“Well. Standing here isn’t doing anything for me. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Sayma put her hood up, made certain that her swords were at the ready, and began moving toward the one spot ahead of her that looked as though it might be an opening in the rocks. Aside from the constant rush of the wind, the only sound she could hear was the patting of her own footsteps on fine sand. Masser’s cold light streaming down from a crystal clear sky made it easy to find her way forward, around rocks and struggling trees and through a narrow pass that led beneath a natural bridge. She kept as high up on the hillside as possible, just in case there was some predator or trap on the trail below; but nothing emerged, or approached her, and she found herself safe at the mouth of the pass, looking down at a post bearing one of the familiar, mustard-yellow flags.
Before her was an amazing sight. There was a large desert of rolling sand hills, from which emerged occasional tall peaks of stone. She thought that, far off in the distance, she could see structures of some kind, but in the nighttime light she wasn’t certain. Just down the first hill from her, though, were a campfire, a tent, and some sort of beacon.
People.
Sayma dropped into a crouch and started to move to deeper cover. But it was too late; she’d been spotted as she stood staring at the desert, and a man holding a torch was running toward her.
“Wait! Who are you?” he challenged. “From where did you come?”
He was Redguard, a handsome, bearded man, and at this deepest part of the night it was impossible to tell what color his clothing was. It was of the Alik’r style, she knew that much.
“Who are you?” Sayma asked him, not taking her hands off her swords.
“My name is Arenar. Arenar Esdrecus. Now, please answer my question. Where are you from?”
Sayma studied him carefully. He was bigger than she was, but that wasn’t unusual. Most men were. He was holding a torch, not a sword; and while she could see the traditional Redguard scimitar strapped to his hip it would take him a moment to draw it. No, he wasn’t threatening her, at least not at the moment. He was simply guarding something. She decided to play straight with him.
“I’m from Skyrim,” she said. “Dawnstar, to be exact. But I came from back there,” and she turned to point back up the long canyon. “The Halls of the West.”
The man’s eyes grew round.
“What? The Halls of the West?” He paused for a moment and shook his head in disbelief. “By the gods. Does this mean… Please. Come with me. We must go to my village. Please, follow me. It’s not far from here.” He turned as if to leave.
“Wait. Just a second, Arenar. Where am I and where do you think you’re going to take me? Because I’ll run back the way I came if I…”
No, damn it. I’m an idiot. Even if I ran back in there and jumped onto that elevator again I’d have no way to get down. I’m stuck. I have to go with him if I’m ever going to see my family again.
“I’ll explain everything later,” he said. “Now please, follow me.”
“Alright. Lead on.”
Arenar nodded and began running to the southeast, and Sayma followed. She was glad for her dark armor, and for the hood with its long scarf, because as was the case in most deserts once the sun went down at night the air turned very cold. Not as cold as Skyrim’s frozen north, to be sure, not as cold as Dawnstar; but it was the kind of cold that would seep into her bones if she let it. They trotted along over dunes, moving at the Redguard pace that would allow a person to run for hours. There were a few low stone hills rising from the sands in the mid-distance, separate from the range that ringed this desert, and in one of these she saw what appeared to be watchtowers carved into its side. The row of carefully-spaced trees before the towers told her that there was a village there, built around an oasis.
As they grew nearer to the place, details became clearer. On one side was a fortification; on the other, watchtowers of varying heights, each with rounded dome roofs. Arenar was leading her toward a central gate, vaguely onion-shaped and set in an entryway of intricately carved stone with a path of sumptuous green and white tiles leading to it. It was a thick wall into which the gate was set, and on either side of it hung an awning, half again above a man’s height. Two burly Redguard men stood watching there; it was clear to Sayma that the awnings’ shade would make guarding the gate survivable during a desert day.
Arenar ran ahead and down a set of stairs. Sayma followed, and found herself in a small but beautiful village with healthy trees, cobble and tile roadways, and a collection of one and two-story buildings build of stone brick with a stucco finish. Nearly all had rooftop terraces shaded by awnings; there were merchant’s signposts in front of several buildings, and a lovely gazebo in the center of the plaza. Colorful cloths hung from lines strung between the buildings. Lanterns, carefully shielded from the winds, lit the streets. One small place in the center of town had a cheerful tapestry and a “For Sale” sign posted above its door.
Good. Civilization. I don’t know what this place is but with any luck I’ll find the Cowl here and can get back home.
