That’s what I thought.
The ring that was her reward for escaping Coldharbour without killing anyone had shown her two closed chests in the room, each one behind a latticework screen. There were no levers or switches near the screens, and they didn’t look like doors. Sayma cast Ancient Vision, and the first of the chests became accessible.
Neither it nor the next one had anything particularly exciting in it, but she took the small, valuable items anyway. Never leave coins on the table, she’d been taught as a child in Stros M’Kai; and she rarely did.
She had taken a few moments, while resting on a bench in this room, to read the journal that came from Coldharbour. It was a bit difficult to decipher but told of the Gray Fox giving the Champion of Cyrodiil tasks to retrieve artifacts including the Arrow of Extrication, the one Seviana had given her. It was puzzling. It made no sense that she should have the Arrow if it had already been retrieved, but then a great deal of what had happened to Sayma in the past few days made little sense. But what caught her attention most, in this rambling entry, was its final paragraph.
“And if you, my dear friend, are reading all of this, it means only one thing. You have resisted the temptation. You’re really as honorable as our long gone Champion.”
“But I didn’t,” Sayma murmured as she slipped the journal into her pack with the others. There were five of them, now; and while they held no shocking revelations she’d been struck by the notion that perhaps she might give them to Seviana if she survived this trial. “I didn’t resist the temptation.” That had been the first thing she’d said when trying on the ring: “temptations.”
Honorable? Me? They have the wrong sibling.
Everything she’d learned about Dardeh, everything she’d seen while talking to him and most decidedly his actions in calmly taking care of a dragon threat told her that he was the one these messages were meant for. He was the honorable one. He was open, and caring, and noble. And he was the Dragonborn.
“But,” she said, “I’m what they’ve got. A thief with the scent of Dragonborn on her and none of his abilities. Honor is not my hallmark.”
Suddenly she remembered Mercer Frey standing at the base of the gigantic Snow Elf statue, mocking her for thinking that there might actually be honor among thieves. He was so sure of himself. And what did I tell him? That I would never use another person as a shield, that I would never steal from my family, and that I would never kill someone I love out of jealousy. If that’s honor, it’s shallow honor; but it’s what I have.
She could almost hear him sneering at her. “They’re nobody’s family, and they never were. There’s not a one of them who wouldn’t turn on you if there was a profit in it.”
She smiled. Still wrong, Mercer. They’re even more my family than they were back then, in spite of the fact that I walked away. They searched for me not to eliminate me, but to make sure that I was alive and well. And they didn’t do that for money.
The weight of her coin pouches caught her attention. She was already a wealthy woman, but this quest to find the Gray Cowl was going to leave her almost obscenely rich at this rate. Maybe I can use all of this to help them, somehow. I can’t make up for the years I was missing, for the time they spent searching; but I can fill that vault to bursting. They didn’t do it for money but I can give them that anyway.
There were two other exits from this room and one was barred. It was obvious that, just as with the doors in the old prison that refused to open without a key, she needed to find the way to lower those bars. She entered the open door and went around a corner to find a staircase leading to a branching hallway.
The place was gorgeous, and not like anything she’d ever seen before. The hallways themselves were shaped like flattened ovals, and made from some sort of sand-colored material. Roughly halfway up each wall was a sumptuously-carved wooden strip, and a facing of the same design covered each archway in the halls. Ornate lanterns hung from the ceiling here and there. But the halls themselves wound around in circles, twisting and turning back upon themselves, and were so uniform that there was no real way to tell where she might be. Only the upward stairwell at the first intersection was any kind of landmark even though she went the opposite way from it.
She wasn’t certain how far she had gone before she reached another branched intersection, this one with staircases on either side. There were bars blocking the corridor to the right. She crouched, in case there were enemies on the other side of the bars, and crept up the stairs; but as she approached the bars fell revealing a lever.
“Oh! Ok, well… Maybe this works the bars back at the entrance.” She threw the lever and frowned. “Can’t be. Far too easy.”
Sayma retraced her steps with the idea of checking those bars. When she reached the first intersection, though, she paused, considered her options, and went up the stairs. Ahead of her was a sitting area that led to another open corridor, as well as a second one blocked by bars.
The open corridor led to a large room full of latticed panels. She could see benches placed behind some of them, and tables behind others, and she groaned because there was nothing obvious that could help her decide where to go.
It’s a gods-forsaken maze. I hate mazes.
After a few minutes of trial and error she found the lone open path through the space. There were holes in a line, across the floor, with the tops of metal bars showing in them. The lever she had thrown earlier had obviously dropped this gate. Behind it was another lever, which she pulled open.
