Qaralana had no idea how long they’d been running along the road cut deep into the mountains. The steep rock walls on either side of the cobbles had narrow bands of grass at their base, but not much more. They, and the canopy of ancient trees whose roots had found any crevice in the rocks, left the roadway in near-complete darkness. It might have been minutes since they’d left the keep – it might have been hours. Between the dark, the driving rain, and the lightning and thunder, it might just as well have been another nightmare.
To make matters worse, she was still in shock about what she’d done to Yngvarr’s elite guard. She’d never been one to shy away from using her blades when necessary; but what she’d done to that guard had been completely unnecessary. She couldn’t stop picturing the gory mess she’d created; and every time the memory of it intruded on her consciousness she gritted her teeth.
If that’s what having the dragon blood does to you, I don’t want it. I don’t want it!
If that’s what having the dragon blood does to you, it’s no wonder Uncle Dar was ready to give it up. No wonder Uncle Roggi almost always looked tense and worried about him. They never knew when that blood would take over.
And Uncle Dar knew so much more, and was so much stronger than I am. How am I supposed to know how to use this properly? I can toss people aside, sure. I can slow them down with cold. But that’s not the problem…
Why has this happened to me? HE was supposed to be the Last Dragonborn!
The others making the trek through the darkness with Qara were silent, as well – Brunulvr, Chip, Agnar, the Hjorgunnars and Brother Thorlough – each preparing in his own way for what was ahead and yet none of them knowing what, exactly, that would be. She shivered as she ran forward to take point, chilled from within in spite of the effort of running. She was concerned about what was ahead, of course: there would be more of Yngvarr’s personal guards to face down, to say nothing of Yngvarr himself. She had no idea what sort of warrior he might be, or whether he might also be a mage. They’d not seen him fight; he’d withdrawn from every confrontation before it had come to that. It was hard to prepare with such a gaping void in knowledge. But the closer they came to their goal the more Qara felt an even greater sense of foreboding, the pressure of power building. There was something ahead that surpassed all of them, and she couldn’t tell whether it was friend or foe.
I should have listened to Daddy. I should have just stayed home.
But then, I would never have met Granddaddy or Grandmama. And Jarl Agnar would just have been overrun by Yngvarr’s thugs.
Unless… unless I really was the one who started this, by stepping through the portal. To think that if I had stayed home, Jarl Valfred might still live.
Her eyes stung, thinking of the brave, honorable man she’d known only for the last hours of his life. Yngvarr needed to die, if for no other reason than to avenge that death.
She felt the power building once more. She couldn’t suppress a shudder.
Please let it not be Yngvarr with the Heart of the Gods that I feel. If that’s what I’m sensing…
Her headlong rush toward a crevasse of anxiety suddenly came to an abrupt halt as Thorlough shouted.
“We’ve got trouble!”
Two Staalgarde soldiers had been hiding just behind one of the massive trees alongside the road, left behind as lookouts and ambushers. Someone – she assumed it was Chip, since he had the sharpest ears – had spotted them and alerted the others. They darted ahead of her on the right to engage, and she fumed. If they’d just stayed behind her, she might have used a Shout on the enemy. As it was, though, it didn’t matter much in the end. With as many blades flashing as there were, it took no time at all to defeat the soldiers.
Chip, Brunulvr, and the Hjorgunnars sprinted down the road, leaving Agnar, Qara and Brother Thorlough in the rear. She wanted to be offended that she was relegated to the back, but then realized that she was actually in the best possible position to defend the king from a surprise attack. She could Shout to either side without risking any of her own party. So she stayed with them, adjusting her speed as needed to keep Jarl Agnar within her field of vision.
The road took a slow, broad turn to the left, running just beneath the peaks of the northern mountains, as best Qara could reckon. The group ran on, passing beneath a series of looming stone arches. Qara had just turned to look back at them when a sudden flash of lightning revealed just how huge they really were.
“We must be getting closer,” Chip said, coming to stand beside her.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because when I went to the Hunting Grounds, these big arches were near the end of the canyons. They mark the entrance to something important. We must be getting near.”