The tile street made a perpendicular turn and headed out toward the village’s curtain walls. Sayma was perplexed, but followed Arenar nonetheless.
Why are we leaving? We just got here.
This area, past the turn, was clearly in the direct path of the prevailing winds, as even the curtain walls hadn’t prevented sand from accumulating in small drifts. They passed a shrine of Talos, and turned left, around the corner and into a courtyard of sorts, before a large structure. Up a small rise was a stone wall with a wooden gate. Arenar ran up to it and shouted.
“Open the gate! Open the gate now!”
The gate dropped into a slot beneath it, and they stepped through into a space that had Sayma thoroughly confused. It was clearly an old Imperial fort, with an encampment outside that would be at home anywhere in Skyrim. It was so starkly different from the stucco structures in the center of the town that she felt thoroughly disoriented.
Arenar turned and smiled at her.
“Welcome to our village, Ben Erai,” he said.
“Thank you. But what is this place? And why are we here?”
“We are the descendants of those who remained here during the Caio Umbranox mission, Dragonborn. We’re here to help you. We’ve been awaiting your arrival for two hundred years.”
But you have the wrong sibling! It’s my brother…
“But please, let’s go to Lady Syloria, our village chief,” he said without waiting for a response, and led the way to the door of the fortress. When she stepped through the door, the interior was as familiar as any building she’d been in for years; stone floors and thick pillars surrounded the opening of a wide staircase leading down. Around the edges of the space, lights shone out from alcoves.
She was peering down the stairs, wondering what was below, when she heard Arenar call out, “Lady Syloria!” She hadn’t known exactly what to expect, but “village chief” had not prepared her to see a woman in the armor of an Imperial officer. The woman had been seated at a table, reading, but rose to meet them as they approached.
What? Here? What is this place?
The woman stared at her and then back at the Alik’r.
“What’s going on, Arenar? And who is this person?”
“Lady Syloria, the Dragonborn has come.”
Once again Sayma had the impulse to say no, no, you have it wrong, I’m not the one. But she stopped herself. Clearly, something about her had set her on this path in the first place. And perhaps it would insult these people, make them angry, if she implied that they were wrong. Would they think she was calling them fools for bringing the wrong person into their fortress?
I have to just see what’s here. Because maybe they have the Cowl. In any event, if I make them angry there’s a chance I’ll be stuck here forever. I can’t risk that.
“Are you sure, Arenar?”
She’s clever. That’s the right question. He didn’t exactly cross-examine me.
“Yes, Lady Syloria. I’m sure.” And oddly, without offering any further explanation, Arenar turned and walked away, leaving Sayma with Syloria.
“You? You are the Dragonborn?” the woman asked her. Syloria was clearly an Imperial, with light ash hair. She carried herself as one who was accustomed to being obeyed, and yet while she was being cautious she did not seem in any way threatening.
“It… would seem so?” Sayma said. Because it certainly seems so to all of these people. It would seem so, but it isn’t. Still…
What in Oblivion happened to me with that dragon?
“How did you arrive here?” Syloria asked, crossing her arms and looking a bit dubious.
“I came from Skyrim. Most recently through the Halls of the West. It emptied out into a box canyon in the mountains, not far from here at all.”
Syloria nodded slowly, and then smiled.
“I see. Of course you’ll have to prove to us that you really are the one. After all, we have spent two centuries waiting for you. It would be a poor move on my part to accept the wrong person.”
But you HAVE the wrong person. I can’t Shout or anything. How can I prove…
“What do I have to do?”
“You should have with you an arrow. The Arrow of Extrication, the same used by the Champion of Cyrodiil under the Imperial City.”
“Oh!” Sayma rummaged in her things to find the odd arrow that she’d been given by Seviana Umbranox, and handed it to Syloria. “This one? I got this from a couple living in the Reach, in Skyrim. They were the ones who sent me.”
Syloria’s eyes widened as she examined it. “By the gods! The Arrow of Extrication! It was used to open the way out of the White Gold Tower in the Imperial City.” She looked up at Sayma and handed it back, smiling. “Well, this proves it. Welcome, Dragonborn. Welcome to our little settlement. As Arenar said before, our families have been here since the time of Caio Umbranox, awaiting your arrival. Our mission is to prepare you for the last course to the Mausoleum.”
Oh no.
“You mean… it’s not here? In Ben Erai?”
“No. But I’m sure you want to rest before I explain everything to you. Please, take your time. I shall await you upstairs.” She left without waiting for a response.
