Frina eased her way forward into the cavern. Someone had met a bad end there inside the entrance, trying to shelter himself and his cart holding a chest. There was an iron sword on the floor next to his skeleton; Frina took that and the few coins remaining in the chest and prepared to meet whatever had killed the man.
I sure hope this is worth it. But I told Nurelion I’d help him out. He surely would never have survived the trip, much less this cave. Maybe he’ll give me some training or something if I find his vessel.
Frina had gone into the apothecary shop, the White Phial, hoping to perhaps purchase some training in alchemy practice. She needed something to do. When she’d been a child she had watched Roggi spend great swaths of time learning alchemy, even though his story about wanting the knowledge to help brew mead didn’t ring quite true now that she knew more about what he’d actually been doing with his time. Still, if she could learn it as well she might be able to earn some coin making potions. Or help the local alchemist in his shop. Something to pass the time.
Because Ulfric surely doesn’t have time for me right now.
She grimaced with the thought. Oengul had been delighted to have Queen Freydis’ sword. She’d felt good about having helped someone in Windhelm, as Ulfric had asked. But when she’d gone to the castle he’d been in a foul mood, yelling at people to make it quick because he was a busy man. He’d not so much as raised an eye in her direction. She’d left without speaking to him and spent a couple of days pouting about her situation until a few hours experimenting at the alchemy station in her apartment had given her the idea to learn more about the trade.
And thus she had found herself listening to the pleadings of the coughing, gasping alchemist Nurelion, whose life was clearly ending and who desperately wanted to know whether his years of research had been on track or not. The White Phial, he told her, was a magical vessel that would refill itself with any liquid put into it. He’d tracked down its resting place, he thought: the barrow which served as the tomb of the long-dead, powerful alchemist Curalmil. Nurelion had made the mixture that would be required to reach the Phial, if his sources were correct. But he lacked the strength to travel there. In fact, Frina had thought, he was doing well to stand behind his counter. His remaining time was clearly short, possibly only days in length.
Frina had volunteered to search for the Phial. Nurelion’s apprentice, a young, hardy man might have been a better choice, she thought; but then again, the ailing mer responded to his apprentice’s calm, patient ministrations and not so much to anyone else’s attentions. The young man was clearly needed in the alchemy shop. She’d headed down the road to the west, shaking her head at herself.
He’s an elf. A bloody Altmer at that. What was I thinking? Here I just helped Ulfric win a war that may have been against the Imperials on the surface but was really against the filthy elves. And now I’m helping one? What is wrong with me?
Well, Ulfric told me to help the people. If he didn’t accept Nurelion, he wouldn’t allow the shop to be in the Stone Quarter.
The icy entryway narrowed to a downward-sloping tunnel. In the space beyond it two shapes hovered and snaked back and forth, one in the opening to the cavern and another farther on, in front of stone steps up to what looked like the entry to a barrow of some kind.
Great. Ice wraiths. Of course it would be ice wraiths.
Frina got a lucky hit on the first of them, taking it down with only a tiny bit of frost damage to herself. She took a moment to catch her breath, watching the second wraith carefully. Nothing about it looked different or unusual; but as she edged forward the creature flew upwards. She raised her weapons in surprise but didn’t have time to block the attack that came from the wraith’s downward arc. Its icy teeth sank into her shoulder. She cried out in pain and started flailing at it as fast as her cold-hindered limbs would move, panicking that she was not going to have time to heal herself between attacks. She was just about to turn tail and run when the wraith settled back into its horizontal position; Frina’s axe caught it in the teeth on a backswing and it exploded.
“Well that was no fun,” Frina gasped, healing herself and trying to settle her racing heart. “A little too close for comfort, that one.”
Once she could breathe again, and move easily, she pushed into the main cavern. The stairs she’d seen were mirrored by another set; together they framed an iron door of the familiar ancient Nordic style. Beyond the door was a short passage to a circular ramp leading down.
No wonder there’s no trace of a barrow outside. It’s all deeper down.