Qara nodded. She was intrigued, and wanted to know more; but this wasn’t the time, and in the midst of a deluge in the darkest portion of the night it wasn’t the place, either.
They ran for a few moments longer with no further interruptions by soldiers. Then Chip pointed.
“Up ahead. Just there.”
Qara slowed. They were about to pass through a thick gate, much like the one at the keep from which they’d just come. She watched Brunulvr peering up toward the top of the wide wall, and the Hjorgunnars sweeping from side to side, as though they expected people to be hidden in the stonework. There surely were many places to hide. But apparently the two guards who had been stationed down the road were the only two Yngvarr had left on watch.
The light level rose, just past the gate. Qara was confused for just a moment, but then realized that there was a large gap in the stone wall to their left. Even in the rain-drenched darkness she could see through the trees, out toward the river valley far below. Then she looked back toward the mountains. Set into them so as to command the vista beyond the cliffs was a tomb of ancient design. Qara had seen others like it here and there, in Skyrim; Dardeh and Roggi had suggested that they were built by the Dragon Cult, so long ago that it was hard to pinpoint when, exactly. This one felt somehow larger – both in size and in the aura of power that surrounded it. The group slowly approached the enormous metal doors and Qara felt exceptionally small; just the door was at least three times her height. They all exchanged glances; then Agnar nodded, and they pushed the great doors open.
There was a pause – a combined inhalation that was almost an audible gasp from the entire group – as they entered a huge hall. Even with some of its space blocked by the rubble of collapsed stone pillars, the sheer size and scope of the place was awe-inspiring. Candles lit the ornate niches on either side of the hall, with brazier light reflecting off a carved inlay just above the circular opening at its far end. The alcoves between intact pillars housed statues. Qara frowned; she couldn’t understand the presence of Dibella, Mara and Talos here in a temple so very ancient. Perhaps later generations had brought these icons into the ruins as an acknowledgement that this was a place of power. And it was that, no doubt about it. The energy she had felt building since they’d left Staalgarde was nearly overwhelming, here.
“Sheathe your weapons,” Jarl Agnar said in a hushed tone. “We walk on sacred ground.” Qara had been gripping her daggers, but immediately sheathed them in response to Agnar’s order.
The group hurried down the length of the hall, a visibly distressed Thorlough in the lead. Ahead of them, a large, round stone table held a series of smaller, circular items reflecting the light of the nearby braziers. Thorlough slowed for a moment as they neared the table, and then groaned.
“The keys are in place,” he called out. “Yngvarr must be inside – we must hurry!”
Chip ran alongside Qara and spoke in an urgent whisper. “What is that? What am I feeling? It’s so powerful…”
“It’s like the feeling I got when I took the soul of those dragons, Chip,” Qara said. “All that power…”
She noticed Brunulvr staring at her with an odd expression. “It’s the Heart of the Gods, lassie,” he said. “What Shor himself used te make this land livable. An’ ye cannae let Yngvarr take it fer himself.”
“Right. Whatever it is, Yngvarr can’t have it,” Chip growled. Qara could only nod, struck dumb by the ominous feeling pressing in on her.
Thorlough led the way past the table, down a short set of stairs, through a wooden door and into a dark hallway. There was another set of doors at the far end; as they bolted toward it Qara’s anxiety grew ever greater. And then, as Thorlough threw the doors open, she saw beyond them the thing that had been generating the sense of power and foreboding she’d felt.
It was an enormous cavern, large enough to contain fully-grown pines equaling in size any in the forest outside. In the center of the space, a stone platform rose above the cavern floor. And in the center of that was a column of whirling magic. Yngvarr’s mages surrounded the magical barrier, their arms raised. That was clearly where the Heart of the Gods was; there was no other reason Qara could imagine for them to be there. Whatever was happening on that platform had to be stopped. That was obvious. What was of more immediate concern, though, was the row of people stretched across the cavern floor between her and the magic.
Yngvarr and his men. This is going to be bad. We probably can handle the guards, but I don’t know about Yngvarr himself, or those mages.
