The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl, chapter 7, part 2

"Bob beichia blygedig a blygedig ail," I said commandingly. His eyes widened as he realised what I'd done.

"You bloody bit...." The rest of his comment was literally drowned out by the water rushing into his mouth as the magically burdened armour dragged him under. I sat, watching dispassionately, until the surface of the underground lake was smooth and still, and no more bubbles of air broke its dark, glassy plane. Far, far below I could faintly make out the spread-eagled form of the traitor sinking deeper in to the stygian darkness that dominated the depths of the lake.

Packing away the few meagre treasures I'd found in Aharnabi ∼ which, admittedly, included two apprentice scrolls (the spell 'Shockbane' and a spell to summon a bound longbow) ∼ I returned to Tel Vahl. There I was informed that the Black Writ on Rolis Garvon had been issued in the name of Great House Telvanni. Nodding, I retired to my chambers high atop the tower.

I brooded as I leafed through the 'Daedric Shrines of Importance'. I had been contacted by three of the Princes and each had asked me to do something for them. My innate suspicion, bolstered by a healthy dose of Telvanni paranoia, warred with the ideas and concepts I'd picked up here on Vvardenfell in the last months. Still mulling over what I should do, I fell into a deep sleep...

With a gasp, I jerked upright in bed ∼ my brow clammy with sweat and my heart hammering. My dream had been extremely disconcerting even though I could only recall part of it.

A tall figure with a golden face (perhaps a mask of some sort) led me by the hand between two columns of finely dressed Mer. As we progressed, I came to the horrified realisation that, even though I could hear them talking, they were all dead. The masked figure spoke to many of the dead, laughing and jesting with them as though they were alive, even though they made no reply.

In my dream the tall figure had turned and addressed me, even though his words made no sense. The horrifying realisation that I, too, was numbered among the dead gathered there jerked me awake with a thin cry of terror.

It was many hours later when the disturbing images faded from my mind and I was, finally, able to fall into a fitful sleep.

I don't mind admitting that last night's dream affected me deeply: partially because I seemed unable to clear the imagery from my mind and partially because I had deep and dark suspicions about the sudden occurrence of such a bizarre dream. I well remembered my conversation with Tuls Valen concerning the often-prophetic dreams that seemed to be afflicting the populace and my notion that these dreams were being caused somehow. However, distressing as the dream had been, dwelling on it would accomplish nothing.

Frald the White welcomed me back with a smile and a laugh, his booming voice the perfect antidote to the cloud that had settled around me since last night. Before too long, I was at ease with the bluff Nord and, more importantly, at ease with myself again. We spoke of many things, the conversation finally turning to the problems that the Legion was having with both the Ordinators and the Buoyant Armigers.

"The Ordinators?" I said, puzzled. "I know the Armigers hold us in low regard, but I was unaware that the Legion had similar problems with the Brothers of Indoril."

"Brothers of Indoril? That's an odd thing to call them," Frald said as I cursed silently to myself.

"It's a local name," I replied, extemporising as quickly as I could. "I thought it would be a good idea if I learned something of the customs of my adopted home."

"Hmmm, not a bad idea lass," Frald said. "Providing you remember where your true loyalties lie."

"Oh don't worry," I assured him, "I never forget that."

Frald then told me about the problems with the Ordinators ∼ legionnaires being hassled if they had to go to Vivec City, that sort of thing. The biggest problem, according to him, was an Ordinator named Suryn Athones of the Office of Justice. He had been spreading slanderous lies about the Legion and, despite requests that he cease and desist; he'd continued to spread poison about. Frald and the High Command had finally had enough ∼ Athones' lies needed to be answered. I am to speak to the Ordinator and politely ask him to cease speaking falsehoods. If he will not... well, Frald's expression was 'stop his lying mouth with blood'.

As I made my way across the bridge into Vivec's Foreign Quarter Canton, I realised that Malacath had spoken about 'The Man God's City' when he was railing against Oreyn Bearclaw, from what I had picked up, the Lord Vehk certainly qualified as a 'Man-God'. My supposition was a good one; the Oreyn name is well known in Vivec City. The gondolier regaled me with various tales of the Bearclaw-Clan as he ferried me across to the Temple Canton. In among the tales was the information I sought ∼ Farvyn Bearclaw is the last surviving descendent of Oreyn. Farvyn is, by all accounts, a powerful Battlemage who rarely travels without his retinue of servants. Even more interesting was the news that Bearclaw was heading towards Gnaar Mok.

As I've yet to break my fast this day, I directed the gondolier to drop me off at the Telvanni Canton ∼ at least I could be sure of a good reception there. The Lizard's Head provided an excellent meal and I was enjoying it thoroughly when an ancient Nord approached me. "Spare an ex-mercenary the price of a jug of Matze Ser?" he asked.

I was about to send him on his way when I remembered the problems I'd had with Gaenor. Not wishing to risk a repeat of that particular... unpleasantness, I called over the patron and purchased a flask of the sweet-tasting liquor. "Thank you, thank you Ser," the Nord said as I uncorked the flask and gave it to him. "I am Ennbjof," he said, inclining his head politely. "And I would reward ye for your generosity." With that, the Nord dropped a rusty iron key in front of me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"That be the key tae the tomb of Olmgerd the Outlaw," he said. "He was the son and heir of Harald Hand-Free, a king o' the First Era. I dinnae ken where the tomb is," he added, "but I do know it be somewhere betwixt the ruins o' Zaintiraris an' the tower o' my former mistress Therana." Ennbjof and I continued to talk, the Nord finally revealing that he was terminally ill, hence his current poor state. Wishing him well, and slipping him enough coin to keep him in Matze for a month or more, I took my leave and walked over to the Temple Canton.

Suryn Athones was easy enough to find, having his own office in Offices of Justice. He sneered when he saw me. "Athones," I said, "why do you spread falsehoods about the Legion?"

"Because they are not falsehoods," he snapped in reply. "The words I speak are true: the Legion is an abomination, servitors of a corrupt Emperor, and adherents to a false religion."

"Those are dangerous words to speak, Brother of Indoril," I responded. He looked at me with narrowed eyes. "Especially in this time of unrest. Man and Mer have been executed for such words. It would be a grievous loss to the Temple if such a devout Brother were to meet such an end."

"I will... think on your words Sed," he replied, the Septim having dropped.

"Under normal circumstances," I said slowly, "such would be sufficient. However, I am under certain orders should you not recant your slanderous lies."

Suryn Athones drew himself up to his full height, looking very imperious and proud, "I will not be threatened," he said coldly, placing his hand on the handle of his mace.

"Be wary Athones," I placated, raising a hand. "For I am not who you think I am."

"All I see is a failed priest and a legionnaire," the Mer responded crossly.

"Failed priest... maybe," I replied, "and a legionnaire most certainly. However I wear the Brown and am leader of that House."

My coded message got through to the Mer all right. He blanched, going quite pale and his hand dropped from the mace slung at his waist. "Forgive me Arch-Magister," he said, sitting down on the edge of his desk. "I shall keep my opinions to myself in future."

"That is all I ask," I replied, heading towards the door. With my hand on the handle, I turned and said, "For what it's worth Athones, I agree with your sentiments, but now is not the time to voice them."

"Are ye sure that foul-mouthed son of a Guar will keep his mouth shut?" Frald demanded. I replied that I thought that I had given the Ordinator sufficient cause to keep quiet. Frald grumbled a bit, but finally seemed willing to accept that. "Aye well," he said, giving me a strained smile, "I suppose we can always deal wi' him if he starts up again."

"Forgive me for asking," I said, "but is there a problem?"

"Aye lass," he said heavily. "A good friend of mine, Saprius Entius, is bein' sought for the crime o' murder."

"Is he guilty?" I asked.

"Oh aye, that he is," Frald responded after a second's silence. "Struck down some Dark Elf in anger, totally unprovoked..."

"Then what is the problem?" I asked. "Surely it's a matter for the local justices?"

"Nay, it's no that simple lass," Frald said. "See, given the strain between the Empire and the locals, we dinnae think he'll get a fair trial."

"If he's guilty," I said, genuinely puzzled and angry, "does it matter if his trial is fair or not? After all, in the Empire there are people who are innocent and don't get a fair trial."

Something in my voice must have registered with Frald, because he looked at me sharply. Whatever he needed to see must have been obvious in my face: he nodded and said, "aye lass, there's many an exile serving sentence that was nae passed fairly. Still, there would be great unrest, both here and on the mainland, if Entius didn't get a fair trial.

"I know it's unfair of me to ask," he continued, "but I need you to travel to Vivec City and find Entius and bring him back here. I swear," he added quickly as I glared at him, "that he'll be tried and found guilty. There's nae a doubt about it lass, he's as guilty as sin itself. But the Empire will be seen to provide a fair trial, and that's what matters."

Reluctantly I agreed to travel to Vivec City and see if I could find him and bring him back to Fort Hawkmoth ∼ I knew it would be no easy task with the Ordinators hunting him. I thought bitterly of my words to Suryn Athones defending the Empire. Now here I was, doing the very deeds that Athones had maintained the Legion was always doing.

A few quiet questions of the gondoliers directed me to the Arena Canton where, according to Devas Irano, he'd seen a Man dressed as I was. Since I was clad in full uniform, and no legionnaire would have any business at all at the Arena, this could only be Entius. As I was ferried to the Canton, I thought about Saprius Entius. If I were trying to hide out in Vivec City I'd want somewhere where there were very few patrols and few people went. That would mean either the Canal-Works or the sewers.

My reasoning proved to be correct, the murderous Knight was hiding out on a storeroom down in the Canalworks. "Saprius Entius?" I asked. He nodded, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. Before I could respond, the door to the storeroom crashed open and two Ordinators strode arrogantly in.

"Told you one would lead to the other," Suryn Athones said, giving me a contemptuous glare. "You will both come with us and you'll be charged with murder and conspiracy to pervert the course of justice."

"I cannot allow you to do that Athones," I said, my heart sinking as I realised there could only be one outcome to this confrontation. "Entius will stand trial in an Imperial court."

"Where, no doubt, he'll be found innocent of all charges," the other Ordinator snapped.

"It will not be like that..." I began to say but Suryn Athones had already heard enough.

"Liar," he snapped, grabbing his mace and advancing. "I have heard enough of your lies Arch..."

"ENOUGH!" I thundered, cutting across the potentially disastrous revelation of my rank and position. "Entius will be tried in an Imperial Court and found guilty. He will not be made to stand trial here where unscrupulous people can make political capital from it."

That was too much for the indignant Ordinator, with a scream of pure fury; Athones lunged forward, striking out with the heavy mace. My Ebony blade was already in motion, the crash of the blade meeting the shaft of the mace echoed by the clash of Entius' sword blocking the other Ordinator's mace. While Entius fought the second Ordinator, I drove Athones back towards the entrance, my sword whickering in a deadly figure-of-eight pattern.

Realising he was running short of room, Athones pushed back, blocking my blade with his mace and striking at me. As the heavy mace thumped against my armour and I felt the bite of its magic, I slashed the sword across ∼ the blow tearing open Athones' cuirass and drawing blood. With mounting fury, I hammered blow after blow in, paying little attention to his increasingly fewer counter strikes.

Who was I furious with? It was difficult to say. Partially I was livid about Saprius Entius' behaviour: his wanton act of murder had forced me into this position. Some of the anger was directed at Frald and the Legion; whose desire to protect 'their own' had brought about this fight. Another part of me was furious with Suryn Athones and his stiff-necked, self-righteous, holier-than-thou attitude. And some was directed inwards.

Athones had moved from an aggressive-defensive stance to one of purely defence as I hammered in blow after blow, denting and tearing the armour with the force of them. His eyes widened as my blade punctured his armour, the ebon point sliding deep into his stomach. Whipping the blade clear, I made a crosscut that smashed several ribs and drove the shards into his heart. As he slumped against the wall and slide, bonelessly, down it I turned to face Saprius.

