He rated.
“Something else came up. If it hadn’t, I would have let you continue your practice. But for now, do what you will. I might be gone for less than an hour or a few days.” He added.
Ra’trith jumped out of the half-frozen pool and gathered up his clothing.
“Something else? Your master perhaps, Tharn?” He asked with genuine interest. The Redguard chuckled and bared his fangs for a moment.
“Tharn indeed. Except he is not my master, but an ally. Don’t mix up those two terms. They are quite different.” The vampire said.
Cyrodiil, palace.
The Imperial Battlemage looked up as he sensed a disturbance in the ambient Magicka. He sat up in his throne and looked at the various guards and pages that were in the room.
“I must get some fresh air, continue with your business.” He said before rising and leaving through the door hidden behind the throne. On the other side, he found a tall and horrendously pale Imperial.
“Aureus.” Jagar Tharn greeted. Aureus made a slight bow and as he did so, the Battlemage felt another disturbance. A shell of silence and darkness had fallen over them.
“You called?” Aureus replied after he’d ensured no one could eavesdrop.
Jagar Tharn began to move through the corridor. He wanted to be away from the throneroom. For this conversation, an abandoned area of the palace was best, even with the precautions that had already been taken.
“There have been complications.” He revealed. The Imperial cast a wry grin, revealing a pair of elongated fangs. A vampire.
“There are always complications in our business.” He chuckled.
“What kind of complications?” He added, all serious.
Tharn took a left and held open his hand. His staff whizzed through the empty corridor towards him and he caught it.
“Dagon has apparently learned about the Battlespire.” He said.
“Battlespire? Someone talked. You know who?” Aureus asked. Jagar’s face was cast in a sickly green hue by the orb that crowned his staff. The sight seemed to add to the power of his words.
“I don’t, and that is what worries me the most. Dagon has other followers, we already knew that. But the Battlespire is not supposed to be common knowledge. This follower…we must find….and eliminate him.” He whispered.
The vampire nodded.
“True. I’ll leave that to your Blades. We can always ask for an assault on all known Mehrunes Dagon cultists, perhaps that shall give us a lead. Those types are known for preaching destruction. Their loss won’t be mourned even if we gain nothing from it.” He agreed.
“But more important right now is the question what we are going to do. Does Dagon plan an invasion?” He continued.
“He does. He wants me to open a shiftgate in two days.” Tharn said.
The Imperial let out a sharp curse, something which was very unusual for him. Tharn was caught off-guard by it and stumbled over a loose stone on the floor.
“Two days. He’s not very patient, for a Daedra. Damn. Tharn, we must move soon. Shall we perform an extraction?” Aureus asked once he’d calmed down slightly. The Imperial Battlemage shook his head.
“No.” He said.
“I know how you feel, Aureus. I know, for I feel the same. But if we want to keep our cards hidden, we must not force an extraction now. Instead, we must sacrifice the Spire.” He added and his voice croaked.
“Sacrifice the Spire?” Aureus voice had grown cold. Tharn felt he had to push through now and reveal his reasoning before he would lose a friend and an ally.
“Yes, we will sacrifice the Spire. We will sacrifice all of my colleagues, those I trained and those who studied with me. But we will not necessarily sacrifice him. Aureus, in two days, a shiftgate will open in the main hall of the Spire. Tonight however, a smaller shiftgate shall open on the path leading to the Battlespire. You will travel that path and play our card.”
They left the dark maze of hidden passages and emerged in the Emperor’s bedroom. The Imperial’s eye was instantly drawn by a wrapped package lying on the bed.
“The power that emanates from it. Is that?” He began to ask but could not bring himself to finish the sentence.
“It is. Put it in his room. I trust you in this Aureus. The gate will only be open for an hour. I can’t risk to expose it any longer. Don’t be late.”
Oblivion, path to Battlespire.
Instantly, he became aware of the utter lack of air to breath. That was no problem for him though. He was a vampire, and a powerful one at that. He could easily form the air he required to breathe for years, using only the magicka stored in his flesh. There were other factors though that were a greater obstacle than the lack of an atmosphere. The world was cast in utter darkness. No sun hung in the sky, no moons, no stars. Nothing. There was nothing. Nothing but a biting cold, darkness and a pain he wasn’t used to.
Aureus sank to his knees. He thought he was losing his vision, but he couldn’t be sure if there wasn’t anything to see anyway.