Sayma was tired, to be certain; but she was far more concerned with getting the Cowl and returning to Skyrim than anything else and for that reason nearly followed Syloria immediately. But, she thought, I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to explore this fortress. She walked quietly around the perimeter of this main floor to get the lay of it. Next to her, in the area Syloria had been sitting, was an alcove with bookshelves and long tables. The opposite side of the room was lined with cots, some of which were occupied by sleeping soldiers. Along the back wall were the stairwell Syloria had left by and a rough tunnel, which Sayma entered.
It led down to a burial chamber: a cave containing a number of modest gravestones, their inscriptions so worn that they were unreadable. The room was dominated, though, by a large, ornate sarcophagus draped with red bunting. A plaque on its front read: “Here rests Caio Umbranox, son of Corvus, 27th day of Last Seed, Year 33 of the Fourth Era.”
“So here you are,” Sayma murmured. “You’re leading me a merry chase, Caio. I’ve found your journals, but I haven’t found out where you’ve hidden the Cowl. But I will.”
She returned to the main level and decided to take the central staircase down. As she reached the bottom, however, Arenar emerged from the corner of the room.
“Dragonborn!” he called. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”
“Alright, what is it?”
“Just follow me,” he said, starting back up the stairs.
She looked around, wanting to explore the area; but Arenar was almost at the stop of the stairs. She shrugged and took the stairs after him. I’ll have to come back to speak to Syloria, after all.
She was more confused by the moment as Arenar led her back out of the fort and to the left, past the soldiers’ tents. There, in the far corner of this guarded area, was a tower of Imperial design, built into the side of the mountain. She looked around, trying to get her bearings, wondering whether this was what she had seen in the distance from near Arenar’s camp; but it didn’t seem to be of the right construction. This was a different tower altogether. He took her inside the tower and led her silently down a hallway.
“Oh!”
There was a round stone platform, with a circular arch embedded in it, unmistakably a portal. A ring of particles of some kind rotated slowly around the area well above head height.
Arenar turned to her and grinned. “Here we are. This is a magic portal.”
“Yes, it’s like the ones I had to go through to get here. Where does it go?”
“To Skyrim, in the woods of Falkreath.”
Sayma’s heart started pounding. Falkreath? I can go home? Go to Mammoth Manor and see little Bryn? Oh, get me out of this madness right now. Right this second.
But as soon as she had the thought, its corollary came to her. If I go home and I haven’t found the Cowl, I’ll have done all of this for nothing. Walked across fire, stepped into the death waters of Coldharbour, stolen from specters, all for nothing.
I came here for Brynjolf.
Didn’t I?
She swallowed her excitement.
“Why in the world would you have such a thing here, Arenar? And how does it work? I mean, isn’t it sort of a problem? Can’t people come through from Falkreath?”
Where? Where in Falkreath is it? I didn’t see anything like this on the way to the Eye of Cyrodiil.
“It’s hard to live here, in the desert. Things don’t grow well. We use the portal to go to Falkreath and hunt animals for sustenance.”
“And trade with the locals, maybe? That makes sense.”
“Indeed. I’ve shown you this portal so that you can go back to Skyrim whenever you want. You can also come back through. You’ll find a stone, on the other side. You need to cast the Ancient Vision spell to activate it. That’s what makes the portal safe for us.”
“Oh, of course. I see. Thanks, Arenar. I’m glad to know about this, because Falkreath is where I need to go.” She certainly had never heard of the Ancient Vision spell before, nor met anyone else who knew it. Clever setup. It’s a bit like the Black Doors.
“You’re welcome. Don’t forget to go and speak with Syloria.”
She watched Arenar walk away, through a small room containing an alchemy table and an enchanting table, and then turned back to the quiet portal. She had to at least try it. She took a deep breath and cast Ancient Vision.
The spell exploded and the portal hummed to life, and Sayma wanted nothing more than to step through it and go home. Just forget all of this craziness and go home.
Then she heard the echo of Nocturnal’s voice chiding her. “I’m surprised. Even Andante was willing to give up something precious, to complete the bargain.”
Damn it Nocturnal, it’s not that I’m not willing to do this for Brynjolf, it’s that I have a son on the other side of this portal! And if I die trying to do this then he…
… will be raised by one of the kindest men I’ve ever known, and by my brother. He’ll be fine. He probably wouldn’t even remember me, after a couple of years, because he’s so young.
