Here at the north end of the valley they were just over the hills from Markarth – except that the “hills” were the Druadach Mountains, every bit as massive and frigid as the Jeralls separating Skyrim from Cyrodiil. Once there had been a pass through to Haafingar, but it had long since been blocked by a massive rockfall southwest of Castle Volkihar. Still it was easy for Harald to imagine that the great underground world of the Dwemer might have rendered political borders meaningless. For all he knew, he would open this gate and find a passage back home.
The gate’s hinges were stiff from age and disuse, and complained noisily at being forced open. Stepping through Harald paused, hoping that they were actually in the right place – for all he could see before him was a ramp disappearing into the thickest fog he’d ever witnessed.
“You’re certain this is the spot?” he asked Reamonn.
“It is indeed,” Reamonn answered. “As to whether or not we will find the gauntlets here, I cannot say; but this is the location to which my scrying pointed.”
“Well let’s get going, then,” Ulkarin rumbled.
“Indeed,” Kalaman agreed.
Harald nodded and started down the ramp. The fog thinned as he moved forward, eventually revealing the elaborate entry to a distinctly Dwemer city. He didn’t have time to do more than glance at it, though, for a familiar grunting and snarling caught his attention. Lumbering up the hill toward the group was a frost troll.
“I hear something,” Kalaman said.
Apparently Ulkarin had heard it as well; he said “there you are” and an arrow from his direction flew past Harald’s left shoulder, burying itself in the troll’s heavy fur. That wouldn’t slow the troll for long, of course, but Kalaman did something that might. He flung a cloud of magic, from which emerged a flame atronach to pelt the troll with fireballs. Kalaman’s own fireballs followed. Reamonn had a nasty-looking spiked club in his off hand and was swinging.
Harald simply backed up out of the way, hoping for an opening but not expecting one when he saw Ulkarin go for his axe. He didn’t want to be burned, he didn’t care to be bludgeoned with a spiked club, and he definitely didn’t want to be anywhere near the path of that battleaxe. He circled around behind the others and finally leapt forward to attack between the other men’s swings. As damaged as the troll was, Harald finished it with only two strikes.
“Ugly things,” he grumbled, kicking the troll’s carcass. “The worst part is that they recover so quickly that you can wear yourself out trying to end them!”
Kalaman chuckled. “Labrynthian.”
“Eh? What about Labrynthian?”
“It’s an absolute forest of frost trolls in there. One has to be very quick, very powerful, or very good at hiding in the shadows to get through unscathed.”
Ulkarin looked down at the troll and shook his head. “I’d hate to be scathed by one of these things.”
Harald chuckled and led the way down the slope, into the flat valley holding the Dwemer ruin. Between it and them, though, was something that brought him to a stop.
A square stone pedestal held a sculpture of two figures. The one on the right wore Dwemer armor and held a torch, of sorts: a staff with dual prongs at its end, a flame glowing hotly between them. Harald frowned, confused. The flame was real. What fueled it he couldn’t tell, but the flame was alive, dancing like any other flame. The Dwemer held a chain of heavy, spiked links. A flick of his wrist might have thrown those deadly spikes at, and probably into, the creature at the other end of them: a Falmer, a heavy collar fasted around its neck, crouched but ready to step forward.
Harald stared at it, shaken. He knew how the last Snow Elves had sought the Dwemers’ protection deep underground and had eventually gone blind, becoming the vengeful, dangerous creatures now known as Falmer. These things were part of Harald’s understanding of the world. But seeing a representation of the two races at a time when they both existed in Tamriel and lived together was a different experience altogether. It was stunning, and not in a good way. It raised mental images of Dunmer taking Argonians as slaves, or Thalmor taking Nords to be exported and sold like simple commodities. He cast a sideways glance at Kalaman, wondering what the mage might be thinking.
Reamonn was the first to speak. “By the Divines, what a sight! The Dwemer were a vain society, weren’t they? Then again, most Elves share the same trait.”