He grinned at me, wiping his bloodied blade on the cape of the Ordinator that lay at his feet. "Say a single word to me killer," I hissed, "and your blood will join theirs." His eyes widened but, wisely, he kept silent. "Head up towards the gondolier," I instructed the ashen-faced Man. "if you try to run, or do anything that irritates me, I'll cut you down before you can blink."

Keeping the Man in front of me, I guided him upstairs and out to the gondolier who, quite naturally, was happy to take a double fare to ferry us to the Foreign Quarter. From there, I guided Entius down to the docks and charted a vessel to carry us to Ebonheart. The journey, needless to say, was a quiet one.

He scrambled onto the quayside as the boat-owner tied up the skiff, reaching down to give me a hand onto dry land. With a contemptuous flick of the fingers, I levitated up and out of the boat, allowing the spell to collapse the instant my feet touched the cool stone. He raised an eyebrow, but made no comment as I marched him off towards the Fort. Once I had him safely behind locked doors, I marched upstairs to face Frald.

He sensed my mood and, quite disconcerted, fumbled his way through a thank you. "I have some news for ye lass... erm, Knight Vahl," he said, quickly amending his avuncular style as I glared at him coldly from hooded eyes. "Ye're tae report to Fort Frostmoth on Solstheim as the personal agent of Varus Vatinius. Vatinius wants ye tae investigate reports of unrest and disobedience up at the Fort. 'Tis a surprise tae me, Carius is a canny soldier ∼ a little standoffish wi' his men perhaps, but a good Captain nonetheless."

"Is that all?" I asked.

"Afore ye go," Frald said, "I'm sorry I got ye involved wi' Saprius Entius, I didnae think it would affect ye so much. As a personal thank you, I'd like for ye tae have this..." Frald fetched a helm from his chest, well polished and gleaming as if new ∼ even though it was of an older style than the current helms. "This belonged tae my father, Graff. I'd like for ye tae have it."

I thanked Frald for his gift, warmer towards him than I had been since my return. Taking the orders from him, I translocated to Balmora and spent a quiet night at the former home of Dura gra-Bol.

My orders, which I'd read last night, were simple. I was to report to Khuul forthwith, arriving no later than the morrow, and take passage to the island of Solstheim. Once there I was to report to the captain: Falx Carius and endeavour to resolve the problems that plagued Fort Frostmoth. These were, according to Vatinius: low morale amongst the Men, raids by the local wild men, and the disappearance of several thousand Septims-worth of weapons from the quartermaster's stores. Not much of a task then.

Ald'ruhn was my first stop: in its usual Septim-pinching manner the Legion had provided me with a chitty to pay for my passage from Khuul to Solstheim but not any money to travel up to Khuul. Delas Mrania soon solved that problem, for the sum of eight hundred and seventy-five Septims she sold me a Void Walk spell for Khuul. As I made my way outside into the dusty morning air, a young Breton approached me.

"Excuse me," he said, "but am I right in thinking that you're bound for Solstheim? I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but overhear. My name, by the way, is Louis Beauchamp."

"Well Muthsera Beauchamp," I said, "it so happens that your eavesdropping has paid dividends. I am, in fact, Solstheim-bound."

Louis Beauchamp beamed happily and launched into his tale. It seems that, using bits of Dwemer machinery and a good deal of magic, this ambitious young Breton had cobbled together some sort of flying ship. It, and its crew, had been despatched to Solstheim to find a place called "Hrothmund's Bane". From there they were supposed to recover a powerful amulet and return it to Louis. With typical Telvanni guile, I agreed to fetch the amulet for him ∼ should I find this tomb. He had offered me the princely sum of two thousand Septims for recovering information about his airship and bringing him the amulet.

The Argonian who ran the service from Khuul to Solstheim wasn't too happy with the Imperial travel voucher but, as I pointed out, it would ensure that it got the full payment for the journey without it having to negotiate with me. That seemed to satisfy it and we set off northwards about an hour after I arrived in Khuul. The journey, some eight hours long, was boring beyond words and, to my dismay, increasingly cold.

By the time we arrived at the quayside at Fort Frostmoth, I was shivering with cold and beginning to regret ever travelling here. Fortunately, a Nordic trader at the docks was selling huge fur capes and, for the sum of thirty-five Septims, I was soon warmly wrapped in a silver-grey fur cloak. The same Nord directed me to the captain's office in the Fort.

"Vahl isn't it?" the sandy-haired Cyrodiil asked, when I extended the parchment bearing my orders. "You made remarkably good time. I was only informed of your arrival this morning. I know why you're here," he added, waving aside my orders.

"My biggest concern, at the moment, is the morale of the men," he said, sitting behind his desk and motioning for me to sit opposite him. "It's very poor; so poor, in fact, that it's teetering on the brink of open insurrection. What I need... want you to do is find out why. Talk to the men, find out what the problem is and then we'll see what can be done to sort it out.

"Before you go, a couple of things. Posting to Frostmoth is seen as punishment: it's not the most popular garrison in the Empire. Consequently, the troops here are not the very best, so you'll need to bear that in mind when you speak to them. The other thing is, we've arranged a room for you in the North Curtain Wall ∼ nothing fancy I'm afraid, but there's a fire and a bed and a few necessities."

Thanking the Captain, I made my way to the curtain wall and quickly located my room. It certainly wasn't anything fancy, although the thick fur rugs on the floor added a touch of unexpected luxury. There was a bed, and a fire, a large garderobe, and a couple of small chests. Stoking the fire, I fell onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

The day was clear and bright when I made my way out into the courtyard after breaking my fast. Bitterly cold, but brilliant sunshine: perverse. It quickly became apparent that I was not popular amongst the troops ∼ at first I thought it was because I was Dunmeri, but the real reason soon became apparent. Somehow the rumour had gotten started that I was here to punish them for their recent infractions.

"Nothing could be further from the truth," I insisted for the fourth time this morning. "I'm only here to resolve whatever problems there are, not to punish anyone."

"Better not be," the Spearman muttered, "bad enough you can't get a drink here what with the ban."

"Ban?" I asked, "what ban would that be?"

"Mighty thirsty work, this talkin'," the Spearman said. "A fellow needs a good stiff drink to keep it up." I got the message, and it was easily solved. Or so I thought. There was not a single drop of alcohol to be had in the Quartermaster's store. Well, I could solve that problem too. Returning to the room in the curtain wall that I'd been assigned, I cast a Mark before using the stronghold ring to get me back to Tel Vahl.

Gorven Menas had what I was looking for and, less than an hour later, I was back at Fort Frostmoth with a couple of flagons of Matze, three flasks of Sujamma, and a bottle of Flinn. Stepping out of my room, I saw a Trooper and, Matze in hand, approached him.

"Is that what I think it is?" he said. I nodded and allowed him to take the flask. Raising it to his lips, the Cyrodiilic Trooper took several great swallows before handing the (now nearly empty) flagon back to me. With a thunderous burp, he said, "bless you ma'am. First drop I've had in a Horker's age."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Well, Captain Carius banned it ma'am," the trooper said in surprise. "Banned all alcohol consumption he did. They say it was because of our poor performance that he banned it. Poor performance my.... Sorry ma'am," he suddenly remembered who he was talking to.

"I did no such thing," Falx Carius said angrily when I told him that the ban on alcohol was adversely affecting the men's morale. "Nuncius was twittering on about banning it but I made it quite clear that such an action would breed discontent...."

While Carius was considering his words, I decided that I should speak to another of the soldiers. It was obvious that there was some ban in place, equally obvious was the fact that Falx Carius wasn't behind it. It cost me most of another flagon of Matze, but I soon found out what I needed to know.

"Well ma'am," the Spearman said, "If'n I remember rightly, it was Nuncius what said the ban was probably 'cause of our poor performance. Come to think of it, it were him that told us about the ban in the first place." Well, wasn't that interesting? Nuncius and Falx had had a discussion about banning booze at the Fort; the Captain had made it quite clear that he would not support such a ban. Then Nuncius tells everyone that the drinking of alcoholic beverages is banned and told them that Captain Carius banned it because of the soldiers' poor performance. Perhaps a quiet word with the priest Nuncius would be in order.

Nuncius wasn't in his office on the dreary second floor of the Armoury building but his office wasn't locked, so I went in to wait for him. I was sitting there, looking around the office at the bare and austere walls when I spotted two flagons of Sujamma by the cupboard. Which was interesting... especially since, according to the soldiers, the Fort had been 'dry' for a couple of months. If there were no shipments of alcohol and the Fort had been dry, whither came these two bottles in the priest's office?

Desk or cupboard? Which should I try first? Since I was sitting at the desk: that would be a good place to start. It was the work of seconds to open the locks with Ondusi's Lock-Splitter and I knew, even before I opened the deep drawers, exactly what I would find. Sure enough, each of the four drawers were filled with bottles of high-grade hooch; Matze, Sujamma, Flinn, even a couple of bottles of Cyrodiilic brandy. Grabbing a couple of bottles, I went over to the Imperial Cult.

"I... I... have no idea wh-what you're t-t-talking about," Antonius Nuncius stuttered when I asked him why he'd been poisoning the men's minds. With a savage grin, I produced the bottles I'd taken from his desk and put them on the shrine in front of him. "You broke into my desk!" he squeaked in false indignation.

"Tell me why you were stealing the booze, telling the men it was banned and that the whole situation was the Captain's fault," I demanded.

"I hate it here," he snapped. "I was hoping that, if the situation here got bad enough I could request a transfer."

"You foolish little priest," I spat, "do you have any idea how close you came to formenting a mutiny? Ahhh, when Carius hears about this..."

"Surely you don't need to tell him," the priest asked anxiously. "I can return the booze, say it was all a misunderstanding...."

"I'm sorry," I said, even though I wasn't. "But something of this magnitude? There's no way I can keep it from the Captain."

"But he'll destroy me," Nuncius wailed as I left the shrine.

"I'll destroy him," Falx snarled angrily. "I'll wall him up in the northern tower and let him freeze, or starve, whichever comes first. I'll..."

"...Do nothing of the sort," I interjected. "What you will do is write to Nuncius' superiors telling them how pleased you are and that you want his assignment here made permanent. Then all you have to do is ensure that Nuncius can't get word out about how much he hates it here. And, since all mail has to come through you..."

"I always suspected that Dark Elves were downright sneaky," Captain Carius said admiringly, "but that, that's downright vindictive. I love it!"

"Let's drink a toast to a job well done," Carius said, fetching a bottle of fine brandy from his cupboard. "I'll have the quartermaster issue you some Cure Disease potions and a silver sword. I'm sure both will come in handy. Now, while we're here relaxing, let me tell you about the weapons situation here.

"I've been doing regular inventories," the Captain said, "and I've noticed that supplies of things like arrows, bolts, daggers, and swords are getting dangerously low. And, it seems, no matter how many I order as replacements, the stock continues to dwindle at an alarming rate."

"Smuggling?" I quizzed, "and, if so, do you suspect your own men of being involved?"

"I'm pretty confident that the men aren't involved, although I have suspicions about a couple of them. And yes, I suspect that there's a team of smugglers involved somewhere. Could you ask around, see what you can find? And, since this is likely to be a dangerous assignment, I'll provide you with some backup. Saenus Lusius is one of the smartest non-commissioned soldiers I've had the privilege of knowing. One day he's going to be sitting in this chair ∼ or one very like it somewhere. Gaea Artoria is one of my very best swordsmen; she's the finest exponent I know. Saenus is resting up after doing some work for me; you should be able to find him in lower General Quarters. Gaea is probably in the General Quarters too at this time of day."

I spoke to both Lusius and Artoria briefly, deciding that I'd take the brains over the brawn. I was soon to find that I had both. Saenus asked what we were doing, and I explained. "We're to deal with the smugglers," I said. "We have a remit from Captain Carius to deal with them as we see fit before reporting back to him."

"Hmmm," Saenus said. "Well, if we're investigating weapon's theft, old Zeno is probably the best person to speak to."

"What did you mean, 'hmmm'?", I asked.

"Oh that," Saenus said. "I was just thinking, if we've got free rein from the Captain, we might be able to strike a deal with the smugglers to get our weapons back."

"Smart thinking," I said as we trudged across to the Armoury. "Although, if it comes down to a fight, we can recover the goods anyway."