The passage at the foot of the ramp wound its way around corners and past any number of ancient dragon-head carvings. At the end of one corridor a rather obvious arrow trap embedded in one of the carvings would have been triggered by an equally obvious pressure plate on the floor. Frina sighed in relief that she’d happened to be watching the floor carefully.
And then she jumped as a draugr ambled out from just beyond the arrow trap and came at her with a battleaxe. It was a relatively weak draugr, and she had no problem putting it down; but it was followed closely by a draugr archer who muttered imprecations at her as she attacked it. Once more Frina found herself waiting for her heart to return to its normal rhythm.
So it’s to be like this, eh? Wandering draugr and traps. Alright, then.
She pushed forward, meeting one more axe-wielding draugr and another archer who she took out with one clean arrow strike. The passage led downward and into a round chamber with a central pillar, the niches of which held two draugr. There was something about them that told her they were not truly dead; and she took them down with her weapons before they could react and fight back.
Around more corners and down several short flights of stairs was a traditional barrow area with dozens of corpses stacked in horizontal niches. Some of these draugr also weren’t resting, though. She put them down one after another with no difficulty, her passage quiet enough that she was able to take them out before they could fully rise from their beds. There was another pair of wandering draugr that attacked when Frina’s foot grazed the edge of a flame trap, setting it off noisily and alerting them to her presence; but once more they proved to be relatively weak opponents. At last she reached another iron door.
Through the door was another set of winding passages – and draugr, one of which tried and failed to cast frost spells at her – that eventually opened out into a multi level open chamber full of coffins. Just in front of Frina was a walkway leading to a platform with a wooden bridge on its far right; but as soon as she reached the midway point of the walkway the cover of a sarcophagus on the far side flew off and a draugr rose from it. It startled her enough that for a moment she stepped back into the doorway far enough to hide herself. Then she tsk’d.
I’m foolish. It’s way over there. Just shoot the thing and be done with it.
She moved quietly back into the doorway and took aim with her bow, taking a deep breath before releasing the string. Her first arrow struck the draugr and staggered it but did not kill it. The second, though, was a perfect shot that sent it dropping to the platform and sliding down over the broken remnants of a wooden floor onto the stones one level below.
The chamber across the wooden walkway held two patrolling draugr with nasty-looking two-hand weapons. The nearer to her slashed at her with a greatsword; but she ducked and then whirled into it with both weapons, cutting it off at the legs with the axe and finishing it with the pick. The second draugr ran toward her, readying a warhammer, and Frina took a step forward to meet it. Then she gasped in terror and rolled to the left.
The floor was rising – or at least a large, circular segment of it was. Frina scrambled off the edge of it and looked back over her shoulder just in time to see the stone circle – and the carcass of the first draugr – meet a matching circle descending from above. This circle, however, was covered with long, nasty spikes that ground through the draugr. She shuddered, thinking of how close she had come to getting stuck between the stones and run through by the spikes; but the second draugr gave her little time to reflect. It raised its warhammer; she stepped forward at the same moment, with her weapons up, and to her complete surprise the draugr stepped directly into them, killing itself. She shook her head.
“I hope you were smarter back when you were alive.” She stepped over it and moved toward the iron door beyond. “You’d almost have to have been.”
On the other side of the door, stairs led to a covered walkway across the room she’d just been in and into a large chamber full of stylized dragon-head carvings, standing sarcophagi, and draugr, all of which wanted her dead. None of them was particularly strong. She gritted her teeth and defeated them, one at a time; still, she was panting from the exertion by the time she finished. In the next area another draugr shuffled back and forth aimlessly; she stepped up into one of the empty niches that lined the walls to get a better vantage point and took two carefully-timed bow shots at it, dropping it. Just past its remains and to the left a draugr stepped out from one of the niches, snorting at her; she ended it with one solid stroke of her war pick into its face. Yet another set of iron doors faced her. She pushed those open and gulped.