Qara prepared herself to use Unrelenting Force. If nothing else, it would buy them time by knocking the adversaries off their feet. As she felt the energies building inside, though, she felt an answering pull of enormous power, almost a challenge. It threw her completely off-stride; it nearly pulled the breath from her lungs. She slowed to a stop beside Brother Thorlough, a shudder of unease rippling up her back, and scanned the area. She couldn’t tell where the challenge was coming from.
Please let it not be Yngvarr. I can’t defeat what I’ve just felt. I can’t answer that challenge, whatever it was.
“Ah! You’re just in time!” Yngvarr’s ever-sarcastic voice called out a greeting as he stepped toward Agnar’s party. “After all, nobody’s been in here for six hundred years; I would hate for you to miss this momentous occasion.” He swiveled to look behind him for a moment, tsk’d, and then turned back to face Agnar. “I would already have the Heart, but it appears to have some kind of magical shield around it; something that book forgot to mention.” His voice said that he was well past simple frustration.
He put on a fake smile then, and let his voice resume its usual facetious tones. “But no worry, my wizards are sure that they can remove the barrier in a timely fashion. Those keys you gave me worked wonderfully!”
Qara heard a dark growl. Several of them, really; and glancing at her companions didn’t tell her who exactly among them had been ready to rip out Yngvarr’s throat just then.
“I studied each one for quite some time,” Yngvarr continued. “I’m truly honored to be the one in my family that finally gets to use them.”
“Why are you doing this, Yngvarr?” Thorlough asked quietly. “Why do you want such power?”
Yngvarr tsk’d again; and he dropped all his posturing, his volume rising until his voice became an abrasive shout. “I don’t want power; I want what is rightfully mine!” He took one step closer to Thorlough and pointed at him. “Do you know what it’s like to have something that is yours taken from you, then… displayed, just out of reach, every single day of your life? Hjalmar Unnvaldr led the group that discovered Falskaar, for years. They were loyal to him. Then, just because he wasn’t the one that helped them, they all flocked to Olaf, forgetting the services that Hjalmar had provided.”
“Then mebbe ye should hae tried helping folk too, ye damn fool,” Brunulvr called out. “Didye ever think o’ that, lad?”
Yngvarr snarled. “To this day, the Borvaldurs remain on the throne that they took from my family! A throne that is not theirs!”
“A throne is not something you are entitled to, Yngvarr,” Ulgar said quietly.
“The people have the right to choose their leader,” Svegard added. “And they chose the Borvaldurs. They’ve done nothing but provide wisdom, and help, while your family does nothing but cause trouble for the people!”
“That is not true!” Yngvarr bellowed.
Qara frowned. Yngvarr was getting angrier by the moment. She could sense strength from him, but it wasn’t the massive power of challenge she’d felt on her way in. She still felt the pull of the Heart and the strain of the wizards trying to break down the barrier. She could also feel – something – else. What it was, she had no idea.
Thank the gods it isn’t Yngvarr, though.
Agnar, who had been quiet since they entered the ancient tomb, spoke up. “How did you get your people to follow you so loyally?” he asked wearily.
“You promised them power, didn’t you,” Thorlough sneered. “You’d get the Heart and use it to help them.”
“You lied to your people,” Agnar said. “That is the worst thing that a king can do. You betrayed your city. How could you possibly hope to rule all of Falskaar?”
Yngvarr snarled. “I will not stand here being assailed by your petty claims! Admit it, Agnar. You’ve lost. After all this time and smooth sailing, you’ve failed! You have let your family and your people down!”
Qara gasped. She’d wanted to respond to Yngvarr in some way, but the change in light behind him caught her attention. The magical barrier winked out as Yngvarr spoke. She thought of the quiet, peaceful village of Amber Creek that she’d entered after coming through the portal and her heart twisted in pain.
Oh gods. Was this really my fault? Am I the one who interrupted the smooth sailing? They looked so happy when I got here and it’s been nothing but one disaster after the next ever since!
“Now,” Yngvarr continued. “Don’t any of you move. I’ll make this quick.”
He turned back toward the pedestal that had been hidden by magic, as the wizards descended from the platform. Svegard cried out.
“We have to do something, Agnar!”
“We must stall him!” Thorlough added.
“Stall him?” Chip growled. “What good will that do? We delay the inevitable?”