It didn’t lower the bars near the sitting area. Nor was it, she discovered after running all the way back, the lever that dropped the bars in the room she’d first entered.
So it’s going to be like this, is it? A treasure hunt? Alright. I can do this. I don’t have to like it, but I can do it.
She returned to the second intersection and took the left-hand staircase. It led through a curling corridor so long that she was thoroughly disoriented by the time it emptied onto a very steep stairway up to a pair of connected circular rooms. Sayma ignored all of the chests beckoning from behind lattice panels; she had plenty of coin in her pouches already and didn’t want to risk getting even more lost. An alcove in the far room held a lever, the row of indentations in front of it revealing that she’d lowered a row of bars. She stepped forward and changed the position of this switch.
This one, she found, dropped the bars in the sitting area and opened up another, larger maze. She wanted to scream; this maze had many more dead ends and while there was a space that contained a good amount of coin, silver serving dishes, gold bars and other loot, she was so frustrated that it didn’t seem like a fair trade for her efforts. The real payoff, though, was that when she returned to the Gray Fox’s room she found the bars there open.
Beyond the gate were a number of latticework panels, and Sayma groaned to think that she would be navigating yet another maze. Instead, she found that there was really only one easy-to-find path leading to a landing with five staircases, alternating between up and down. Both “down” staircases led to the same place: a seating area overlooking yet another alcove holding a lever. She flipped that one and trudged back to the landing.
So there really is only one “down” here. Ok, I’ve done that. Tedious. Now for the “up.”
All three up staircases led to the same place: a hallway with bars that the lever below had dropped. Sayma ran down that corridor and around a corner, and then gasped.
“This is… beautiful.”
Down a short flight was a large circular room with a statue of Nocturnal in the center, a table placed before her. A ring of glowing candles giving off a reddish mist surrounded the statue and the table. On the table were three items: a bust of the Gray Fox, a small chest, and a round, pulsating black orb. The distinctive sounds of a portal hummed from an alcove to the right.
Sayma moved forward into the room, toward the display, and jumped at the sound of metal bars behind her. The gate she had just worked so hard to open had closed her in.
“Great.” Sayma looked around and sighed. “Well maybe you have something to tell me about this, my friend?” She approached the bust of the Gray Fox and touched it. As she had before, she saw words in her mind: “Everyone gets tempted by everything. Find the Stones of the Temptation and choose your way.”
She groaned. “Another test? Another trial? By the gods, how many layers of security do you really need for one simple piece of headgear? What is it made of, solid gold? Stalhrim?” Why am I speaking out loud? It’s not like the Gray Fox here is alive. And neither is Nocturnal. She looked up at the serene face of the Daedric Prince. Are you?
The statue didn’t answer, of course, and she had no option other than to step into the humming portal. She found herself in the unmistakable hallways of a Dwemer ruin with three corridors ahead – two angling down, one slanting up.
She stopped cold at the bottom of the ramp. From not far ahead came the heavy, regular clunking and thumping of a massive object moving about followed by a pause and the hissing of steam. There was only one thing she knew that made such a sound: a Dwarven centurion, walking around and then changing direction. She cast a muffling spell on herself and crept forward, cautiously. There was indeed a centurion, inside a partially-barricaded room, pacing noisily front of a smaller space that gave off a green glow. Sayma observed the Centurion for a few moments and decided that she would simply dash for the glowing room once the creature had passed, slipping behind its back.
It was a simple enough maneuver for someone as skilled at stealth as Sayma was. She stepped into the room and found that the green glow was coming from a dark sphere, much like the one in front of the statue to Nocturnal. This one didn’t hum. It chimed – a soft, ringing, ethereal sound – at regular intervals. Sayma picked the sphere up and felt invigorated. This object had some special properties to enhance stamina. She was convinced of it.
A temptation, indeed. I can’t say that I need it, though. I can already run for hours.
The other two corridors in this Dwemer ruin led to two more Centurions and two more stones: one that enhanced health, and one that enhanced magicka. The Stone of Magicka was interesting, to be certain, but Sayma had enough magicka to do what she needed, most of the time. The Stone of Health, though… She was a small person, and not good with cold, and having extra health would be so nice…
Sayma ran back to the portal where she had appeared in this ruin and stepped back through it, returning to the statue of Nocturnal. She stared at the Gray Fox, and the chest, and pondered. She put the stones of Magicka and Stamina in the box and then paused, rolling the Stone of Health over and over in her hand, a part of her wanting nothing more than to keep it. She felt confident that the pulsating black orb before her had something to do with this stone’s power, and reached out, her hand stopping just a hair’s breadth away from the orb.
“You have resisted the temptation,” the journal had told her.