In the narrow passage before her was a pair of blades: great wedges of sharpened steel at the end of long poles, swinging a pendulum path at staggered intervals. Just one would be enough to slice a person in two; she might be able to slide past the first with good timing but there was very little space between them and she would need to time it perfectly. Beyond them the corridor opened onto a great chamber with a curved plaque of some sort at roughly head-height on the far side, a stylized dragon face above it and stairs leading up to it at either end. To get into that room, however, she would need to pass the swinging blades.
Frina closed her eyes for a moment and said a quick prayer to Talos. Help me through this so that I can help the old alchemist. He may be an elf, but he has given his whole life to searching for this thing and if I can give him a moment of peace before he passes, let me do that.
She watched the first pendulum swing for a few moments to get its timing. Then she took a deep breath, waited for it to pass the center of its arc and stepped forward into the gap between it and the second. She could feel her hair, in a tail as it always was, swooshing in the breeze of the thing as it swung back down behind her. The second blade had the same cadence as the first so she waited: one, two, three, and GO.
Two large steps took her into the chamber.
A sarcophagus she’d been unable to see because of the passage of the blades burst open, and from it rose a draugr wearing full armor, its helmet with the curved horns that marked it as one who had been a powerful man of some type in life. She grimaced. It had to be Curalmil. This was going to be a challenge.
It stepped out onto the floor of the chamber and took a deep breath. Frina turned and, realizing that the pendulum blades had stopped, rushed back out through the short corridor, around a corner, and to the far end of the next room where she jumped up into an empty niche and drew her bow. As she ran, she heard an enormous, rough, booming sound behind her. She’d heard that sound before. Dardeh had made that sound, Shouting at the Imperial soldiers at Solitude.
That damned thing can Shout!
I’m in trouble.
She was running her mind through everything she could think of to fight the creature. Poisons wouldn’t work; it was already dead. She had no magic powerful enough to make any difference at all. She found her best arrows and readied them. Perhaps if it got close she could break past it and run back into the large chamber. But there wasn’t anything else, in her pack, in her knowledge of battle, nothing she could think of that would work except sheer luck and obstinacy. She silently thanked Oengul for letting her use his forge to sharpen her weapons; that might actually make the difference.
The draugr appeared at the far end of the room, its greatsword held high, its head snapping from side to side as it looked for her. She steeled herself and fired three shots in succession; all three struck cleanly and slowed the thing, but did not stop it. Just as it neared closely enough for her to hear it snarling Frina bolted forward; but it swung and clipped her on one shoulder as she dashed for the exit. She shrieked; for not only had it cut her, it was enchanted with cold magic. She forced her feet to keep moving, but it took every bit of willpower she had to do that and heal herself at the same time.
She made it into the large chamber and ran up one of the sets of stairs before the curved wall, turning to face the entryway so that she would be ready to fire at Curalmil as soon as he appeared. To her utter dismay, another common draugr ran up the stairs after her. She spotted a second coming from the other side of the room, heading for the second set of stairs.
“Die, dustman!” she shrieked at the nearer of them, swinging at it viciously. It wasn’t a very powerful creature, and her anger at being followed must have given her extra strength, for it dropped like a stone. The second draugr approached, and she turned to face it; but Curalmil stepped into the room not far behind him, and laughed.
He laughed at me.
How DARE you laugh at me? I’m… I’m Snow-hammer! I’m Stormblade!
She was furious. She was also cornered, or nearly so; but in order to reach her the draugr had to come up one of the sets of stairs. She smacked it solidly with her pick and ran back down the other side, across the room and back out through the passage, through the next room, all the way back to the covered walkway.
At least I’ve bought a few moments to catch my breath.
After a minute or two Frina crept forward once more, back into the room with the dragon head sculptures. She could hear Curalmil snorting and shuffling along around the far corner; so she found an elevated perch tucked in behind one of the sculptures and waited.