There was a moment of silence. Then Agnar shouted.
“Duel me!”
Yngvarr froze in mid-stride and turned back to face them all, incredulous. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I am challenging you to combat. No guards. None of my companions. Just you and me.”
“Agnar!” Thorlough said.
“No, Agnar!” Qara cried. “I know that’s the traditional way of the Nords, but you’re too valuable!”
Agnar ignored them. “If you have even a shred of honor, Yngvarr, you’ll accept my challenge or forever be known as a coward.”
Yngvarr stared at them for a moment and then chuckled. “Fine,” he said flippantly. “I’ll play your little game. But fighting an old man wouldn’t be much of a challenge, now would it?”
Brunulvr snorted. “Ye think not, lad? Have a go a’ me then. We’ll see what ye think after I rip ye to shreds!” He was holding his axe up, threateningly, and Qara shuddered to think what Yngvarr might look like after it got done with him.
“No,” Yngvarr said. “I want to fight the Traveler.”
Qara felt the shock all the way from her feet to her scalp. Instantly, the embers inside that had been smoldering for what seemed like hours now burst back into heat and light.
“They come waltzing through the gateway, supposedly foretelling some grand tragedy that is supposed to plague the land – certainly they must be special. She will provide a challenge. So I want to fight her.”
“He’s the plague,” Chip muttered.
“I know.” She could barely contain herself. The word challenge pounded in her mind. Challenge, like the mottled dragon who had leapt past her and Roggi, over and over, on the day she’d learned that she was Dragonborn and her uncle was no longer so. Challenge. She surely wanted to challenge Yngvarr, to take his soul the way she had that of the dragon.
You’re not a dragon, Qara, she heard Dardeh tell her. You have no wings, no fangs.
But I have the dragon blood, Uncle Dar. And he is going to die.
“You must do it,” Svegard told her quietly.
Agnar turned to her and sighed. “I know that you are only half Nord, but I know that you are honorable. You must fight Yngvarr in my stead. It is all he will accept, and it is our only hope. Fight for the honor of the people of Falskaar.”
“Aye, lassie,” Brunulvr’s quiet voice came from behind her.
“Your people are my people, my Jarl,” she said, surprised by the calm sounds of her own voice. “I will fight for all of us.”
She took a deep breath, turned, and moved slowly forward toward Yngvarr.
“This is going to be fun,” he sneered, chuckling.
She allowed him enough time to take a few paces toward her and raise his ugly mace before she drew her blades. He saw that she was only wielding daggers, and put another ugly sneer on his face. Then she smiled at him.
“FUS- RO DAH!”
She’d been so frustrated and angry, and had been holding that anger back ever since they’d entered the tomb. The Shout exploded toward him; and before she’d even finished the first word of power Yngvarr was flying backward toward the platform. His guards, obedient to the order to stay out of the fighting, staggered back as well as they were struck by the edges of the blast.
Qara ran forward, blades flying, and attacked Yngvarr even as he was down. It wasn’t necessarily the honorable thing to do, but in that moment she didn’t care.
Die, Yngvarr! You must die!
“Enough!” he shouted, trying to avoid her blades as he scrambled, bleeding, to his feet. “Hold them!”
There was an explosion of magical energies that flew all the way through the gigantic chamber. Suddenly, Qara couldn’t move, and she couldn’t draw a deep enough breath for another Shout. Judging by the cries of dismay behind her, nobody anyone else could move, either.
“You lying scum!” Thorlough shouted.
“Son of a bitch!” Svegard snarled.
Yngvarr stepped up onto the platform, chuckling. “Finally! The Heart is all mine!”
Qaralana found that she couldn’t form the words that wanted to burst from her mouth. No, Yngvarr! Turn around and fight me fairly! I challenge…
CHALLENGE!
Qara heard the word in her mind as clearly as she’d heard any sound in her short life. She felt the great pressure of the power that she’d been dreading since they’d reached the outskirts of Staalgarde. But it wasn’t the sound of a word that filled the chamber. Instead, what she and everyone else present heard was a huge, hollow roar, one that reverberated through the cavern and ricocheted off every wall. She heard other words, as well, words that were huge, and powerful, and overwhelming, sounding in her head as the overwhelming roars filled all their ears.