"True," he said, pushing the door to the Armoury open for me. "But my method has the added benefit of less risk of injury."

"Scared of getting hurt?" I taunted gently.

"Not at all," he said with a grin, flexing his biceps. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm pretty confident I can take care of myself," I said, allowing a flicker of lightning to play across my fingers.

"Battlemage!" he said softly. "Never seen one of those in action before."

Even though his assumption was erroneous, I didn't attempt to correct it. If people think I'm an Imperial Battlemage instead of wondering how I got extensive magical training well, that works for me. Zeno Faustus was a grizzled bear of a Man, Cyrodiilic in origin. He was reluctant to talk to us until Saenus effortlessly bent a sword blade over the anvil with his bare hands and then threatened to do the same with Zeno's... essentials.

"Gandrung Caverns," Zeno babbled eagerly. "If I were gonna store stolen arms, that's where I'd hide 'em."

"Makes sense," Saenus said as we walked towards the Northern Gate. "Close enough to the Fort so that you don't have to lug weapons for vast distances, far enough away to be secure from accidental patrols ∼ we don't patrol far from the Keep, believe me. The other benefit of Gandrung is that there is access to the open sea ∼ it's at the back of a bay deep enough to get a ship in to."

I paused as we passed through the gates, taking a deep breath as I surveyed the deep forest ahead of me. I'd been able to smell it, even inside the Fort but here, outside; it was so much more intense. Huge trees sprouted on every side, covering the gentle rises of the land. Thick green grass carpeted the areas between the trees, dotted here and there with the luxuriant growth of bushes. Despite the cold wind, I smiled and luxuriated in the smell of the forest, so reminiscent of where I'd grown up.

"Like forests do you?" Saenus asked, smiling broadly.

"Missed them more like," I replied, motioning for him to lead the way. We headed roughly eastwards, weaving between the trees and crossing large grassy glades. In one of them stood a large, ornately carved stone ∼ about half as tall again as Saenus.

"There's loads of those," he said, pointing to the stone as we passed by. "There's a standing ring at Brodir Grove, then there's a huge stone a way north of here. Best guess, they're something to do with the Skaal."

"Skaal?"

"Uh-huh," he said. "The wild men who lived on this island before we came here. Nords by origin I'd guess, even though I've only seen the one. That's their name for themselves ∼ The Skaal."

Before I could pursue this line of questioning, Saenus and I had come to the shores of a large bay. There, at the northern end, was a massive stone door, covered in the same ornate carvings as the standing stone. Saenus confirmed that that was the entrance to Gandrung and said, "How do you want to play this Knight Vahl?"

"I think, on the whole, that fighting our way through to the leader of these smugglers is what we're going to have to do. Whether we want to or not. What happens then will be dictated by what their leader says."

"A fight. Oh good," Saenus said, flexing his muscles and unsheathing his sword. "What are we waiting for?"

The stone walls of the Barrow stretched ahead of us, broken by a crude passageway that had been hammered into the side. Motioning Saenus to stand guard near this entrance, I hacked my way past a couple of rats and into the burial chamber itself. A quick scan was all that was needed to show that it was uninhabited ∼ by the living anyway ∼ and I made my way back to where the Imperial soldier was waiting. Tapping him on the shoulder, I motioned for him to accompany me down the tunnel.

We hadn't descended far down the sloping tunnel when an Imperial soldier appeared at the bottom. "Crap," Saenus said, "that's Mus Roscius ∼ one of the best swordsmen around after Gaea."

"Let's not give him a chance to demonstrate," I suggested as the Man drew a sword from his belt and started up the slope towards us. I centred myself, building the construct in my mind before intoning, "chan annwfn s fferedig asgre."

"By the Emperor's Balls," Saenus said as the swirling storm enveloped the soldier in lethal shards of ice, "remind me never, ever, to cross you Battlemage." I favoured him with a quick grin as we closed on the still figure of the soldier: now covered in a thin rime of ice.

"Please don't..." I started to say as Saenus Lusius reached out a finger to poke the immobile figure. I was too late, the instant that Saenus touched it, the poorly balanced figure toppled over, smashing into a million shards on the floor of the cave.

"Oh!" Saenus said in a tiny voice. Then he added, "That is seriously gross. Look at all the little bits. I mean, where is that supposed to fit... or that bit, where does that go?"

"Shut up," I ground out between gritted teeth, flinching as his size eleven feet crunched on the shattered remains of Mus Roscius, grinding them into even finer fragments. "And for the love of Azura, mind where you're stepping..."

A natural ramp of greyish stone led downwards into the lower reaches of the cave, shortly after that, there was another ramp leading down to even deeper sections. However, right in front of us was a short length of corridor that opened up into a small chamber. Apart from a couple of rats and a pair of bedrolls on a raised wooden platform, the chamber was empty. Well, almost empty. There were five barrels and three heavy looking chests in the chamber.

"Well, now we know we're in the right cave," Saenus said, showing me the Imperial broadsword he'd just plucked from one of the chests. I nodded, opening barrels and chests myself ∼ just to see what they contained, of course. There were a number of weapons and bits of armour ∼ along with a large supply of food. Enough for, say, five people. The Septim had dropped with Saenus too and, gripping our weapons, we headed back into the caverns to find the other four smugglers.

We reached the downward sloping stone and headed into the lower reaches of the cave. Our route took us into a small chamber where a heavily-built Cyrodiil was standing. "Now let's not be hasty," he said. "I'll get off the island and leave the weapons behind. You just let me go peacefully and don't cause any trouble with Carius, and I'm gone. And, look, I'll give you this nice axe as a little bonus for keeping this quiet. Carius will never miss me, and I'll just disappear. Ask Lusius about it. He'll give you good advice."

"What do you think Saenus?" I asked.

"Suits me either way," the soldier said. "Break a few heads, don't break a few heads. Up to you really. Although, if he started running right now, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't be able to catch up with him before he got to the docks and got the Oblivion off the island."

"Good plan," the smuggler said. "Let me just grab this..."

"Man obviously doesn't understand the concept of 'right now'," Saenus rumbled menacingly. "Can I show him the difference between smashing his damn' fool head in right now and doing it later?"

"Erm, I'll just be leaving then," the Man said.

"Right now?"

"Yes Lusius, right now." The man headed off down the tunnel at speed, his cry of "Run for your lives lads" echoing through the cavern. Saenus Lusius and I grinned at each other.

Saenus helped me pick out a few trifles in addition to the helm and emblem I'd found ∼ he wasn't above supplementing his own inventory with a few of the choicer items either. When we'd taken our pick of the spoils, we laughed at each other and made our way out of the caverns and back towards the Fort.

"D'you smell that?" Saenus asked anxiously as we drew close to the standing stone. "Smoke."

We glanced at each other and picked up the pace, running through the woods towards the strengthening smell. As we cleared the trees, we both stopped and stared in shock. The heavy wooden gates had been torn from their hinges, cast aside like a child's toy. Huge chunks of rubble littered the entrance from the collapsed arch that had housed the gates. Inside the Fort, the scene was no better. The central well had been torn apart and there was a gaping hole in the east curtain wall. Dazed and bloodied soldiers sat or staggered around.

"What the Oblivion happened here?" I snapped to a Trooper as he wandered by.

"Attacked," he gasped. "Wolves, hundreds of them. And something else, didn't see what. Tore the gates off their hinges like they was parchment."

"Captain Carius is missing," Saenus yelled, rushing back to my side. Within the hour, I'd managed to restore some semblance of order. I despatched a request to Ebonheart ∼ the main city, not the docks that exist on Vvardenfell ∼ requesting additional troops and stonemasons. The list of the dead was... blank. I gaped at Gaea Artoria when she delivered that news. Falx Carius was missing but, amazingly enough, not a single soldier had died. About ninety out of every hundred was injured, but there was not a single death.

It was Gaea who suggested that I head north and speak to the Skaal. Since they worship wolves, and Frostmoth had been attacked by wolves (I had my doubts but kept silent), she thought that they might know something about what happened.

"They may even be responsible for the Captain's disappearance," she said tightly. "We've had a few dealings with them," she added, "but they're barbarian savages and probably won't give you the time of day. Still, this skull I found in one of their tombs might be helpful in breaking the ice."

Since it was late, after sundown, I decided to make a start on the morrow ∼ nothing good could come of wandering through wolf-infested forests in the dark. Besides, I wanted to consider the claw-marks I'd seen and hastily hidden. Four deep grooves cut into the surface of a stone. No mere wolf could manage something like that.

After breaking my fast this morning, I met a very intense young soldier named Severia Gratius. Before he disappeared, Captain Carius had asked her to look into a spate of Moon-Sugar poisonings here at the Fort. It seems that several people, including the head of the Cult Shrine, have been slipped doses of Moon-Sugar. Foul play is definitely suspected and Gratius is in charge of the investigation.

Wishing her the best of luck with the investigation and promising to keep my ears open for any clues, I left through the ruins of the north gate and headed towards a lake shown on the map Gaea had given me: Fjalding by name. From the lake it is only a short distance to the Skaal village.

As I headed north, I went close to a magnificent mansion, which, according to the notice outside, was being offered for sale by J.C. Spencer of Vivec City. I spared a few moments to examine the exterior and then pressed on. The weather was closing in, heavy clouds blotting out the sunshine and making the temperature plummet.

As the first snowy flakes started to fall, I saw a tall Nordic woman walking through the snow. She was clad in leather leggings, a loose top and a thick fur jacket. Intending to ask the woman how close I was to the Skaal village, I picked up the pace and approached her. Her response was less than welcoming.

"Du n�sta," she yelled, taking several quick steps away from me and raising her hands in a gesture I knew well. As the swirling yellow particles coalesced into the form of an ancestral spirit, I was yelling the words, "Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata."

The pale Atronach tore through the ancestral spirit with effortless ease on its way towards its main target. The woman whipped out a small dagger and threw herself at the hulking form of my Summons; the blade striking sparks from the creature as she stabbed at it again and again. Unfortunately for her, it was a far from even contest and, with a sickening crunch, the Atronach twisted her head through one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. As the Atronach sparkled and dissipated, I crouched beside the corpse and examined it. The dagger was heavily enchanted, its serrated silver blade covered in strange runic designs. I was more interested in the fur coat, dragging it off the corpse and slipping into it.

Much warmer, despite the swirling snow, I pressed onwards ∼ enjoying several encounters with the local fauna. None of the creatures I met: bear, boar, or wolf, seemed any friendlier than the creatures of Vvardenfell and all seemed determined to add me to their diet. To make matters worse the snow, which had been light so far, now started to fall thickly ∼ accompanied by a sudden increase in wind speed. With visibility greatly reduced, it was hard going...

Gasping and shivering, I stumbled down the small slope into the small village some three hours north of Fort Frostmoth. Armour-clad guards surrounded me instantly, materialising out of the swirling snow. "What do you here, stranger?" one of them asked.

"I've come to speak to the Skaal about the attack on the Fort," I gasped through chattering teeth.

"Tae Tharsten Heart-Fang ye should be speaking," the guard said, pushing me towards a large wooden hall. "In the Great Hall you'll be finding him."

The twin doors creaked open, revealing a large open space in the centre of which burned a massive log fire. Unfriendly Nordic faces watched as I moved close to the fire, shucking the snow-encrusted coat as I did so. Facing me as I stood there warming myself was a huge chair, carved from some dark stone. Thrown over the seat and back were thick fur rugs and, standing in front of it, watching me closely, was the largest Nord I've ever seen.

"What do ye here stranger?" he rumbled as I drew close and bowed.

"I've come to speak to the Skaal about the recent attack on Fort Frostmoth," I replied, "and the disappearance of Captain Falx Carius."

"We are knowing nothing about those matters," Heart-Fang replied. "'Tis nae a matter we would be concerning ourselves with. As tae your missing Captain maybe ate him the wolves did." There was a roar of laughter from the gloom as the Skaal showed their appreciation for their Chieftain's wit.