Curalmil shuffled past her, into the covered walkway, and paused. Frina almost fired an arrow at him, but held back for a moment. That turned out to have been a good decision, as the draugr returned to the room she was in, passing just in front of her and through to the far end of the room. Then she shot. Once, twice, three times; and Curalmil still advanced on her, uttering its unintelligible words and waving its sword. Frina growled, pulled her melee weapons, and rushed the creature, swinging as hard as she could. Her first volley of blows staggered it, pushed it backward onto one knee. It took a deep breath.
It’s going to Shout at me! No!
She hammered at it again.
The draugr slumped backward and fell to the floor. Frina blinked in surprise and stared at it.
“Oh!”
Then she giggled. “I don’t know my own strength, I guess.” She knelt and examined the body, taking its enchanted greatsword, and then returned to the chamber with the curved wall.
Between the twin staircases, under the panel with odd markings on it, was another passage. She hesitated, walking through it, fearing that the grooves on either side at various intervals might suddenly produce more swinging blades to catch her up; but there was nothing aside from a tall pedestal with a basin at the far end of the hallway. This was where she was to place the special mixture Nurelion had given her, she felt certain; and indeed, when she poured the green liquid into the basin a stone panel in the wall just beyond groaned and dropped into the floor.
The chamber beyond the basin was just another nondescript barrow room in appearance. But on a pedestal in the center of the far wall, flanked by lighted braziers, was a white flask with a long, slender neck. It was clearly ancient, its surface glaze and some of the underlying material cracked. Frina didn’t think it would hold liquid, but she could see that it once had been a lovely thing. She took it, and then gathered up the substantial collection of alchemical ingredients from the surrounding shelves. They would make a good start to her own study of the art.
__
Nurelion was in the living quarters of his shop, seated before his fireplace, coughing, when Frina handed him the flask she’d found. She watched his eyes devour it hungrily and watched their fire dim as he took in the large crack that ran through it.
“It matches every description of the Phial I’ve found in lore,” he rasped. “But if it can’t hold liquid…”
“It was like this when I found it,” she murmured. “I’m very sorry.”
“Figures. I doubt you’d have the knowledge to harm the Phial, even if you wanted to.” He sighed. “Either way, this is the end of it. Now if you’ll excuse me,” – and he paused to cough more – “I’m not in the mood to entertain guests. I trust you can show yourself out. Here’s for your trouble.”
Nurelion stood and handed her five septims. Then he shuffled painfully to his bed and lay down.
Frina stood, staring at him, and felt her eyes begin to sting.
He’s laying down to die.
She turned and forced herself down the stairs, back to where Nurelion’s assistant stood near the door of the shop. Her throat tightened, and she felt tears fighting her, trying to make their way out into the world.
He’s an elf. A filthy Altmer. Why do I even care?
Quintus, the assistant, stepped close to her and gave her a sympathetic look.
“I want to thank for your help. I know my master can be a bit short at times.”
She shook her head and forced words out of her mouth. “I was happy to help.” Ulfric wanted me to help the people of Windhelm. I did it because of him. But now I’m glad that I did it because… because…
“Here,” Quintus said quietly, slipping a coin purse into her hand. “You should have this. Even though the Phial was damaged, I still think your efforts deserve reward. Now, if you’ll pardon me I’m going to tend to Nurelion. I can make his final days a bit less painful.”
Frina barely managed to nod. She headed for the door; just before she opened it to leave she heard Quintus’ voice murmuring to the old mer.
She ran out of the shop, through the marketplace, and into her small home, where she burst into tears.
I helped him because it was his life’s work. And then I watched him crawl into his bed to die. The poor fellow. The poor, sad fellow.
She put away the ingredients she’d collected in Curalmil’s tomb, sniffling the whole time. Then she left her home and went to the Temple of Talos. She needed to pray, and reflect.
__
It was a tiny group assembled in the Temple of Mara in Riften: Edwyn and Elisif, Agryn and Vyctyna, all the priests and priestesses of Mara who were available, and one or two others. There were none of the courtiers of Solitude there, not even Falk Firebeard. Edwyn sighed.
“I am very sorry that this isn’t the wedding one might expect for royalty, my dear,” he said quietly.