YOU CANNOT FIGHT ME, CHILD. I AM AHKRINVIING AND I ACCEPT THE CHALLENGE OF YNGVARR UNNVALDR!
As they all watched with a mixture of horror and relief, an enormous gray-green dragon swooped down from the mists at the far reaches of the cavern. Yngvarr, his guards, and his wizards stared up, frozen in horror as the great beast dropped down from above, snatched Yngvarr up in its gigantic talons, and carried him away screaming the most bloodcurdling screams Qaralana had ever heard.
Brother Thorlough of Bailun Priory had taken time on their slow journey back to Amber Creek to compose what he intended to record permanently, in much the same way the ancient priest long before him had transcribed what he remembered from the destruction of Vizemundsted. As he told them, he wanted to ensure that future generations would know what had transpired, as best he could portray it.
The townspeople were gathered around the fire at the Amber Creek Inn when he rose to his feet in response to yet another cry of “what happened? Tell us!” He cleared his throat and pulled out a collection of papers.
“I’ll just read you what I’ve written, then,” he said. “It’s not quite finished. But then, neither are we.”
There were chuckles and a few cheers as he shuffled the sheets and took a stance before the fire. Then the room went silent.
“Yngvarr’s screams echoed through the great cavern, as Ahkrinviing swooped down and carried him away, tearing not only at his body, but at his very soul. Agnar gently placed the Heart of the Gods back on its pedestal, and the chamber was resealed. Yngvarr Unnvaldr was dead, the land free of his family’s endless pursuit of power. But not all was won on that day. Borvald lay in ruin, as did Staalgarde – two mighty blows that might mean darker times awaited the land.”
“No!” someone cried out from the back of the inn. Thorlough looked up, smiled, and held up one hand before continuing to read.
“But that was not our concern right then. For on this day, Falskaar was saved, thanks to the valiant efforts of our King, his people, and the Traveler, an outsider whose involvement in these events was destined by the gods themselves.”
Thorlough looked up from his paper and grinned mischievously at Qaralana before continuing.
“The people may continue to live, to farm; their children may once again play in the forests. And while the land is not without issue it has a moment to live, and to enjoy. Falskaar is safe, for now.”
He looked up and smiled at the room, sliding his sheaf of papers back into one of his voluminous sleeves. “That’s it. That’s all I’ve got for now. But that’s what happened, at least the way I saw it.”
The crowd broke into applause and cheers. No few of them stared curiously at Qaralana, who had been trying to stay out of the way and out of the public eye.
“You left out the Traveler’s big brother, Thorlough,” she said, grinning at him.
I just never gave him enough credit. He did well by Agnar, in the end.
Chip snorted. “I think I fall into the category of the King’s people, don’t I?” he said cheerfully.
“I suppose that you do, Chip,” she said, marveling to herself that it did indeed seem to be so. “But I guess that means I do, too.”
As everyone went back to their drinking and eating, Jarl Agnar approached her. “Thank you, my friend,” he said, “for everything you have done for the people of Falskaar. You put yourself in harm’s way for the greater good of Falskaar many times. That is not something most women would have done.”
Chip, standing just behind the Jarl, snorted. “You’re a brave man to say that, Agnar. I think I’ll just go over here and talk to Grandda.” Qara glared at him as he slipped out of range of a swat.
“I’m used to fending for myself, Jarl Agnar. And for others. I’ve never thought of it in terms of being a girl. I’m just doing what needs to be done. Besides. Brunulvr and Gulmist are our grandparents. Why wouldn’t we do everything possible to help them?”
“Is that so?” Agnar said, raising an eyebrow. “All the better, then. I promise you that the scholars of Falskaar will remember you. Both of you,” he added, smiling. “In the meantime, relax. Have some ale. You’ve earned it. We’ve all earned it.”
“Yes we have,” Qaralana said. Then, suddenly seized by thoughts of Harald Stormcloak and his family, she gave a small bow of the type she often gave to King Ulfric in his court. “We have indeed, my King.”