"Unlikely," I responded, "There was no blood. Nor, I think, were these ordinary wolves." I went on to explain the damage to the Fort and the claw-marks I'd found in solid stone. As I spoke, a small, one-eyed Nord appeared out of the gloom and started to whisper in the Chieftain's ear.

"What ye say, 'tis all very interesting," Heart-Fang said, "but, the Honour of my People, we nothing tae do wi' it had." He paused, then added, "'Tis customary, amongst the Skaal, a token of friendship tae bring..."

"Of course," I replied, "I'm forgetting my manners." Reaching into my pack, I withdrew the skull that I'd been given and, bowing low, presented it to Tharsten Heart-Fang. There was a mumble from the gathered warriors while the small Nord once more spoke to the Chieftain.

"Silence!" Heart-Fang rumbled. "'Tis a bonny gift although the worth of it ye know not. Long and long the Imperials have plundered our sacred places, although ye were not the one responsible for taking this, I ken. Come, by the fire warm yourself, 'tis too cold for ye to be making the return to yon Fort I'm thinking."

This was obviously some sort of command because many hands grabbed a long table and dragged it into the body of the hall. Three chairs were set at the top of the table, nearest the Chieftain's chair: one at the head and one on either side. Long benches were dragged out to provide seating for the rest of the Skaal. Helms were doffed, shields, swords, and axes were placed on pegs and there was some good-natured milling around before everyone was seated. I found myself at the Chieftain's right hand, sitting opposite the scrawny, one-eyed Skaal. Serving wenches scurried in, placing plates in front of each of us ∼ onto these were placed large chunks of cooked meat and circular loaves of bread. Beside each platter was placed a red clay tankard with a metal lid.

"May the One," the one-eyed Skaal said into the sudden silence, "this meal bless, make strong the arms of the Skaal and bring His blessing tae our guest." This benediction completed, everyone tucked in. The meal was excellent, although the meat was a little too well cooked for my tastes. The concoction in the tankards was heavy and sweet, thick with the taste of wild honey. So this was Mead... I could get to like it.

As we ate, Tharsten quizzed me on matters, proving surprisingly knowledgeable for someone Saenus had dismissed as a 'wild man'. He also spoke of his grievances against the Cyrodiil invaders, of which he had many. The biggest seemed to be his conviction that the Imperial soldiers had no respect for the land or the creatures. It was this 'lack of respect' that he blamed for the dwindling of the Skaal's magical powers. I listened with growing alarm to his comments: I could foresee two outcomes to this conversation and I was pretty sure I'd like neither one.

"Tae atone for their mistakes, a good thing that'd be," he said, adding, "if the Skaal ye wished to know better. Matters there are, of which we cannae speak whilst in such dire straights we are. If more ye need to ken, about your missing Captain, then help us you must."

See, I told you I wasn't going to like the outcome of the conversation. Still, this was better than the Skaal descending on Frostmoth intent on tearing it apart stone by stone, which is where I feared the conversation had been heading. "What do I need to do?" I asked wearily.

"Stone-Quest, Stone-Quest," the Skaal around the table began to chant, banging their tankards on the table at each repetition of the word 'quest'.

"Aye," Tharsten said, raising a hand ∼ the chanting stopping instantly, "the stone-quest. Your loyalty tae the Skaal to test, the journey of the Stone-Singer ye'll repeat. After nuncheon is complete, talk tae Korst Wind-Eye. Now, eat, drink, and make merry."

A lute struck up a merry tune as more meat and mead were served, followed by a 'stew' of red berries that had been sweetened with honey and had some unidentifiable spice in it. As I ate, I realised that the one-eyed Skaal had vanished from the seat opposite ∼ and I had no recollection of him having got up and left. My eyes narrowed, that was some powerful magic right there.

Korst Wind-Eye greeted me politely when I entered his hut. Feathers and beads hung from the rafters and painted animal skins decorated the walls. In one corner sat an ancient set of alchemical apparatus ∼ while parchments and books littered several tables. I recognised the signs ∼ here was a practitioner of the arcane arts. I sat and listened as Korst told me of six standing stones, each representing a 'gift' from the One. In order to complete the quest that Tharsten has set me, I would need to visit each of the six stones.

"'Tis nae so simple a task as it sounds," Korst said, grinning at me. "Tae help ye on your way, I'll gift ye this map and book. The map, the location of the standing stones shows. The book, something that your understanding of the Skaal will increase."

I thanked him, spreading the map on the table and examining it. Off to the west lay a stone, near some mountains. If the ancient hand-drawn map was correct, there was a tributary of Lake Fjalding that ran from the Moestring Mountains ∼ I'd find the stone there. (Even though there was a stone close to the village, I decided to leave that one until last ∼ working my way around the island stone by stone).

The snow was still falling thickly when I left the village and I was glad that the Skaal had given me some provisions, warm furs, and something to start a fire. The fact that I had my tent with me was a great relief too. Making my way down to the shores of the frozen lake, I followed the shoreline around until I came to a shallow, fast running stream that fed the lake. This stream, according to the hand-drawn map, would lead me to the Moestring Mountains and the first stone ∼ represented on the map by a series of wavy lines.

Following the stream I went on my way ∼ apart from a run in with a blubbery semi-aquatic creature there is little to report of the journey. Before too long, I could make out the massive bulk of the Moestring Mountains rising up from the plains. As I drew closer I soon espied a tall spire of stone rising from the banks of the frothing stream. Fortunately, I was on the right side of the stream ∼ I really didn't fancy wading through that clear, icy-cold water ∼ and I was soon able to get close to the stone. As I did, there was a flicker of light and I distinctly heard a chorus of voices in my head: "Seek thou Glenschul's Tomb, south and east. Free the wind from the bag of the Greedy Man."

Nobody told me that the damn' stones would be talking to me! With an irritated look at the smooth stone spire, I turned southeast and struck out across the plains ∼ having taken the precaution on placing a Mark at the base of the stone. I'd been travelling for a while, maybe an hour or so because of the reduced visibility, when I came to a large tomb-entrance. The symbols carved on the door were, obviously, not the cartouches I was used to. However, having grown up near Hammerfell, I was conversant with Nordic runes and could, after stamping through my memory, make out the name Glenschul.

The heavy stone door swung open, revealing the gloom within. There was a clattering sound as I stepped inside the crypt and, around a corner, came a skeletal wolf. With a yell, I drove the heavy Ebony sword blade through its skull, smashing it to powder. To my dismay, the creature wasn't alone ∼ there were dozens of the damn' things, along with the more usual humanoid skeletal warriors. Taking a deep breath, I ploughed into them, sword swinging.

Panting, I sank beside the stone pedestal that dominated the interior chamber. While the skeletal creatures hadn't been particularly tough foes, the sheer number of them had made fighting them... problematical. Still, my heavy Ebony blade had served well, smashing bones to fragments. I may have dozed a little as I sat there for, when I awoke, I was filled with a new energy and resolve. I felt stronger and fitter than when I'd entered the grave, filled with vim and vigour. Rising to my feet, I began to explore the chambers.

Two things of interest were in the two joined chambers, both to be found in the inner chamber. The first was a skeleton encased in ice, resting on a shelf hacked into the raw stone of the wall. Only, whatever material this shimmering ice-like substance was, it certainly wasn't ice. Neither a burning torch or the fiercest blow I could fetch it with my axe made any mark upon the smooth surface. Puzzled, I took several steps back and launched my most powerful fireball at the shrouded figure ∼ I may as well have stuck with the torch for all the effect it had.

The other was a large Hessian sack that pulsated and twitched as though it contained some living creature. Grasping the rope that secured the neck of the sack, I yanked it open. There was a whooshing sound and a solid wall of wind knocked me from my feet, simultaneously extinguishing every torch in the tomb. Sitting up, I cursed softly and vehemently before fetching my travelling lantern from the pack and striking a spark to the wick. By the fitful light of the lamp, I gathered my belongings and cast Recall.

The standing stone shimmered with a pale grey light, the still-falling snow swirling in tight patterns near its base. With a smile of satisfaction, I headed southwards towards Frostmoth ∼ there is a stone near there that I should be able to reach easily on the morrow.

Ignoring the (mostly) good-natured ribbing the soldiers gave me about my furs; I checked my provisions before striking off eastwards. There was, according to the map, a stone there ∼ this one represented by a readily identifiable 'sun' icon. The Sun-Stone wasn't difficult to find, in fact Saenus had pointed it out to me only the day before yestere. Standing on the edge of the bay that housed the smuggler's cave, I could easily see the top of the massive stone above the trees.

The stone stood atop a tall hill, explaining why it was so easily visible. As I approached, the chorus of voices spoke again, "Go thou west to the Halls of Penumbra. There free the warmth of the Sun."

West it is then. Heading down the hillside, I saw that there was a break in the trees, beyond them was a broad stream. Beyond that a ridge of stone rose from the plain and I could clearly see a valley between high walls of stone. Taking careful sightings from the sun, it became obvious that 'heading west' would take me right into the defile and, presumably, these 'Halls of Penumbra'.

Not many people have seen walking trees, not when sober anyway. However, this was the bizarre sight that met me as I walked down into the meadow at the foot of the hill. Out of the trees to the north stepped a tall feminine figure, green as freshly stripped wood and bearing what appeared to be bark clothing. The face was fairly attractive and my first thought was that it was some form of dryad. I was quickly disabused of that notion as, spotting me, the tree broke into a run ∼ straight towards me. If the massive claw-like hands were not enough of a clue that the creature meant me harm, the wailing shriek it made as it closed the distance was.

Drawing the Wish, I spat on my palms and hefted the axe. As the creature approached, I ducked under the slashing claws and drove the axe-blade deep into the 'flesh' of the creature. The flailing limbs made attacking the creature difficult but it was relatively slow-moving so I was able to move around it, laying the Wish into it as I did so. Hacking and chopping, I finally felled the creature ∼ with a wail it fell backwards, unbending and unyielding.

"Attacked by a tree," I thought with some amusement as I wiped the sweat from my brow. I was just about to return the Last Wish to my pack when there was a flare of sickly green light from the fallen creature. To my horror, it twitched and then rose to its feet and started stalking towards me again. With a curse I unleashed a barrage of fireballs at the creature, watching in satisfaction as the green 'flesh' started to shrivel and burn.

You can probably imagine how I felt when the Oblivion-cursed creature flared with light for a third time and rose ∼ apparently no worse for having already been killed twice ∼ and started stalking towards me again. I had visions of myself, untold centuries from now, standing here at the base of the hill battling this creature. I hammered the wish into the creature again and again, supplementing my attack with the odd spell. Finally the creature toppled for a third time. Panting, I stood there eying it suspiciously in case it resurrected itself again. The third time seemed to be the charm however, as the creature didn't stir again.

Apart from a couple of wolves, nothing else blocked my approach to the Halls of Penumbra which turned out to be a series of caves in the ice rather than a stone hall ∼ which is what I had expected. Inside, the caverns were dark, far darker than any other tomb, shrine, or cave I've ever been in. Even the light of a torch failed to illuminate much of the caves. Made cautious by the strange noises I could hear in the dark and the darkness itself, I advanced into the caverns. The layout of the caves was fairly simple, getting to the end of them proved to be a lot harder.

The downwards sloping passage wended its way through the ice-covered rock, the thin covering of crystals crunching under foot as I made my cautious way along them. My flickering torch threw strange reflections off the smooth walls but failed to penetrate the darkness ahead of me. Which was a shame for, if it had, it would have shown me the misshapen figure shuffling up the passage towards me before it got so close.

With a yelp, I thrust the torch into the malformed features of the tar-coloured creature, shoving it away from me so that I could draw my sword. The brute recoiled, hissing, but seemed undamaged by the flame. In the gloom, I hacked and chopped at the creature as it spat and struck out at me. It bore no weapons but was extremely skilled with its feet ∼ the hobnailed boots it wore adding to the force of the impact.

Shaking slightly from the encounter, I took another torch from my pack and lit it before bending to examine the corpse at me feet. Man-shaped, the skin of the beast was dark brown, almost black. The emaciated features also bore Mannish overtones. Naked except for a breech-clout and the aforementioned boots, the Draugr (as I later discovered these corrupted Men were called) had not been a particularly formidable foe ∼ although its sudden appearance from the darkness had startled me badly. As I started to stand, I noticed that the creature was exuding a sticky black liquid. Opening my alchemical pouch, I took out a small phial and scraped up a sample.