She stared at the circle and rocked back and forth with indecision. Then she remembered the sound of Brynjolf’s voice as he said: “I’m not the one who took off my ring and walked away.”
She squeezed her eyelids shut and shook her head. No. I did that. I was the one. It’s my fault that you’re so hurt. I had nothing to do with Dynjyl but this is the one thing I can do to possibly make it up to you at all.
She opened her eyes and gazed longingly at the pulsating magic within the portal.
Damn it. I have to at least try. I’ve come this far. I have to at least hear what Syloria has to say.
The spell expired, and Sayma turned away reluctantly. She returned to the fort, taking the stairs; three flights of them, up into one of the towers and through a door, into Syloria’s private quarters judging by the officer’s helmet resting on a bale of hay near the door. There was a map on a low table; glancing at it, she thought she might recognize the box canyon where the Halls of the West emerged, but wasn’t sure. There were several structures marked on it, but she couldn’t tell what the scale of the map was. Maybe these things were close to them or maybe they were leagues away.
Syloria was seated at a table nearby, eating a piece of bread. Sayma approached and nodded, sliding into the chair opposite her.
“I’ve had a look around, and Arenar has shown me the portal. Can you tell me what I need to know about finding the Cowl?”
“Yes, Dragonborn. You are in Hammerfell, in an isolated area of the Alik’r desert.”
“I thought so.”
“The Mausoleum of the Champion of Cyrodiil is located northeast of here. The entrance is a canyon that brings you to an oasis called Mora Sul.”
“Wonderful! That’s where I have to go. I’ll leave right away!”
“Wait. There are some things to do before you can enter Mora Sul.”
Sayma sighed. “Of course there are.”
Syloria laughed. “Our ancestor, Caio, prepared everything you’ll need for the route. First, the canyon gate requires a special key to open it. That key is inside the Temple of Al-Shedim, a very dangerous place.”
“Is that the large structure I saw off in the distance?”
“Most likely. The other thing you’ll need to do is recover the Friend of Ancestral Cheetahs Amulet.”
“The… what?”
For a moment, Sayma thought she was going to laugh. It sounded absurd. Then she recalled how absurd it had sounded to her when Dardeh spoke about the language of dragons, and her amusement faded. I can recognize the language, now. Who am I to say there’s something ridiculous about Ancestral Cheetahs?
“The oasis of Mora Sul is full of ancestral cheetahs, feline creatures with no fear and no mercy. They will kill anyone on sight. The amulet, though, unleashes a power that makes you appear as a friend to the cheetahs, so they will not attack.”
“I can’t just… sneak past them? I am pretty good at that, after all.” Former Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild, assassin of the Emperor, Nightingale; I ought to be able to sneak past a cat.
“No. You actually need it. The entrance is guarded by a wall that will only go down if you’re near it with the amulet equipped.”
Sayma sighed. “Alright. Can’t argue with magic. What else? Where do I go to get these things?”
“Both places are located north of here. Now then. Beware of the dune rippers in the desert. They are incredibly strong, and can kill you quickly, with fireballs. They’re weak to ice and frost.”
“Well, I’m no cryomage. But that’s still good to know.”
“My best advice would be to avoid them completely.” Syloria studied her for a moment, and then nodded. “There’s one more place that might be important for you, especially since you’re a Redguard. There’s an ancient Alik’r temple located northwest of here. The place inside is… peaceful. Once you’re past the dune rippers, that is.”
“Hmm. Ok, I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Syloria.”
They talked for a bit longer, about what the outside world was like. Syloria said that after two centuries of guarding the Mausoleum, it was strange to ponder what she and her kinsmen might do now.
“Well don’t give up guarding it quite yet. I have no idea whether I can survive this.”
“Of course you can. You’re the Dragonborn.”
“Right.”
The sky was beginning to lighten when Sayma stepped back out into Ben Erai. As she wandered around the town she realized she was truly exhausted. There was nobody about aside from the gate guards, so she found a quiet spot atop the roof terrace of one of the buildings and spread out her bedroll. It took no time at all before she was sound asleep. She woke when she found herself becoming uncomfortably warm.
Black clothing in full sun, in a desert. Clever.
In the light of day, Sayma spent some time exploring the town further. The inn was called the Black Mesa, but it was more a tavern than anything else. Its innkeeper, a Breton man, was eager to tell her about Caio Umbranox and his party, but he had no beds to rent.
I’m going to be running all over this place but have no real bed to sleep in? And no place to get out of the heat of the day? Already the air was starting to shimmer with waves of heat rising from the stucco, and it was a good way off from the hottest part of the day.