Yes, but that was before I went through all this. I got that journal in Coldharbour. It can’t refer to this, can it?
Unbidden, the memory of the Skeleton Key rose from her mind. It had reached into her very core and tempted her as deeply as anything ever had. And yet, she thought, what had that artifact done but corrupt Mercer Frey, to warp his sense of honor and lead him to use his Nightingale powers against his own second-in-command? It had tried to corrupt her as well, appealing to her longing for Brynjolf as well as her desire for wealth.
A shudder rippled out from her core. That thing would have warped me the same way it warped Mercer. And this thing I’m holding would do the same thing. Somehow. I need to resist this temptation, too. I’m sure of it.
She placed the Stone of Health into the chest and carefully closed the lid, then touched the black orb. The humming of the portal stopped abruptly, followed by the sound of metal bars falling into their slots. Another gate had opened.
I wonder what would have happened if I’d kept it and touched that orb. I’ll bet it wouldn’t have been pretty.
The area beyond the gate was of a different architecture, but was at least equal in frustration to the low, curving corridors she had just navigated to get here. The ceilings were very high, three times her height at least. A stripe of red-patterned tile led the way in the center of each floor and along the halls well above her height. The walls were made of something like polished sandstone, and the ceilings were bell-shaped arches.
But there were a great many rooms. Little rooms, spaces partitioned off by the same latticework panels that Sayma had seen before. Some of them had tables draped by beautiful runners, and elaborate lanterns posted on carved pillars. It was hard to know which way she’d already gone and which she hadn’t, and by the time she reached the pair of nested metal bars in a corner – one set vertical and the other horizontal — she was completely frustrated and nearly lost.
There was a pull bar mounted on the far wall behind the bars, much too far away to reach. To her left was another alcove, this one with a statue of Nocturnal in it. She pondered it, frowning. There was clearly something important about that space as well. Her first task, though, was to find a way to release those bars and get to the pull handle.
A staircase beyond the statue of Nocturnal led up to another set of beautiful, wide, confusing corridors and eventually to a substantial archway blocked by yet more bars. Beyond it, Sayma could see some sort of monument, a pedestal of some kind, from which came a bright bluish light. There was a pull bar mounted on the left wall here, just in front of the bars; she gave it the tug and half turn it needed, wondering if there was any chance it would drop the bars in front of her.
They didn’t move.
Of course not. What did I expect?
Sayma sighed and ran back down the stairs to the corner with what had been two sets of bars and found the first had dropped into the floor. She stepped forward and examined the area around the second set, but couldn’t find any other mechanisms.
How the heck do I get to that pulley? I’ve looked everywhere. Haven’t I?
She ran back up the stairs and checked every surface, behind every bench, felt under the edges of every table. There was nothing. She went back to the lower level and did the same, until she was certain she’d backtracked too far. Then she returned to the corner with the statue of Nocturnal.
Come on. Think.
She was deep in thought, staring through the holes in the latticework, when her gaze dropped to the lantern on the floor at Nocturnal’s feet. Why is there a very bright light right next to her? That doesn’t seem right. On the Pilgrim’s Path I had to turn the lights around her statue off. I’ll bet I need to get in there. How…
For a second or two nothing came to her. Then she tsk’d.
“What an idiot. I’ve been using it all this time and it never occurred to me.”
Sayma sighed at her own oversight and cast Ancient Vision. The latticework panel disappeared in the spell’s pink glow, and she stepped into the space next to Nocturnal. She searched the area around and behind the statue, and was reaching down to turn off the lantern when the spell dissipated noisily, making her jump. The lattice panel was back, but having turned to face it she saw what she’d been searching for: another pull handle mounted on the thin sliver of wall to her left, the one surface simply not visible from outside the alcove. She pulled the handle and cast Ancient Vision again, then stepped back into the hallway. To her delight, the horizontal bars had retracted into the wall, allowing her to reach and pull the handle that had been behind them.
“That must have dropped the bars upstairs,” she said, moving past the statue of Nocturnal. The lantern still glowed bright at her feet, but the panel had reappeared with the spell’s dispersal. “Sorry I didn’t get that turned off. Maybe it was just there to attract my attention.”
She laughed at herself as she ran back up the stairs. Talking to statues, just like they can hear. Well, I guess I talk to a corpse, too. There’s just nothing normal about my life.
What Sayma had seen in the halls beyond the last set of bars was a beautiful stone pagoda, with steps of blue and gray stone leading to a surface covered with intricately-designed red and gold carpet. The room it was in was stunning and huge, with vast vaulted ceilings, deep reddish-brown tile floors and latticework around the base of the walls. Resting in the midst of the pagoda, on what looked like a dry fountain basin, was a set of boots; and it was from just above them that the ball of light floated.