There were more of these creatures in the caverns, and none of them seemed reluctant to press an attack. One-on-one, the Draugr were easy to defeat but, on more than one occasion, I found myself surrounded by a couple or more ∼ then the fight was a little less easy. I quickly discovered that Draugr have no sense of self-preservation and that simply standing there and whipping my sword around at head-height (Draugr head height that is) I could inflict a large number of serious injuries that would make subsequent combat easier. To my relief, I found their numbers were less the deeper I went into the halls.

And deep it was, I had been walking down the constant slope of these tunnels for a while now, and they showed no signs of levelling off. I must be deep, deep underground and I began to wonder if there was ever going to be an end to this descent. Of course, no sooner had that happy thought filtered through my mind than the tunnel came to a level and continued on. Slightly cheered by this, although the strange piping noise from ahead was disconcerting, I pressed on. As I rounded the curve of the passageway, I saw the source of the strange noise.

Ahead of me a massive grey-skinned creature with curving tusks and massive claws blocked the tunnel. Glittering patches on its skin that looked like ice-crystals shone in the light of my torch. Seeing me, its strange piping noise increased in volume as it lumbered towards me. Not wishing to engage in sword-play with the creature ∼ the reach of those long, muscular arms was massive ∼ I backed away and unleashed a probing fireball. The creature screamed, the sound making me cover my ears. Encouraged by this, I unleashed a barrage of fireballs, one after the other, down the corridor ∼ fighting the urge to cover my ears as I did so.

As I walked past the creature, I paused long enough to examine it. I had heard, back at Frostmoth, the soldiers talking of 'Ice-Trolls' ∼ was this, I wondered, one of those? One thing did catch my attention as I squatted on my heels and looked at the monstrous form. One of its eyes appeared to be made of a faintly glowing yellow crystal. With a shrug, I got up and headed down the passageway, the returning echoes indicating that I was getting close to the end of the well named Halls of Penumbra.

Having reached the end of the caverns, I was faced with a wall of an ice-like substance. Behind it, glimmering faintly was a yellowish light. No blade or magic could make a dint in the wall, leaving me with a conundrum. As I studied the wall, I remembered the strangely glowing eye of the last troll-like creature. Backtracking to where the corpse lay, I heaved it over and studied the bestial features. There was no doubt in my mind; the creature's right eye was made of a faintly glowing crystal. Slipping my dagger from its sheath in my boot, I drove the point of the blade between the crystal and the bone, levering upwards. I grimaced as, with a gristly sound, the 'eye' of the creature came out of the socket.

As I approached the wall, I could feel the crystal in my hand vibrating. Clutching the now wildly oscillating crystal, I slammed my hand against the hall. The ice-like substance splintered and cracked like glass and I yelped as a blinding light filled my vision. When the swirling shapes and eerie after-images had cleared from my vision, I saw that the chamber beyond the wall was empty. There was, however, a fundamental change to the caverns that was instantly noticeable.

When I'd entered, the Halls of Penumbra had been filled with an eldritch darkness that seemed to swallow light. Now the ice-caves seemed almost cheery, torches that I'd been unable to ignite now burned merrily and the ice-formations scintillated and gleamed in the light of my passing torch. Leaving the caverns behind and heading east towards the stone, I was immediately aware that I had wrought something amazing. A soft yellow glow suffused the surface of the black stone spike, glimmering gently in the gathering gloom.

I could have returned to the Fort for the night but my experiences with the walking tree had soured me to the idea of stumbling through the forest at night. Instead I sought a place to pitch my tent. As luck would have it, there was a Barrow close to the Sun-Stone ∼ Skogsdrake Barrow. The sole occupant of the tomb was another of those corpses encased in 'ice' and I didn't think that he'd mind a little company for the night.

I sat at the mouth of the Barrow, chewing my way through a strip of the dried meat that the Skaal had provided me as provender. Across my lap was Korst's map and, from careful study, I realised that there was another stone: this one marked on the map as a small tree. Comparing Korst's map with my own, I saw that I could follow the river north and, by keeping to the western bank, I should be able to reach the stone before midday.

Packing everything away and shouldering my pack, I made my way back to the still glowing Sun-Stone and made my way west to the river. Turning north, I set off. It wasn't too long before I came to a rude dwelling on the banks of the river. There was a woman outside, washing some clothing in the icy-cold water. She looked up as I approached, showing no fear as I did so.

"To you, a fair morn," she said, inclining her head. "What here do you do, stranger?"

"And a good day to you," I replied politely. "I'm just passing through."

"A tisane, perhaps you'd like?" she said, gesturing to the mud and wattle mound behind her. Not wishing to be impolite, I thanked her and followed her inside. To my surprise, the rude exterior of the dwelling was no indication of the interior. Several large and airy chambers had been hewn from the rock and it was in the central one of these that we sat and drank the tisane Kolfinna had prepared.

For that was this woman's name: Kolfinna. As is natural, we got talking and I discovered that she'd been recently widowed, her husband killed by Sigvatr the Strong in an altercation. The widow seemed particularly aggrieved that this Sigvatr hadn't offered her any wergild. She had to explain that concept to me: it seems that, amongst the Skaal, it is common for a restitution to be made to the family of those killed by your actions. Sigvatr, although responsible for the death of Kolfinna's husband, had refused to pay a wergild.

Kolfinna and I spoke for a while longer and I promised that, should I get the chance, I would speak to Sigvatr the Strong and try to procure the wergild that Kolfinna wanted: a gemstone belonging to Sigvatr known as the Pinetear. She thanked me profusely and, even though I protested, she gave me several more strips of that smoked and dried meat the Skaal seem to enjoy so much. She also warned me that there were 'Reavers' nearby. That was another concept that had to be explained. Reavers are organised bandits similar to the bandits one can find everywhere. Thanking her once again, I took my leave.

Forewarned is forearmed they say, and Kolfinna's warning about the bandits served me well. As I made my way along the riverbank, I became aware of the smell of smoke. Dropping to my knees, I shuffled forward towards the smell and, before too long, I was peering around a snow-encrusted bush at the four fur-clad Reavers gathered around the smouldering fire. Dropping back behind the bush, I unhooked the crossbows from my pack and loaded them. Flat on my stomach, I sighted along the crossbow ∼ taking careful aim at the bandit lugging a large bow. Taking out the archer was my first priority.

There was a dull twang and the archer screamed hoarsely, scrabbling at his face. Even as the cries of consternation reached me, I had the second crossbow aimed, this time at a large fellow in a full-face iron helm. The bolt took him in the chest, punching through his leather breastplate and slamming him backwards. Even as he fell, I had the Ebony blade out and was running through the trees. The two remaining Reavers saw me coming and raced to meet me.

I slammed to a halt on the riverbank, allowing them to splash through the freezing water to reach me. The grey-haired bandit was marginally slower than his blond compatriot and was treated to the educational sight of me dispassionately cutting down blondie in a welter of blood. This didn't dissuade him from pressing his attack but it may have demoralised him. Either way, I effortlessly blocked his axe-bow before cleaving the edge of the Ebony blade into his forehead.

Dispassionately, I cleaned my blade in the running water, bloodying it briefly. Then I walked over to the fire and the two bodies there. The armour of the helmeted Nord was ruined, dripping with gore from the chest wound I'd inflicted. The archer, however, had bled out into the snow and his fur armour was relatively clean. Stripping the archer of the armour, I quickly took off the Templar armour I was wearing, replacing it with the thicker and warmer fur armour. Whilst the armour wouldn't provide as much protection as either the Daedric or Templar armour, it's warmth more than made up for the deficiency. And, in this frigid and unpredictable landscape: warmth was more important than any other consideration.

From where I'd encountered the Reavers, it was only a short distance until I came to the Tree-Stone. The chorus of ethereal voices sounded in my head, "The First Trees are gone. Travel to the east and find he who has stolen the Seeds. Plant anew the First Trees. Be thou wary, he who controls the Seeds, controls the Trees."

I didn't like the sound of the warning I'd been given so, it was with a great deal of caution that I travelled eastwards across the open ground towards the distant line of trees. My caution was rewarded; in a natural hollow was a short blue figure in odd armour. Standing around him were one, two, three, four, no ∼ five of those walking tree-creatures. One such creature had proven difficult ∼ five were insurmountable odds. At least, if I chose to fight conventionally.

The trees gave me an idea and, making sure my pack was secure, I slowly climbed the slender trunk of a nearby tree and settled myself in the fork formed by a thick branch where it joined the bole of the tree. This gave me an elevated position that, unless those creatures could climb, should provide me with a degree of safety. A knot on the branch provided an ideal place to hang my quiver of bolts and nearby branches gave me a brace I could use to recock and load the bows.

Working methodically, I started at the far side of the grouping of ambulatory shrubbery: firing carefully so that each bolt struck home. A single, well-aimed bolt was sufficient to knock one of the tree-creatures off its feet even at this range. In this manner I disposed of two of the creatures before the blue midget noticed that anything was wrong. I'd managed to get another couple of bolts into another before the figure realised where the attack was coming from. To my delight, the miniscule figure grouped the creatures together to provide him some measure of protection before leading the advance on my position from the rear.

"Chan annwfn s fferedig asgre," I intoned, extending my hand towards the small group of figures. A swirling sphere of energy spun away from me, striking the ground in front of them and exploding with a roar of discharging energy. I feared that natural adaptation to the frozen environment would render the spells that Jaron had taught me ineffective: this proved partially to be the case. The tree-creatures seemed unaffected by the screaming energy that raved and roared around them, the blue-skinned midget was a different matter. It jerked and howled as the magicka tore into it, finally collapsing in an untidy heap.

This seemed to be a signal for the creatures: they stopped their advance on my tree and started to mill around uncertainly. Sliding down the bole of the tree, I took advantage of their confusion to race across the clearing to the tiny figure. I was slightly disconcerted to discover that the creatures had a natural inclination to attack and, as I streaked passed them on my way to the corpse, they let out a series of unearthly shrieks and started moving towards me.

Rolling the corpse over, I grabbed the small leather pouch that hung from its belt ∼ very much aware of how close the killer-trees were getting. The pouch contained just one seed, a tiny hard object. Grabbing it up I prepared to run for my life. Only to discover that the tree-creatures were standing perfectly still, their beautiful but alien faces regarding me solemnly. "Ha!" I exclaimed, "Whoever controls the seed, controls the trees!"

I found that, by concentrating, I could instruct the creatures to perform simple tasks. Using them as a guard ∼ which resulted in a terminally surprised grizzly bear ∼ I made my way back towards the Tree-Stone. On my way here I had spotted a clearing near the stone that would make an ideal spot to plant the seed. Mindful of the nature of the creatures surrounding me, I made damn' sure to dismiss them ∼ sending them far, far away before digging a small hole and dropping the seed inside.

Patting the soil back of the freshly planted seed, I straightened up. Even from here I could see the faint green glow that surrounded the Tree-Stone. Sitting on a convenient outcropping of rock, I spread my two maps out and looked for the next nearest stone. According to Korst's map, it is a stone marked by what appears to be a symbol for a mountain and it is almost directly west of where, on the coast.

My journey west was uneventful; as such things go in the trackless wilderness. I played a brief game of hide-go-seek with a large brown bear that took exception to my presence but managed to loose it amongst the trees. The terrain, as I approached the cost, grew steadily worse, necessitating several detours around impassable outcroppings of rock. Thus it was dusk before I approached the dark stone spire that was my destination. The vocal chorus told me, "Travel northeast to the Cavern of Hidden Music and there learn the Songs of the Earth."

Having no intention of travelling anywhere at this time of night I cast around for a suitable place to spend the night. The nearby Blodskal Barrow looked suitable and the heavy stone door was invitingly open. The gloomy interior was warm and dry and the only occupant of the crypt was another of those entombed corpses. Most interestingly, on the central stone that dominated the crypt lay a glistening broadsword. Writ upon the blade, in Nordic runes, was the word 'Blodskal'. Drawn to the singing power of the blade, I reached out and grasped the hilt...