“Well, he could have warned me.” The Imperial thought as he dipped into his store of magicka. His form was wrapped in warm flames that pushed back the intense cold. The fire also brought light. What the light revealed didn’t look very inviting.
Jagged rocks jutted out of the ground at every angle. Cracks cut through the world in a chaotic pattern. What wasn’t either a sharp slab of rock or a gaping gash, was a cloud of dust. The only object that told him the world wasn’t truly the dead rock it appeared to be, was the platform he’d arrived on. That platform was composed of a smoothed slab, placed horizontally and kept aloft just above the surface by a ring of purple crystals.
Aureus attempted to draw a deep breath, but he only succeeded at reminding himself where he was.
“Well, time’s wasting and I don’t have much of it. I’d better get moving.” He said, his voice lost in the vacuum.
“There is no clear path to the Battlespire, no convenient road of Cyrodiilic cobblestones, no visual signs. The keep can’t be seen from the platform, and that is assuming there was enough light around to see all the way. There isn’t even a trail of Magicka you can follow. The only way to reach the Battlespire, is by knowing the route.” Jagar Tharn’s words echoed within his head.
The vampire ran to the edge of the platform and stopped.
“Find the two crystals that are cracked. The crack is only visible with a magnifying glass. However, due to the crack they resonate. The levitating force is slightly diminished there. Only one with magically enhanced senses, or a vampire, could detect them. Pass between them, and head straight.” He closed his eyes and focussed on his feet. There, the platform was tipped over to his left, by an immeasurably small amount. He turned till he was facing the right direction, and then jumped.
“There is no solid ground. Do not be mistaken by the slabs of stone you find everywhere. These stones are suspended as well, floating in a thick soup of dust. They are also hollow, so they’re actually lighter than you are, relatively speaking. If you try to walk over the dust or the rocks, you will sink to the core of the world.” He teleported ahead, shifting his location roughly twice a second as he moved through the air.
“Keep a velocity as fast as a good horse, for two minutes.” He counted the seconds as he flew over the rocks and dust.
“If you’ve done everything right, the next step should be easy. Land on the surface of the dust, then turn right eighty degrees and continue moving forward with a downward angle of twenty. You’ll have to move around the rocks, but maintain your heading as much as possible.” He did as his instructions told and dove into the soup. With the dust swirling all around him, visibility was reduced to less than a single metre, even with the light the fire brought. He had to slow down and switch to conventional levitation in order to proceed. As he moved further, he let his thoughts wander.
What was this place? Obviously it had been discovered by pure accident. There was nothing that might draw someone here. He couldn’t even sense any ambient magicka, which was a miracle of its own. Even when within a powerful field of dispel or better yet, when within an area that had its magicka drained, he had always been able to sense some remaining strands. But here, there was nothing.
And then the world itself. It looked as if it had been struck by some great cataclysm long ago, an event which had been powerful enough to shatter it and turn it into a loose collection of rocks and dust. Perhaps if he went deeper, the pressure would make the world more solid but here at the surface, it felt more as if he was flying through a dry ocean. He chuckled. The metaphor was odd as well.
Or what about the stars, or rather, the lack of them? Aureus felt as if he had not only moved from one place to another, but through time as well. The universe around him felt cold, empty, dead.
“What if this is Nirn, as it will be countless eras from my time?” It was an unnerving thought.
He continued moving for minutes and gradually, the feeling that he’d gone the wrong way came over him. He felt disturbed, for if he had become lost, he would not only never find the Battlespire, but he would be stranded here as well. If this was truly the case, his fate would be to wander for perhaps a hundred years before the inhospitable climate would put him at rest. He was just about to stop and turn in the hope of finding the platform again before it was too late, when he felt a familiar sensation, at the edge of his consciousness.
“Magicka. There is still some left.”
He followed the strand with his senses, upward and as he extended his reach, the sensation grew in strength. Finally, he smiled and felt relief wash over him. The pocket of magicka he had discovered was a potent one, which could mean only one thing.
“The Battlespire. It must have drawn in all the ambient magicka over the years. That makes sense. Being an academy in the arts of magicka among other things, it leaves a mayor signature on the surrounding area. Placing a magicka tap in the building and getting rid on any ambient magicka that can pass on this signature makes it harder to find. It seems that I have found it.”