Harald gasped, staring at Reamonn and then at Kalaman. The Archmage seemed completely unperturbed by the insulting remark. Harald, though, wasn’t.
“That’s a rude thing to say in our current company, Missionary.” He cringed as the words left his mouth and he heard their imperious tone. I am more like my father than I would wish, especially when I am angry. I wish I knew how to control it better.
Kalaman glanced at him and shrugged, one corner of his mouth rising slightly.
“I appreciate the support, young sir, but do not trouble yourself on my account. The Missionary only states observable truths. The mer are indeed proud people, sometimes arrogantly so. I myself am not immune to that pride.” He chuckled. “I am fortunate to live and work among so many truly gifted mages. They tend to keep my self-importance in check, for I know I am not their equal.” He pointed back at the sculpture. “This, though. This sculpture is troubling to me.”
“Me too,” Harald murmured, trying to refrain from clenching his jaw too obviously. “I’m not fond of slavery.”
Kalaman nodded. “Yes, but it’s not just that fact that is troubling.” He rubbed his chin and pointed at the Falmer. “The text beneath the statues explains it well. The short version is this: by the time the Snow Elves were well on their way to becoming Falmer they had lost all sense of pride or arrogance. They were afraid, and had been made to be afraid for so long that servitude looked like freedom. Bondage seemed like destiny. Uncertainty was worse than anything else, and only the master could make them safe.”
“In a way they were right, though, weren’t they?” Ulkarin asked.
Kalaman nodded. “In the sense that they needed refuge from the Atmoran invaders, yes, they were right to be afraid. But the Dwemer used that fear to drive any independent thoughts out of the Snow Elves’ heads. Eventually there were no thoughts that didn’t come from the Dwemer themselves. And that is how tyrants everywhere, on Nirn and beyond, have claimed dominion over others.” He pointed again at the Falmer. “That creature is following its master willingly, not realizing that the chain is a prison.”
Harald’s mouth dropped open. “That’s exactly it!” When the others stared at him, he flushed in embarrassment. “I was truly disturbed, seeing this. It just feels so wrong, even though it’s a magnificent piece of art. I’ve never cared for the idea or practice of slavery. Even so many years after the fact, some of the Argonians who live in my…” He stopped himself. Kalaman and Ulkarin knew who he was, but Reamonn did not and he preferred to keep it that way. “In my hometown,” he finished weakly. “Even they are sometimes convinced that they are a lesser people. It’s just not right. They’re different, not inferior.”
“And that’s good on you, mate,” Ulkarin said quietly. “You actually think about these things. There are plenty of others who don’t.”
Harald gave Ulkarin a grim smile. “I feel as though I really need to. That’s part of the reason I’m here.”
“What’s the other part?”
“Truly?” He thought for a moment, stroking his chin, trying to decide how he could safely phrase this. “I’ve always wanted to know what is real. I want to see with my own eyes.”
Kalaman nodded. “Frankly, that is why I am here as well. My cousin alerted me that odd things were happening here in the West. I felt that I needed to see for myself and judge my future direction based on experience, not rumor. If it was important enough for that ne’er-do-well to come and find me, it was definitely important enough to warrant a scouting trip, so to speak.”
Reamonn cleared his throat. “All of that is impressive. Very admirable on both your parts. But it’s cold out here and we’re meant to be searching for a religious relic. If you don’t mind, could we continue?”
Ulkarin laughed. “There we are. A true Breton. We’re not necessarily built for the snow.”
“Oh. Yes, of course! Let’s go,” Harald said, chuckling to have been reminded that he was, after all, a Nord.
Like its counterpart in Markarth, this ruin was built both in front of and into the stark mountainsides surrounding it. In the snow and cold, only the tarnished bronze of the Dwemer machinery broke the palette of black, grey, and white. It was stunning.
Ulkarin apparently agreed. “What a view! Wish I could frame it.”