The horde of skeletal warriors are now safely trapped behind the stone door ∼ which I've magically locked and warded. The instant I grasped the blade I knew I was not alone in the Blodskal Barrow, although I didn't expect the dozen or more skeletal champions that faced me when I turned. Even with the deadly power of my newly acquired sword, there were far too many of them for me to combat. Instead, I settled for battling my way out of the Barrow and trapping them inside. Dearly brought, the Blodskal blade now hung in the scabbard by my side.

Setting up my tent, I crawled inside and closed the flaps behind me. The tinderbox, a gift from the Skaal, contained kindling, steel, and a flint and, within moments I had a warm fire burning. Having made a thin stew of the dried meat and some root vegetables I'd gone out and gathered, and drunk a small quantity of the thrice-distilled Mead that filled the small metal flask Korst Wind-Eye had given me, I threw the thin furs onto the floor and settled down for the night.

The vague directions I'd received made finding the Cave of Hidden Music difficult; I travelled far too far to the northeast and had to backtrack. The cave entrance was easily found when you realise what it is you're looking for, to my chagrin I'd walked straight passed it a couple of hours earlier. Still, now that I was here, I could venture inside to see what it was that I was required to do. I found, to my delight, that the Blodskal glowed with a faint light ∼ not enough to attract undue attention but enough to light my way through the gloom.

I had thought, on entering, that I had ∼ yet again ∼ come to the wrong place. Inside was a simple Barrow structure, complete with niches cut into the walls. However, as I made my way around the Barrow, I came to a cave entrance hacked into the southern wall. With the silvery-blue light of the Blodskal lighting my way, I ventured inside. The rough passageway led to a junction: to my left, right, and directly ahead three tunnels sloped downwards. Unsure of which way to go, I shrugged and headed straight on.

Which was not the choice I should have made. This passage ended shortly after I started walking down it, two hundred paces at the very most. The grinning skeleton on the ground didn't fill me with particularly cheery thoughts ∼ although it did provide me with a small number of five-Septim pieces. Backtracking, I chose the left-hand tunnel and proceeded into the darkness. Battling my way past a couple of Draugr, I came to a downward sloping ramp and, seeing that going forward would only lead me to a dead end, I descended.

There were far more Draugr down here, and I was soon hacking and slashing my way through the tunnels as more and more of them arrived. The Blodskal hummed, leaving sparkling trails in the darkness as the glittering blade clove black flesh and shattered malformed bone. In this manner, battling for every foot of ground, I came at last to a huge stone door.

Having left the caverns behind me strewn with the corpses of the misshapen creatures, I stood in the central chamber of the cave-system. A vast, deep abyss stretched across the chamber in front of me ∼ spanning it was a narrow and fragile looking stone bridge. On the other side is a ledge, from which comes a strange and ethereal music. Crossing the bridge gingerly, I stepped onto the platform and looked at the three stalagmites that rose up from the ground. Above them, three equally massive stalactites hung from the roof of the cavern. As I watched, a wisp of steam issued from the central stalactite, accompanied by a deep, rumbling musical note.

In short order the other stalactites also sounded their notes ∼ one of them sounding two different notes. This then must be the Song of the Earth that I was supposed to learn. As I listened to the stalactites repeat their mournful tune, the hilt of the Blodskal clunked against the stalagmite directly in front of me. There was a wheezing sound followed by a wisp of steam and a rumbling, deep note. A little experimentation showed that, by striking the stalagmites, I could duplicate the four notes played by the stalactites. Unfortunately, each of the lower stone vents played a different note to the stone vent directly above.

After several attempts, I was able to duplicate exactly the notes and tempo of the stalactites ∼ this seemed to trigger a different sequence of notes from the upper pipes. Duplicating this new tune took me another couple of tries before I could match it. This effort was rewarded with a massive rumbling note that swelled and shook the chamber I was in. fearing for the bridge's intactness, I quickly grabbed my pack and skittered across the slender span of trembling stone. No sooner had I set foot on the solid platform on the other side than the wildly playing pipes fell silent. Realising that I had that which needed to be done, I made my way out of the caverns and walked back towards the standing stone.

The faintly glowing spire of stone indicated that I'd been successful in my task and I rewarded myself with a quick meal while I examined my maps again. There are but two stones left to visit and, directly north of here is a stone symbol ∼ this one taking the form of the universally recognised symbol for water. The Water-Stone, when I found it, was perched on the steep side of a cliff that formed the foothills of the Moestring Mountains. Clambering up to it was no easy task.

I listened to the chorus of voices, telling me that I should, "Travel to the west. There, upon the island, thou will find the Swimmer. Follow if thou seeks the Water of Life."

Setting a Mark at the foot of the stone, I slithered down the hillside in the gathering gloom. Realising that the darkness was the precursor to a massive snowstorm, I hastily erected my tent and gathered some fallen branches and twigs. The snow, massive soft flakes of it, had just started to fall as I crawled inside my tent. Within minutes, the wind was howling and I could hear the patter of wind-borne snow on the fabric walls of the tent.

I must have fallen asleep listening to the storm at some point for I woke with a start ∼ to a totally dark tent. Lighting a lantern soon revealed the problem, last night's heavy snowfall had completely buried my tent: fortunately the covering of snow was barely a hand's breadth deep and I was able to dig my way out and recover my tent and belongings with minimal effort. Having broken my fast, I checked my maps and lodestone before setting off across the crunching snow towards the island the stone had indicated.

I thoroughly enjoyed my walk through the mountain passes of the Moestring range, covered in snow as they were they made a breathtaking sight. Even the steep descent onto a field of creaking blue ice didn't ruin the day. Unfortunately, my day was to become less pleasant in short order. The island, when I reached it, was nothing more than a bare stub of rock protruding from a field of ice. The only thing that broke its monotony was a single black creature. I'd seen these things from afar ∼ the Skaal called them Horkers, although I never seen one as black as this one. As I approached, the creature shuffled away from me.

"Stupid critter," I cussed as it slithered away from me as I approached it again. Every time I moved towards it, it would quickly wriggle its way away from me ∼ whenever I stopped, it did. I stopped and slapped my forehead. "Stupid Vahl," I amended, "follow the Swimmer you dummy."

Now that I wasn't being silly, things progressed much more quickly, the creature undulating its way across the island towards the 'beach' as I followed. "Hey, wait, where..." I spluttered as, never even pausing, the Horker splashed its way into the waves and disappeared beneath the water. About three body-lengths from the beach, a sleek black head broke the surface and mournful eyes. "Okay, okay," I snapped, "I get the picture." There was, however, no way that I was going to undress and swim in that glacial water.

Casting water-walk, I stepped out onto the undulating surface of the sea and walked towards the Swimmer. It regarded me for a moment as I approached and then, with a flick of the tail, headed out towards the open sea. I followed, swigging from a bottle of restore magicka potion as we moved further and further from land and I had to recast Water-Walk several times. Finally we came to a spot in the middle of the aquatic nowhere that surrounded me and the Swimmer started to circle around and around. At first I didn't understand ∼ then I realised that where I needed to be was deep under the water and that I was going to get wet, and cold, anyway.

Fumbling in the side pocket of my pack, I withdrew the small silver flask of greenish liquid. I'd been carrying it for months, reluctant to use it even though Gorven Menas assured me that it was perfectly safe. Well, I was about to find out the hard way if I cut the mustard as an alchemist. Popping off the top of the flask, I drained the musty tasting fluid as the structure and form of the water-walking spell collapsed. With barely a ripple, I sank beneath the surface of the water and struck downwards in the direction the Swimmer was swimming. I have, in the course of several centuries, experienced many strange things. Very few of them compare to the bizarre sensation of ice-cold water filling your lungs as you breath water.

Deep in the murk, the Swimmer led me to a small cave entrance. The Horker showed no inclination to enter so I made the assumption that this was where it had been leading me and that I was now on my own. Taking a deep gulp of water, I swam down into the entrance. A narrow tunnel led downwards a little way before curving sharply upwards. Ahead of me was the faintest glimmer of light. Which was a good thing...

On hands and knees I crawled from the water onto the ice-slicked rock, hacking up a lung-full of water or, more accurately, two lungs-full. The transition from being able to breath water to not being able to breath water had been... unpleasant. As my coughing echoed around the cavern I heard a click-click noise ∼ one I was very familiar with. Shivering, my hair hanging lankly in my eyes, I grabbed the hilt of the Blodskal and unsheathed it. The faint blue glow was more than sufficient to show the skeletal form advancing down the tunnel towards me.

With a savage yell, I hurled myself at the skeletal warrior, the heavy blade of the sword crushing one shoulder to powder. The unnatural soldier staggered, and I followed up with a series of punishing blows that struck glittering chunks of bone from the creature's form. Whatever charm held it together was tenuous, as I hammered home another series of violent blows the skeleton simply came unravelled. With a snort of derision, I kicked the skull as far out over the water-filled defile as I could, smirking as I watched it sink slowly out of sight.

That done, it was time to explore the caves (a place I would later discover was called Stahlman's Gorge). Not that there was much to explore, the tunnel sloped upwards a short way before ending in a large chamber. There, set on a block of ice, was a simple pewter flask. Picking it up, I cast Recall ∼ staggering at the sudden transition from a level surface to one with a pronounced slope. The flask that I'd been clutching dissolved between my fingers and the stone in front of me began glowing with a faint blue light.

Taking my bearings from the map and the lodestone, I struck off in a roughly easterly direction, heading back towards the Skaal village. I had but one stone to complete and my quest was over. The trip back took a little over two hours and the chorus spoke to me the instant I drew near the final stone, "Find the Good Beast when thou travel south, and ease its suffering".

South would take me to Lake Fjalding, so I headed down to the shore and had a look around. Seeing nothing that would meet the criteria, I continued along the western edge of the lake towards the forest. As I reached the southern end of Lake Fjalding, I heard a series of excited yelping sounds from up ahead; a deep, basso roar followed these. Skidding to a stop atop a small rise, I looked down into the area below me. Several of those little blue-skinned creatures were screaming and yelling, waving their swords or bows about. The object that was the centre of their attention was a large snow-white bear.

My first arrow took the furthest blue-skinned creature in the throat, punching it from its feet to land sprawling in the snow. Even as the other creatures were reacting to this, my second arrow arrived ∼ this one punching into the shoulder of one of the creatures and making it howl. Even more arrows followed, I had been firing smoothly and easily from my vantage point and had launched all seven arrows ∼ one after the other ∼ before the first arrived on target. Unfortunately, the milling confusion that followed the first two hits meant that my aim wasn't at its best ∼ two of the remaining five arrows struck vulnerable targets, the remaining three were enough to cause consternation.

That was nothing to the panic that ensued as I came howling down the hill, screaming an ancient Dunmeri war cry as I span the Blodskal over my head. Two of the remaining creatures broke and ran while another two came barrelling through the snow to meet me. The blade, fairly screaming through the air with the momentum I'd given it, tore into the upper arm of the nearest creature. Thin armour crumpled underneath the force of the blow and I felt a jolt of strength rush into me as the blade's magic-spell was triggered. Dragging the blade from the ruined chest of the quivering midget, I span to face the second of my opponents. Who was a faint blob on the horizon...

Making soothing sounds I approached the bear, wincing as I saw the wicked looking arrow jutting from its hindquarters. The massive beast shivered violently as I cut the barbed arrow free but made no sound or move to attack. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the wound, allowing the gleaming white construct of the healing spell to form in my mind. A warm snuffling in my ear broke my concentration and I opened my eyes to see the beast sniffing me. Tentatively I reached out and patted it on the snout, grinning broadly as it made a chuffing sound and shook its head ponderously.

Experimentally I took a couple of paces to the north, back towards the standing stone. After a moment's hesitation, the massive snow-white bear followed. In the manner, the bear following me, we approached the last standing stone. As we drew near, the stone started to shimmer with a white light and I felt a sudden rush of power run through me. The bear walked right to the base of the stone and then, with a hollow roar, simply faded from existence. With a complete lack of surprise, I nodded my head ∼ spectral bears were one of the less odd things I'd seen over the last couple of days.