Cyrodiil
Jagar Tharn watched the still waters of the Shiftgate. Behind him, was the royal bath. Over the past few years, he had cultivated the image of a frail health, the image of a man who took regular baths to help fight his arthritis, one who preferred to take those baths in solitude. It was rather ironic, for the man he portrayed had reached the peak of his strength. Still, he mused as he observed the portal, this image was a priceless advantage in the game he was playing. Whenever the need arose, he would always have an excuse that would separate him from his otherwise everpresent guards. And everpresent spies.
“No doubt there is a spy who hopes to glean some critical information from me even now.” He thought.
“But that spy is only a Breton. He can’t look past the illusion I play before his eyes. He doesn’t even realize there is an illusion, or any other form of magicka, at play here.”
He smirked and reached for a bottle of perfume. While he was here, he might as well add some truth to the deception.
“Besides, no one said there was a limit on how often an Emperor is allowed to bathe.” His eyes turned from the bath back to the Shiftgate. It had been over half an hour now.
“Hurry up, Aureus. You are an old friend, wed to my only sister even. Yet I can’t make an exception, no matter how much I want to. One hour, it is all the time I can give you.”
Gate to Battlespire.
With a silent howl, a wall of purple flames, pierced with a hail of ice and a storm of lightning, erupted in front of him. Aureus swore as he found his path blocked by the obstacle.
“Well, no one said it would be that easy. First they hide this place in the farthest corner of time, space and the countless planes of existence. And even that is not enough. They have to place a defensive mechanism that can hold back every single army ever to exist, combined. No wonder Dagon needs the help of a Royal Battlemage to break in here. He could never do it on his own.” He noted. He dug his hands in his robe and retrieved a clasp. A golden dragon, with eyes made of rubies, one hand holding a sword and the other a staff. A silver gout of flame shot from its open maw and its wings were spread wide, as if it could take flight at any moment.
Knowing that it came from Tharn, Aureus considered it to be oddly out of place. The Tharn he knew was a man with little use for jewelry and other signs of ‘high-standing’. It wasn’t till he’d taken the place of the Emperor that he’d come to openly flaunt expensive clothes and heavy jewelry. Yet, this was not part of an Emperor’s attire.
“The symbol of a Royal Battlemage. Most people see in it an icon of his office but in reality, it is a key. A key to the place where we are born. Hold it out in front of you and speak my name. None of the Battlespire’s defences shall oppose you then.”
The Imperial held the clasp out in front of him as he’d been instructed.
“I am Jagar Tharn, the Royal Battlemage of Nirn! I demand to be given passage, as is my right granted to me by this symbol! Let me pass and enter!” He spoke. Despite the fact that the vacuum robbed all sound from his voice, the wall heard him and split, revealing an ornate gate of bronze, with a gigantic version of the Battlespire’s dragon engraved into it. The doors opened, revealing a surprisingly mundane room of crude stone. Aureus smiled and stepped inside. Behind him, the doors closed and he assumed that the wall had closed as well.
The only furniture he could see were a few sofas, not fit for a noble yet still comfortable enough to serve a commoner. He was clearly in a waiting room of sorts.
“I’m inside. Now I just need to find the right room, drop off the package and make it back to the Shiftgate on time, unseen. Easier said than done.” He muttered as he moved for the simple wooden door on the other side of the room.
Cyrodiil
Tharn’s eyes opened slowly. For a moment, they gazed at the ceiling unfocussed. Then, they narrowed and shot to the door. He could hear footsteps, heavy footsteps. His face contorted into a hateful snarl. The sound of metal striking wood as a gauntleted hand rapped its surface.
“I do not wish to be disturbed. Come back later.” The Battlemage said. He reached out with his mind and sensed for the lock. He reconfirmed he’d sealed it and sighed in relief.
The knocking continued.
“This is important, Emperor.” A grating voice called from the other side. Jagar froze and glanced at the Shiftgate. It probably was important, but it could never be more important than what he was trying to do right now. Although, he didn’t recognize the voice. He glanced at the clock. Under half an hour remained.
“If it can wait for half an hour, let it wait.” He said authoratively. The doorbolt lowered and he could hear the door click in its lock. Tharn grit his teeth. He had locked the door, but this lock would not hold.
Making up his mind, he walked to the door and turned the key on his side. Instantly, the door was swung open, only to stop just short of hitting the Imperial Battlemage.