“Oh now don’ ye start that, young lassie,” Brunulvr said, coming to stand beside her. “He gets a’ irritated if ye name him King Agnar.” Agnar smiled at Brunulvr and walked away.
Brunulvr sighed, and crossed his arms. “An’ I let him down. Ah’ll never get past that.” He shook his head. “Never mind, then. Come over to th’ cot. Yer gran and I want to talk to ye both.” He slipped out the door, leaving Qaralana and Chip standing together near the door.
“Let’s go,” Chip told her. “Things aren’t what they seem, here, and I want to know why.”
Qara just nodded. She had questions, too. She was still grappling with what she’d experienced in the cavern – with what she had felt and heard in her mind.
“So you’ll bring him back with you?” Gulmist said, somewhat anxiously to Qara’s ear. “Please, children. I want to see him before I die.”
Chip had been staring at the floor, deep in thought; but at that his head shot up and he stared at his grandmother. “What do you mean, ‘before I die?’”
“Ah, dinnae worry, young laddie,” Brunulvr chuckled. “Yer gran is a strong woman. But…”
“But what?” Qara said, frowning.
“But I’m old, dears,” Gulmist said, swapping a sharp look with Brunulvr. “Things can happen. Your father, he would be, well, not a young man any longer, either.” She sighed. “Please. I just want to see my Brynny once more.”
“We’ll try, Gran,” Chip said. “But I don’t know that we’ll have any more luck getting through that stubborn head of his than…”
“Than I would have trying to ground the dragon that took Yngvarr,” Qara blurted out before she had a chance to stop herself. Both her grandparents stared at her.
“About that, missy,” Brunulvr said. “Ye have the gift, do ye not?”
She stared at him. There was something wildly odd about this man. She’d felt it from the beginning, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Chip was staring at him, too; and the two of them shared a look before Brunulvr looked back at her.
“If by the gift you mean that I’m Dragonborn – well, yes. Our Uncle Dardeh was, before me. He’s the one who killed Alduin. It’s a really long tale, and I’ll tell it to you some day, but yes. You saw me knock Yngvarr backwards.”
“Aye, and others.”
“I can Shout dragons to the ground, and when their bodies are killed I can take their souls. But not that dragon. I heard him, in my head, telling me that I could not fight him.”
Brunulvr shook his head. “Of course not, lass. That wasn’t just a dragon. Oh, there once were dragons here on Falskaar. The walls’re there if ye look long enough.”
Chip nodded. “We saw two of them in that huge cavern system.”
“But that was no’ just a dragon. That was Ahkrinviing. The avatar of Shor himself.”
A shiver ran up Qara’s spine. “You’re telling me I had… a god… in my head?”
“Wait a second,” Chip interrupted. “I thought the legend was that he tore his heart out to make the land warm! Wasn’t it? Then how did he come back?”
Gulmist smiled. “That is the tale, yes. But there are many other tales of Shor, aren’t there? Aren’t our moons said to be parts of the body of our lord Shor? Isn’t he said to be the lord of Sovngarde?”
“He’s not there,” Qara murmured. “At least not physically. Uncle Dar told me. His throne is there but it’s empty.”
“Well there,” Gulmist said, as though there was nothing unusual about what she’d just been told. “What do you suppose might then prevent the very god who made Nirn from taking any form he might like, in whole or in part?” She smiled and wandered over to her alchemy table as if there was nothing unusual at all about the conversation.
Qara just stared, dumbfounded.
“There’s more to this, though,” Chip said, staring at his grandfather intently. “This place, I mean. You know what it is. I know that you do. Please tell me. I need to know.”
Brunulvr stared at him for a few long moments, his brow furrowed in a way that made him look like both his son and his grandson. Then he sighed.
“Aye, laddie. There is more here than ye ken. And if ye’ll bring my reprobate offspring to see us again I’ll tell ye what ye want. Both of ye.”
Chip sputtered angrily. “You’re going to what; make me pay for the information I need?”
Qara spoke, completely out of habit. To her great surprise, Brunulvr did as well, simultaneously.
“You always pay for your information.”
Qara and her grandfather looked at each other in surprise for a moment and then Brunulvr started laughing.
“Well, then. He listened to his Da at least a bit, didnae he?”