"So, finished the stone-quest, you have," Tharsten Heart-Fang said as I stood before him in the Great Hall. "Impressed we are. This..." here he hefted a massive silvery-coloured mace that sang sweetly with ancient magic "...belongs by right to you." Tharsten seemed oddly reluctant to hand me the mace but Korst stepped from the shadows behind the Chieftain's chair and whispered in his ear. "I gift you the Mace of Aevar Stonesinger, for loyalty to the Skaal proving. Grieves me, it does, to give an outsider such a prized possession o' the Skaal but, deserved it ye have."

"Forgive me for asking," I said as I eyed the mace eagerly, "but what can you tell me of little blue Men, strange women who carry daggers like this, and trees that will not die?"

"Trees that willnae... Oh aye," Tharsten said, his initial puzzlement fading as he realised what I was talking about. "They be Spriggans," he said, "whither they come is beyond the ken o' the Skaal. Mighty fierce creatures they be, and tae have killed one is an act worthy o' any Skaal warrior.

"The wee blue Men o' which ye are speaking," he continued with a smile, "are the Rieklings. We ken all too well where they be from..." I waited to hear where they came from but on that subject Tharsten Heart-Fang wouldn't be drawn. Instead he asked to see the dagger. The instant I laid it on his hand, he hissed and snatched his hand back ∼ the silver blade clattering to the floor.

"Fryse Hag," he spat, kicking the dagger away. "What call them you? Ah yes, witch women." Scooping up the dagger, I tucked it back into my belt, reflecting as I did that here was probably the source of the stories about Nordic males and witches. However, I was not so unobservant as to miss the heavily lidded gaze that Korst Wind-Eye had turned on his Chieftain. Interesting, I thought, although I had no idea why. Perhaps being amongst the Telvanni has heightened my powers to detect intrigue when it's about.

"Ye have your loyalty to the Skaal proven," Tharsten said. "Now I must ask ye tae take the test o' wisdom. I'd like ye tae consider the case o' Engar Ice-Mane. Rigmor Half-Hand has accused Ice-Mane a theft, a most heinous crime here amidst the Skaal. Engar, naturally, has said that he's innocent o' thieving the furs. Tae ye, I leave the investigatin' of the matter ∼ report tae me when ye have a conclusion come tae."

As I turned to leave, the Shaman whispered urgently in Tharsten's ear. With a rueful grin, he called me back, saying, "I damn' near forgot, this tae ye now belongs." Forgot my ear, I thought as I accepted the mace of Aevar Stonesinger from him and thanked him politely. Once outside, I took the opportunity of examining the massive object. For all its size, it was surprisingly light and easy to handle ∼ the damage would be done by the massive jagged ridges that adorned the head and the massive frost-based enchantment the weapon bore.

The guards outside the Great Hall proved amenable to answering a few questions. From them I learned that Engar Ice-Mane, although protesting his innocence, had chosen death rather than be exiled from the Skaal village. This surprised me, and I quizzed the guards further. "'Tis a terrible thing, an exile tae be," one of them informed me. "Tae have every hand turned against ye. And the loss of honour..." That seemed to be a major point with others I spoke to, the Skaal seemed to dread loosing their honour.

From other sources around the village, I learned other interesting facts. Many, if not all, of the people I spoke to expressed doubts that Engar would have resorted to thievery: descriptions of his nature and character invariably included the phrases 'fine warrior', 'brave Skaal', and 'honourable man'. There seemed to be slightly less enthusiastic responses where Rigmor Half-Hand was concerned. Most people spoke of him as 'a valuable member of the community' or 'a very clever Man'. I was deliberately avoiding questioning the two protagonists until I'd done some background checking ∼ I had a feeling that my responses on this case were going to be scrutinised closely and that much more than I suspected hinged on them.

I'd not been surprised to discover Rigmor Half-Hand wasn't married but Engar Ice-Mane was, so I went to speak to his wife: Risi. Perhaps unsurprisingly, she was adamant that Engar hadn't stolen the furs. "He's an honourable man, Engar," she protested, "tae think o' him thieving is... well, impossible. 'Tis my guess that Rigmor is feeling the jealousy and has made out of whole cloth these charges."

I'd been looking around the hut while Risi was speaking ∼ it certainly seemed well appointed as rude wooden huts go. Thick furs covered the well maintained floor, heavy tapestries hung over some of the walls and over the door. There were logs aplenty in the fire grate and even shutters on the insides of the windows. Two large, fur covered beds were partially obscured by a thick woollen curtain. And, interestingly enough, there was a crumpled scrap of parchment by the side of one of them. Before Risi could notice or intervene, I span and swooped down on the crumpled ball, smoothing it out. It proved to be most illuminating, throwing a very different light on the matter to hand.

Dearest Risi,
Why will you not see me? You know how I feel, and I know you feel the same about me. Please, simply consent to speak to me. Just a word, a moment with you, would ease my soul. If I cannot be with you, I will have to resort to something drastic. Please, consider your feelings. Your husband is a lout, away for weeks at a time, with no consideration for your needs. I have always been there for you, and I always will be. We should be together, dear Risi.
R.H.

"Interesting," I commented, looking at the now ashen-faced Risi. "Would I be correct in guessing that Rigmor Half-Hand is the author of this note?"

"Aye," she said, sinking down onto a nearby chair. "Ye must understand. I was of Rigmor enamoured afore I met Engar. We had a... dalliance. But, this I swear, it stopped when I met my husband. But..." The poor woman started sobbing into her cupped hands.

"Let me guess," I said, squatting beside her and speaking kindly. "Rigmor was unwilling to leave the situation at that. He wanted you to continue the affair, even though you were married?" Sniffling and teary-eyed, Risi nodded. "I think that I'd best show this note to Tharsten, don't you?"

With Risi's permission to show the note to the Chieftain, I went back to the Great Hall and presented my evidence. Tharsten listened impassively as I told him what I thought had happened but, when he read the note, he nodded. "Aye, 'tis the truth of it there ye have," he said, frowning heavily. "All charges against Engar Ice-Mane I'll drop. But now we have the matter of Rigmor Half-Hand afore us. 'Tis a crime most grievous tae make a false accusation an' carries wi' it the sentence of the crime falsely spoken. Will ye no go and get Rigmor here? And, whilst ye do, I want ye tae think hard on his punishment, for 'tis up tae you tae decide it."

"Aye, ye have the truth of it," Rigmor sighed as I told him what I thought had happened. "I thought that, wi' Engar out a the way, I'd... Ach, never mind: 'tis all gone awry. Lead me tae Tharsten lassie. " As I led him across the village towards the Great Hall, he placed his hand on my shoulder and whispered, "if 'tis a consolation tae ye, I bear ye no ill will for my crime exposing."

Which made what I had to say next even harder. When Tharsten had pronounced that Rigmor Half-Hand was guilty of the crime of falsely accusing Engar Ice-Mane of theft, he turned to me and demanded that I speak the punishment to be meted out to the accuser. Swallowing a lump that had formed in my throat, I said, "I sentence Rigmor Half-Hand to death."

"So moot it be," Tharsten intoned. Two burly warriors stepped from the sides of the hall and, gripping Rigmor by the shoulders, led him outside. With a nod in my direction, Korst Wind-Eye also made his way outside. Tharsten glared at me and I realised that I was required to attend the execution as well.

Feeling sick, I made my way outside and joined the crowd of people that had gathered around a wooden pen. In the centre of this stood Rigmor Half-Hand, stripped to the waist and carrying two small daggers. Korst walked up some steps that led to a platform overlooking the pen and spoke strange words that I didn't understand. In a swirl of red mist, five massive wolves appeared in the pen and, snarling ferociously, launched themselves at the hapless Rigmor.

"Dinnae look away outsider," a firm but kindly voice said as a hand gripped my shoulder and prevented me from turning away. With a shaky sigh, I turned back to watch the carnage in the pen ∼ the wolves tearing into Rigmor and bearing him down to the ground. A sudden splash of crimson stained the snow, accompanied by a scream of anguish. With an unearthly howl, the wolves raised their snouts to the sky and faded from view. Four guards rushed into the pen and covered the body of Rigmor Half-Hand with a fur rug before bearing him from view.

Engar, he of the firm hand and kind voice, patted my shoulder as the procession crested the hill nearby and vanished down the slope towards the coastline. "'Tis an idea I have, but that you'd better speak tae Heart-Fang afore ye speak tae anyone else," Engar suggested. "So that what ye've done this day will be clearly understood by yourself."

"That was a bonnie thing ye did," Tharsten said as I entered the Great Hall. "Tae let Rigmor die wi' such honour, and him not being a warrior at all." I began to understand the Skaal in that moment, and understood that I had passed the test of wisdom. Tharsten confirmed that, "ye have proven that ye're as canny as ye are loyal," he said, "traits needed in abundance by any warrior. This helm a symbol is, worn only by warriors trusted and true." The helmet was made of fine steel but mounted on it was the head and fur of a large black wolf. "The Helm of the Wolf's Heart," the Chieftain said, "a symbol tae all Skaal that ye a great warrior are.

"Ye have proven tae me that ye are loyal and wise," Tharsten said, settling back into his throne-like chair. "But a warrior must strength have. We have a test for ye, Vahl Dark Elf, so that ye may prove ye have the strength tae match your wisdom an' loyalty. On the shores of Fjalding, there ye'll find the Shaman. He will tell ye what must be done."

I knew something was wrong long before I reached the shores of Lake Fjalding: the glow from the huge plume of fire that rose, impossibly, from the middle of the lake was visible even from the hill by the village. Fearing that Wind-Eye had, somehow, caused this conflagration, I hurried to the shadowy form of the Shaman standing on the shore.

"I nothing tae do with this," Korst assured me in response to my frantic questioning. "'Tis the work o' the Draugr Lord Aesliip who dwellings beneath Fjalding has. So, this your test o' strength is ∼ tae go beneath Fjalding and Aesliip destroy. I pray tae the One that it is naught but that old maker o' mischief that this has caused."

Wind-Eye wouldn't tell me what he meant by that, instead instructing me to rest for the night and prepare for the morrow. Rather than return to the Skaal, I set up my tent ∼ a procedure that seemed to amuse the Shaman no end.

Making my way across the ice this morning, I came to the area where the column of flame was rising. Oddly, it generated no warmth even though the ice underneath the pillar had melted. Lacking a water-breathing potion, I had to get to the bottom of Lake Fjalding the old fashioned way ∼ holding my breath and diving in. swimming down through the icy-cold water I spotted the entrance to a cave and swam into the dark opening. The short, upward-sloping passage way led to a small chamber hacked out of the ice.

Given that this Aesliip was Lord of the Draugr, it wasn't surprising to discover these ice-caverns were filled with the creatures. Fortunately they don't seem to have mastered the knack of magic or weapons and, while they kick really hard, they are more a nuisance than a threat. The Blodskal hummed contentedly as it cleaved air and corrupted flesh with equal ease. Before too long I'd run out of opponents and I was free to explore the caverns. There wasn't much to explore, a few side passages led to what appeared to be sleeping chambers while another passage wound into raw rock and ended in an entrance to another series of caves.

"Come to kill me?" a soft voice hissed as I rounded a corner. I jerked to a stop, looking at the Draugr that stood in front of me. Unlike the other creatures, the light of intelligence burned in those deep-set red eyes. "If so, why?"

"If you are Aesliip, that is what I was sent here to do," I replied, "and you know damn' well why."

"Indulge me," the creature said.

"Because you created that column of fire on the surface of Lake Fjalding," I responded.

"Not I," Aesliip hissed, "that is no doing of mine. The Frost Daedra who gather below, possibly."

"What Frost Daedra?" I asked.

"I am, as you have correctly surmised, Aesliip," the Draugr said. "I was a powerful Shaman but my interests turned to the Dark Arts and I was cast out by my people. Those same Dark Arts have kept me alive for many centuries," the creature added with a touch of pride. "Now I have learned of a convocation of Daedra gathering in the caves below us. The column of fire cannot be a coincidence.