Elisif smiled. “Oh no, my darling. Don’t apologize. This has all been a grand adventure, stealing away in the dead of night and now being wed in the dead of another. Besides,” she added, leaning in closer and frowning, “you know perfectly well that if we had announced such a thing to the public Ulfric Stormcloak would have found some way to interfere with it. He may be able to post guards all over my city but I refuse to let him control my life.”
Edwyn nodded. “I agree. We will need to find some way to lessen his grip on Solitude.” “We.” I’d best be careful with my words. Firebeard will be all over me if he has even a whiff of my real intentions. He smiled. “I mean you, of course. I don’t mean to overstep my station. It is your hold, Elisif; I hope only to assist you in any way I can.”
“Don’t be concerned, my love,” she said, smiling. “There’s no need to worry about your words with me. It is only natural. You will be my consort and my partner in all things as I was to dearest Torygg when he was alive.” She squeezed his hand. “Oh look, here comes Maramal. I think it’s time!”
Maramal recited the familiar litany to Mara, the goddess of love, while Edwyn felt himself growing colder by the moment. He smiled, and smiled, and smiled some more at Elisif; but the words blurred into a meaningless buzzing sound in his ears.
I must do this. It is necessary to everything else.
“Do you agree to be bound together in love, now and forever?”
Elisif beamed, first at Maramal and then at Edwyn. Her eyes shone with excitement and caring. “I do. Now and forever.”
She is a lovely woman. I should be joyful about this.
Maramal turned to Edwyn. “Do you agree to be bound together in love, now and forever?”
Edwyn closed his eyes for just the smallest moment. He saw the face of the dark-haired beauty with golden eyes. He sighed, and heard himself speak.
“I do. Now and forever.”
He opened his eyes again and smiled at Elisif.
I do care about her. She is a lovely woman. But we cannot be bound together in love, for I do not love her.
I am very sorry, my dear. I will do my best not to hurt you too badly.
I am very sorry, Serana. Wait for me. This mortal woman will not live forever.
“Then under the authority of Mara, divine of love, I declare this couple to be wed.”
They took turns slipping the Bonds of Matrimony on each other’s fingers. Agryn and Vyctyna shared their congratulations, and then they all slipped out the door of the Temple.
Edwyn couldn’t help but think of Harkon as he pulled Elisif into an embrace.
We’ve done it, my lord. After all of the years of planning we have accomplished another goal.
He kissed Elisif, tenderly, and smiled at her. This wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. He did care for her, after all. They’d proven to be very compatible in several important ways, and he was beginning to believe that Elisif was a much shrewder woman than she otherwise let on. They might well become a power to be reckoned with as a couple, as well as individually.
But she was not Serana.
“We must go now, my dear,” he said quietly, “before anyone even notices that you’re missing and before any enemies of Solitude have an opportunity to see that it’s you I’ve just wed.”
Elisif nodded. “Of course. Riften may have been under Imperial control briefly but I know where its loyalties truly lie; and I could well be in danger here.” She pulled on her cloak with its voluminous hood that buried her face in darkness, and took Edwyn’s hand. “Let’s go.”
With Agryn and Vyctyna walking just ahead, they made their way back to the gates of Riften and roused the carriage driver from his sleep.
“To Solitude, as quickly as your horse can fly,” Edwyn said, passing the man a sizeable purse of coins.
“Climb in back and we’ll be off,” he answered with a grin.
Edwyn put one arm around Elisif as the cart began rumbling its way down from the Rift. She sighed happily and leaned closer. He looked up and saw Agryn staring at him. Agryn said nothing, but his eyes were sympathetic and he nodded.
He knows. We’ve achieved an important goal but he knows.
Edwyn Wickham, Lord of the Volkihar and Archmage of Winterhold, sat quietly for a moment, mourning the passage of what might have otherwise been. Then his mind turned to the future.
Very slowly, the expression on his face turned to a triumphant grin. His eyes sparkled golden against the dark of the skies.