I need to do something about this situation. I’m not going to get everything done in a night and I will need a place to sleep.
She returned to the village plaza, stopping in front of the small building with the For Sale sign on it. It didn’t look like a shop; it looked like a dwelling. She tried to peer in the window but couldn’t quite reach it. The place was exceptionally small, but had a comfortable feeling about it that spoke to her. As was the case with other buildings in town there were steps built against the side of the house; she went up them and discovered a lovely rooftop terrace, shaded and open to the breeze, but behind a locked gate.
Sayma grinned. She had a pack and many pouches full of jewels and precious gems gathered on her trip through Cyrodiil and Coldharbour. She headed for the general store with a purpose in mind.
The merchant was friendly, and pleased to meet her, particularly when she inquired about the house for sale.
“Yes, it’s for sale. But it will cost you three thousand gold.”
Sayma didn’t bat an eyelash. Honeyside cost more than twice that much, and by the time I had it furnished it was quite expensive indeed. And I wasn’t rich, then.
“I’ll take it.”
The man seemed startled, but a slow smile broke across his face as she passed him the money.
He was even more pleased when Sayma bought up a good portion of the food he had for sale, and paid well to refill her water skins. He was so pleased that he barely noticed the fact that by the time she got done selling him some of the jewelry she’d collected in her travels she’d completely made back all the funds she’d spent on the house.
“Here’s the key to your new home!” he said at last. Before he had time to consider things more deeply Sayma smiled, and thanked him, and took the key.
The house itself was even smaller than it had seemed from outside. In reality, it was a single large room, holding a bed, a bureau, a table and a couple of chests. There were a number of colorful tapestries and rugs on the wall, though, and another on the floor; and most importantly the thick walls of stone and stucco left the inside much, much cooler than it was outside.
She smiled, and took a few minutes to unload most of the rest of the wealth she’d gathered into the bedside table and the chests. There was no reason to carry all of it around with her, especially in the heat of the day. This would make a good place to rest as she made her way around Hammerfell looking for keys and amulets and cheetahs and such.
“Well, it’s the most expensive inn room I’ve ever spent a coin on but it will do. I’m for trying out this bed.”
She kicked off her boots and lowered herself onto the bed. It was no better and no worse than any other bed she’d ever laid on, but it felt like a true luxury right at this moment, and her eyelids started to close. She felt herself relaxing toward sleep.
Come to me.
Sayma’s eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. The voice had been deep, and strange, and just as clear as if it had been speaking next to her ear. For a moment she was disoriented, waking in an unfamiliar place, but as small as it was the room took only a moment to survey. There was nobody there.
Come to me? Who was that?
It was the strangest thing. A command, the strength of which was intense and demanding. The only thing like it that she’d ever experienced was Brynjolf’s command to tell him where Dag was, using his Nightingale powers; and this was not Brynjolf’s voice. It wasn’t even close. It was a deeper voice, an ancient voice, and had an aspect about it that was oddly familiar and yet something she couldn’t identify.
I must be losing my mind. It was just a dream.
She lay back on the bed, but sleep would not return. Her mind wouldn’t quiet. She considered all the things Syloria had told her she must do, and how long it might take her to do them. She was going to need a water keg, because buying water here in the desert would have her going rapidly through all her funds. She would need food – travel food, not the sweet rolls and roasted meat she tended to carry. She would need more and better arrows.
I know where I can get all those things, quickly and easily.
I’m going to go back through the portal, back to Roggi and Dardeh. I’ll see wee Bryn, explain the situation to them, get what I need, and come back. I’ll take a bunch of these jewels with them; they can sell them to help with Bryn’s upkeep. It’s the least I can do.
And then I’ll come back and get that gods-damned Cowl.
Having come to a decision, Sayma relaxed and her eyes started to close once more.
Come to me.
She bolted awake again.
“Damn it all, who are you?” She of course had no answer.
She tossed her hands in the air. “I give up. Who needs sleep, anyway? I may as well go now.”
She spent a few moments gathering things that Dardeh and Roggi could sell easily, and then left the home. The sun was starting to decline in the sky but it was still beastly hot outside, and for a moment she considered how good the cold and clammy rains of Falkreath were going to feel.
“Never thought I’d be imagining that it would feel good to be cold.”
She went back to the tower Arenar had showed her, cast Ancient Vision before the portal, and stepped through.