These boots! I read about them!
She fished the journal she’d been reading earlier out of her pack and flipped to the last page. Yes. The Boots of Springheel Jak. They’re magical and enhance the wearer’s agility and movement, it says. I’m going to guess I need them. She snatched them out of the basin and continued down the hallway.
The room into which she stepped was magnificent, in rich reds and browns, as though all of the lovely elements of the areas she’d passed earlier had culminated in this space. The latticework patterns extended high up each wall, as did the ornate lanterns she’d seen before. On the floor were four squares, each outlined with red tiles creating a larger square. A low fence surrounded this area, and just beyond it on the far wall was a niche of red and beige, with a pull handle mounted in its center.
From the entrance of the room, if she looked up she could see that an enormous tower reached far above. There were at least two floors that she could just make out from where she was. When she moved into the center of the room and looked up, she saw that the opening directly above her was small, and square, and in what looked to be the exact dimensions of the square on which she stood.
“OK. No help for it. Let’s see what this handle does.”
She reached across the low fence and pulled the handle, giving it a half-twist; then she scrambled backwards as the square center of the floor she stood on started to rise into the air.
“You could give a person some warning!” she shouted at nobody.
She rose to what had looked like a second floor but wasn’t. If she had tried to jump off the elevator then she would have leapt across a stone railing into the wide gap on its other side, and would have fallen to her death. A third floor was solid but she saw nothing on it; it was simply a landing, so she elected to stay atop the square elevator as it ground its slow way up, and up. Past yet another landing it moved, this one open on all sides. She could see light streaming in from arched windows above and below her, and knew that the open space was deep, and a fall into it not survivable.
At last, with a deep groan, the elevator stopped. Sayma found herself stranded, for all intents and purposes, atop a square platform with no way off. There was a light, though, on one wall: at the far side of the great gap between her and the walls a hallway extended away from the tower. There was the slight lip of a landing extending into the tower’s airy gap, but nothing like a bridge, or a rope, or anything else to help her get there.
Thinking of the rope bridges she’d revealed in the deep cavern, what seemed a lifetime previously, Sayma cast Ancient Vision and waited. Nothing happened. She stared at the distance between herself and the landing, frowning, judging the extent of her athletic abilities and knew there was no possibility that she could jump that far.
All I have is this pair of boots. Do I dare?
I have to dare. If I jump, and I miss, I fall to my death, and I never see any of my family again. If I don’t jump, I die slowly, from starvation, stuck up here on this platform, and nobody ever sees me again.
She ground her teeth until her jaw hurt as she sat down and changed into the Boots of Springheel Jak. She stood and took a few steps to test them out, and ended up sitting in the center of the elevator with her heart pounding; for they had taken her bounding toward and almost over the edge of it. She took a sip of water, and munched on a bit of cheese, and slowly calmed herself until she was ready to move.
Sayma walked very carefully and slowly to the far edge of the elevator and turned to face the hallway landing. She took a deep breath.
Forgive me, Brynjolf.
She ran forward and leaped with all her strength.
And landed in the hallway’s opening as though it had been the tiniest hop in the world.
She stopped and bent over, hands on her knees, sucking air and trembling.
By the gods. By the gods, I’m alive. I can’t believe it.
She carefully lowered herself to the floor of the polished sandstone corridor and changed back into her own boots. The Boots of Springheel Jak were amazing, but she wanted to try them further in a place she knew, where she wasn’t going to go hurtling out into thin air and fall to her death a moment later.
There was a light at the end of the hallway. She stood, and ran for the light.
Sayma stepped out into the open air, the cold air of night, the hollow white light of the great moon Masser illuminating the space before her. The sandstone tiles of the hallway she’d come from extended out into the night, into great drifts of sand. She was in a sort of box canyon created by rugged mountains into which the hallway she’d come from was carved. There were a few scrub trees along what looked like a trail toward a narrow pass, and a number of weather-beaten carts piled just at the edge of the tile.
Sayma looked around in disbelief. She tasted the air; it was cool, but dry, very dry. She knelt and picked up a handful of sand, and smelled it. There was no scent of life in it, no pungent moldering leaves or sprouting plants. She stood again, letting the sand run through her fingers back to the ground, and looked at the tree nearest her; it was dead, just its bones reaching toward the sky.
Sayma knew a place like this. She’d grown up in a place where inland was a desert; and while the sands she’d known had been hot and mostly red she knew what she was looking at. Every part of her recognized it. For she was a Redguard woman, and her ancestors came from this place.
This is a desert.
Am I… in Hammerfell?