“What?” The Legionnaire on the other side gasped. The rim of the door was covered by a greenish glow. While the man had little experience with magic, he knew that this glow was what had kept him from throwing the door open in its entirety.
Tharn’s eyes lowered to the sword in the Legionnaire’s hand. They then flicked back up to his face.
“Sloppy, that was sloppy. That particular model of uniform has been replaced seven years earlier and even if it wasn’t, no guard would be allowed to wear something in such a poor shape.” He spoke with a voice colder than ice.
“On top of that, I don’t allow beards. And even if I’d ignored all previous points, there is still the matter of your voice being one I don’t recognize.”
The assassin growled and attempted to trust. Tharn’s lips formed a smile devoid of any emotion. Without warning, the blade splintered and turned to dust.
“I don’t fear steel, nor the hand that wields it.” His hand suddenly struck out and hit the false Legionnaire in the chest.
“That’s because I’m not the frail old man you think I am. Stasis Crush.”
Green bands of magicka wrapped around every single joint the man possessed, squeezing, crunching, breaking, grinding. He tried to scream but found that he couldn’t, his jaws having been broken into a fine powder. Tharn turned his back on the quivering wreck which was only held up by the murderous bands.
“In your next life, assassin, stick to the traditional tools. Poison slipped into a goblet of wine, a knife hidden under a bed at night. They would be as succesfull as your current attempt, but I might have granted you my admiration, rather than my disdain.” He noted casually. More footsteps reached his ears and he spun around. But it was too late.
Another Legionnaire, or rather a pair of them this time, had entered the chamber. One of the two turned to the assassin while the other glared at the motionless water in the bath. The latter turned to his companion for a moment and nodded.
“Tharn, release him. We will see to him.” He then said in a tone that would not allow any objections. Tharn simply nodded and the green bands vanished. But the damage had already been done. Even if they saw to him, he doubted there was any healer within the province who could regenerate joints from nothing.
The first Legionnaire hoisted the assassin onto his shoulder and walked off. The bearded man had lost consciousness and his head bobbed up and down like a broken doll at each step. Now only Jagar Tharn and the second Legionnaire remained. The Legionnairre looked at the bath again.
“I sense power coming from that water. Would this be the Shiftgate you described to our master?” The Legionnaire asked. As he did so, he closed the door to the bathroom and turned the key.
Tharn closed his eyes. Both on the outside and on the inside, he was perfectly calm.
“Aureus. Forgive me. I cannot maintain a lie to this monster.” He thought as he reopened his eyes.
“It is.” He simply answered.
The Legionnaire’s form wavered. The silver plate turned to a vile black smeared with crimson. The man’s skin, paled from constant service indoors, blackened to the colour of ash. His blue eyes became raging orbs of red. What was an Imperial of Cyrodiil one moment, was a Dremora from beyond Nirn the next.
“You have betrayed us…Tharn.” The Dremora hissed.
Tharn looked indignant.
“There is something I must retrieve from Battlespire.” He answered calmly.
“You should have asked us, we would have considered retrieving this object for you.” The Dremora stated.
“Garvis, I will be blunt with you. I do not trust those Scamps you keep as servants. They are noisy, clumsy and prone to mischief. If they broke the trinket I desire, I would be angered.” Tharn replied.
Garvis nodded. He understood what the Battlemage meant.
“Your view of them is quite accurate. However, that does not change the fact you opened a Shiftgate before the right moment, without informing us first.” He motioned at the silent pool.
“The servant you sent, he is less important than our goals. Close this Shiftgate. I will personally retrieve this trinket for you when I travel to Battlespire tomorrow.”
Tharn didn’t even blink.
“Yes, he is less important.” He said and with a sweep of his hand, waves returned to the magical water which had now become normal water.
“Has the Shiftgate been closed?” Garvis asked.
“You may. Find out for yourself.”
The Dremora dipped his hand in the water and pulled it back.
“The Shiftgate is no more. Very well, Tharn. What was this trinket you desire?” He grunted.
“The trinket is a golden clasp, shaped like a Dragon. It holds a staff in one claw and a sword in the other. It breathes a flame of silver. The clasp is a symbol of my office, as well as a key. If you wish to enter the Battlespire’s deepest regions, you require this object and you require me to operate it.” Tharn answered.
“Aureus, I am truly sorry. You will have to find your own way out now.”