"I tried to warn the Skaal," Aesliip continued, "but they wouldn't listen. I fear these Daedra seek to establish dominance over the island and make it their own. I could," Aesliip concluded, "use some help in defeating them."

When I hesitated, Aesliip bared needle-sharp fangs in what I assume was a smile. "Look at it this way," it said, "if I lie you can kill me ∼ or try to, anyway. And, if I'm telling the truth you can help me defeat the Daedra and then try to kill me. Either way, you end up the winner."

It made a certain sort of sense and I decided that I should help Aesliip to deal with the Daedra. "Excellent," the Draugr hissed, "then follow me and I will show you the hidden ways into the caverns beneath these."

The tunnels were vast and labyrinthine, odd chambers and twisted passages leading off the main passageway down to small empty chambers. Although, as I was to discover, not all chambers were empty. Aesliip had been correct when he said that there were Frost Daedra down here. The Wish proved to be an effective weapon, its fire-based charms dealing great amounts of damage to the frosty creatures that filled these caves. Aesliip was of great help, his magical skills proving sufficient to tip the balance of a fight in my favour on more than one occasion. One by one, the Frost Daedra (of which there were eight, Aesliip informed me) fell before the odd pairing of Mer and monster. At the last, we came unto a large chamber where there was a final Daedra. Knowing that the fight was near and end, and that Aesliip would soon provide answers, I threw myself into battle with renewed eagerness. The Wish, it's charge depleted, had since been replaced by the Blodskal. While the enchantments on the blade were not a fierce as those on the ancient Dwemeri axe, the blade was easier to wield and its superior cutting edge meant it did more damage. As I delivered the final blows to the Daedra, I noticed that Aesliip had stopped casting spells. As the demon fell, I turned and saw that the Draugr Lord was swaying on its feet.

"I've lived up to my side of the bargain," I said, "now tell me how I might extinguish the flame these Daedra created, or has killing them put it out anyway?"

"I lied," Aesliip hissed, slumping against the walls of the tunnel. "The Daedra were not the cause of the flames you saw, nor was I responsible. What caused it I have no idea."

I snarled, hefting the Blodskal threateningly. There was a flash of needle-sharp teeth again and the Draugr Lord said, "stay your hand; the tale of Aesliip ends this day. I have lived many years, odd to think that the morrow will see only my corpse. Here, take this ∼ my ring I give to you. Oh my..." The light behind those reddened eyes faded as Aesliip breathed his last. I looked at the ornate brass and silver ring the Draugr Lord had given me, it crackled with power. Probing it carefully, I discovered that it performed many of the same functions as The Mentor's Ring; only Aesliip's ring was far, far more powerful.

I made my way back up through the tunnels of this underground maze until I came to the shimmering barrier that separated here from there. I understood, now, that the barrier wasn't a physical one; rather it was a... division, a doorway. Where I now stood, in these icy caverns, was not part of Tamriel but part of that void we call Oblivion. Stepping forward, I felt the same subtle shift that I had before and knew that I was once more in the Grey Maybe. A search of the caves that had been home to Aesliip turned up a small quantity of golden coins and a staff. Plain silver, it bore a single design ∼ the name 'HAAKON' inscribed in ornate characters at the top of the staff. Swinging the staff around to feel the balance, I inadvertently let the end strike the icy wall of the cave.

A chunk of ice broke away and a cascade of glittering jewels came pouring from Aesliip's hidden cache. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds ∼ there were easily a dozen of each. With a grin at my sudden and unaccustomed lucky break; I scooped the stones into a leather pouch before leaving the caverns and swimming back to the surface.

"Ye didnae succeed then," Korst said as I clambered out of the water and dried myself off. The dancing flames of the column of fire were reflected in his eyes as he spoke. With a cough, I pointedly picked up my clothing. He blinked and turned an interesting shade of red before turning his back. Shivering in the bitter wind, I removed the sodden shirt and pants before slipping into the dry clothes. While they were cold from having been left on the beach, they quickly warmed up. Buckling the belt around my fur jacket, I spoke to Korst about what had transpired.

"I met Aesliip beneath Lake Fjalding," I said. "But he was not responsible for the flames. With Aesliip, I fought some frost Daedra who sought to seize control of Solstheim, but they were not responsible for the flames either. Both Aesliip and the Daedra are dead, yet the flames continue to burn."

"As I feared," Korst sighed. "Return ye tae the village Vahl Dark Elf an' I there will join you as I may. There are things here that investigation need first, then words we will have." Nodding to Korst, I made my way up the hill and through the Skaal village to the Great Hall. There I spoke to Tharsten Heart-Fang, repeating the things that I'd told Korst. He congratulated me.

"E'en though ye nae completed the task Korst set for ye, ye have proven a doughy warrior." He continued, saying, "there be no doubt that ye have passed the trial of strength. In that wise, there is but one last task I wish ye tae..."

Whatever task Tharsten was going to give me, the description of it was interrupted by a long, eerie howl. From outside the Great Hall there came screams, shouts, and a bestial snarling. Almost without thinking, I dropped my hand to the hilt of the Blodskal and turned towards the door. "Go!" Tharsten roared, racing across the hall to grab his axe. Whipping the blade from its scabbard, I kicked open the doors and raced outside.

The scene that met my eyes was one from a nightmare. Wolf-like forms flitted between the trees before racing into the village to attack anyone who stood in their way. The Skaal guards were already locked in combat with several of these creatures, and more were arriving even as I took in the scene. With a yell, I ran across the village square, intent on intercepting one of the wolf-like creatures as it rushed towards a group of already beleaguered guards.

With a speed that was scary, the creature swerved from its path and rushed towards me. I had the time to notice that its head was definitely wolf-like, it was covered in coarse fur, it had a tail, and it stood upright on its hind legs ∼ and then it was upon me. The Blodskal smashed into the creature's head, tearing open a terrible wound. But the gaping cut didn't seem to affect the creature, snarling and frothing at the jaws, it lashed out at me with its clawed hands. Stepping backwards, I swung the blade across in an arc, the wickedly sharp edge crunching into the beast's forearm.

With a howl, the werewolf tore the blade from my hand. Scrambling backwards, I grabbed the silver dagger from my boot-top and thrust it forward. The werewolf stopped, its snout curling upwards as realisation bloomed in those terrible, intelligent eyes. What followed will remain with me forever. With a howl that sounded more like a scream than any sound an animal should make, the werewolf arched its back ∼ thin wisps of reeking smoke rising from the place the dagger was lodged.

It collapsed onto its back, threshing and jerking as it coughed up thick clots of yellowish bile. As I watched the fur shrivelled and the snouted face seemed to collapse back in on itself to reveal the face of a Man. Screaming pitifully, the Nord scrabbled at his naked chest ∼ trying to pull out the dagger with misshapen hands ill-suited to the task. With a disgusted sound, I stepped closer and stamped down on the hilt of the dagger as hard as I could. Blue eyes widened as the entire length of the dagger slid inside his chest. Leaving the screaming Nord to die, I rushed over to where one of the guards lay ∼ his guts a steaming pile in the snow.

Grabbing the two gleaming silver short-swords, I turned to see a lone guard struggling to defend Risi and another couple of women from two of the werewolves. Rushing across the village square, slashing out left-handed at a werewolf that was menacing a guard, I threw myself into the fray. I quickly got the hang of wielding two short-bladed swords, using them to hack and slash at the back of the werewolf and distracting it from it attack on the guard. With the same scary speed, the wolf-creature turned to face me, jaws open as it snarled. In Almalexia's name, these things are fast...

The guard grinned at me as the beheaded werewolf collapsed to the ground between us. Grinning back, I looked over to the square to see how the battle fared. The blacksmith was using his hammer to pound on the skull of one of the creatures and making quite a good job of it too ∼ while he might not kill it that way, he was certainly inconveniencing it. There were only a few of the creatures left, and the remaining guards were surrounding them ∼ axes and blades rising and falling. Nodding at my newfound friend, the two of us rushed to join them.

"Inside," one of the Skaal yelled as I drew close, "two passed us went, into the Great Hall." Nodding, I bypassed the small knot of battling guards and slammed through the wooden doors into the Great Hall. I barely had time to question my sanity ∼ rushing into a hall where there were two werewolves ∼ before two sleek and deadly shapes were rushing at me from the gloom at the end of the hall. I saw no sign of Tharsten and I could see his honour guard face down on the floor. Extending the silver blades, I grinned ferally at the fast closing beasts. "Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata," I commanded.

The werewolves swerved around the grey-hued Atronach: fast but not quite fast enough. With a noise that sounded like "WOOF", one of the beasts ran chest first into the massive hand of the Atronach. With effortless ease, the Daedra hurled the dazed werewolf the length of the hall where it crashed heavily into a supporting pillar. As the Summons pounded towards the swaying wolf, I faced the remaining creature, blades at the ready.

Short-bladed swords crossed, their tips pointing downwards, I waited until the werewolf got close and then slashed the blades upwards and outwards before slicing them back inwards. The wolf-creature howled in agony, four deep and smoking cuts across its hide. Using the left blade to fend off the slashing claws, I used the right-hand blade to hack and slash at the werewolf. Driven by pure fear, I pressed my advantage ∼ hacking and slashing at the howling creature until, shredded to ribbons, it collapsed to the ground. There was no trace of the Atronach, but the blood smearing the walls showed that it had dealt with the werewolf.

As I started to relax, there was a clatter on the stairs and a third werewolf smashed into me, driving me to the ground. I screamed as its jaws clamped around my forearm. The maddened eyes glared at me, then the creature let go and flung open the doors to the Great Hall and rushed outside. As I gathered myself together, I could hear various shouts and cries from outside. Staggering slightly, I pushed through the doors into the chill outside. "Did you get it?" I yelled, "there was a third werewolf in the hall ∼ did you get it?"

"Away it got," Korst said softly. "But it did what it here came to do I think." He looked pointedly at the shredded furs around my right forearm and the blood dripping from my fingers.

"It's nothing, a flesh wound is all" I said, suddenly aware that Korst was surrounded by a semi-circle of grim faced Skaal ∼ all of whom were looking at me. Wordlessly, Korst held out a hand and one of the guards placed the Blodskal in his palm. Gripping the blade, the Shaman extended the grip towards me. With a smile, I took hold of the silver-inlaid handle and took my sword from him. There was a tingling in my hand as I held the blade; it quickly grew to an itch and then a terrible burning sensation.

"Damn," I cursed, dropping the Blodskal and looking at my reddened palm. "Tell me this doesn't mean I've been infected."

"Infected ye are," Korst said, "and, until ye're cured ye exiled from this place are."

"Wait!" I said as the Shaman started to turn away from me. As he turned back, I spoke the cantrip for the healing spell, "Vigoratus meus vulnus." When the sparkles had dissolved, I bent down and picked up the Blodskal, holding it in my left hand. After a minute, Korst indicated that I should open my hand. He grinned as he looked at my unblemished palm.

"Then I welcome ye back Vahl Dark Elf," he said. "Further, I name thee Bloodskaal, blood friend to the Skaal." There was a cheer from the assembled villagers and several hands snaked from the crowd to shake mine or pat me on the back. "'T'was a bonnie battle ye fought Vahl Dark Elf," he said once the crowd had settled. "But dire implications there are tae this days work. On the morrow I would, of these matters, speak tae ye."

"Where is Tharsten?" I asked as Korst led me away from the crowd.

"We dinnae ken what happened tae Tharsten," Korst replied. "But these are matters for the morrow. Tonight we feast in celebration o' your valour and our victory here this day. As Bloodskaal 'tis nae fitting ye should sleep in yon fabric contraption. Rigmor's hut we will have prepared for ye, so ye have a home fitting for a warrior o' the Skaal."

Feasting there was, along with copious quantities of Mead and it was getting close to Hour Zero� when I returned to the hut that had been prepared for me. Closing the door and swaying slightly, I peered around the interior. There ∼ the fur covered bed ∼ that was what I was looking for...

(c)2005 OverrideB1

On to the eight chapter