Harald nodded. “Fantastic. I wonder what we’ll find inside,” he said, opening the nearest metal door.
“Oh!”
The doors opened onto a stairway leading to an elaborate courtyard full of more stonework, metal fittings, pipes, and gears, and a raised walkway to another sturdy-looking door. He trotted up the steps, looking for the best way in, and then jumped as the spirit of Shor erupted from a sphere of magic.
The fact that this ancient avatar had appeared meant that it was a powerful foe before them. Harald glanced around, confused, as a second sphere of magic exploded just behind him and Kalaman shouted “I’ll see you burn!” Harald drew his sword and stepped backward out of the way of the flame atronach, only then seeing the Wispmother.
Ulkarin calmly took a position beside Harald’s spirit guardian. “Time to kiss my blade!” he yelled, taking a massive swing at the creature just as it summoned two additional wisps. Harald raised his own blade, intending to join Ulkarin in the attack; before he could, his spirit guardian threw himself forward, falling on the Wispmother just as Kalaman’s atronach landed a fireball. All of them – Wispmother, wisps, and guardian – vanished together.
Harald looked around for his companions and frowned. Kalaman, clad only in light robes, had willingly joined the battle. Ulkarin, of course, had been in the middle of it. But Harald couldn’t see Reamonn anywhere. Reamonn might be a man of the cloth, but he was a man in substantial cloth and carried a weapon, besides. Moreover, this would be the perfect place to stage an ambush that might have taken out two of the most important figures in Skyrim. The fact that he couldn’t find the man who had led them here made Harald all the more nervous.
I’ve spent too much time around Father and Roggi. I’m beginning to see conspiracies everywhere I go. This is ridiculous.
He scanned the area for access to the stone walkway. To their right, steps led to a gated cupola, likely holding a lift. On the left was an enormous statue, presumably representing a Dwemer official, maybe a local ruler. Of more interest, though, was a smaller metal door set into the structure at the statue’s feet. That would be their way in, he was certain of it; he eagerly trotted across the yard and entered the space beyond.
And there, just inside the building, was Reamonn. Harald stared at him in disbelief, not knowing what to do or say. The man had not only avoided the battle, but had come inside. It was hard not to wonder whether he’d been doing something else. Perhaps he’d set up a trap. Perhaps he’d been the one to summon the Wispmother. Before Harald could say anything, though, Ulkarin did it for him.
“There you are. I wondered if we’d lost the man with the plan.”
“Yes, I came ahead to see whether I could determine our path forward,” Reamonn said, not looking in the least embarrassed or nervous.
Again, just as Harald was about to say something probably a bit more sarcastic than he should have, one of his companions saved him the trouble.
“You missed a brisk and most entertaining skirmish, just outside in the yard,” Kalaman said. His words seemed almost jovial but his Altmer tone carried its own heavy sarcasm, whether intended or not. “I sometimes forget how much fun it is to fight creatures from another plane, tucked away as I am behind my books so much of the time. The life of a scholar. Enlightening, but rarely threatening.”
Harald looked away from Reamonn and grinned in the dark. If the man hadn’t gotten the message with Ulkarin’s no-nonsense accusation, he certainly knew now that they’d been in a serious fight while he’d been here in the warmth.
This room was completely unremarkable. Shelves held an assortment of cogs, pieces of metal, and random bits of dried ingredients. A small shelving unit had a Dwemer cup on the lower shelf and a set of heavy gauntlets on the top; Harald pointed at them and turned to Reamonn.
“Gauntlets?”
The Missionary shook his head. “These are not the gauntlets we’re looking for,” he said. Harald was secretly pleased. It would have been fortunate to have found the relics immediately, of course; but he wanted to see more of the Dwemer architecture and machinery that had to be beneath them. The exit from this room, though, didn’t descend. There was a spiral staircase leading up to a door that opened out onto the very slick, very cold stone walkway. It was the one he’d seen from below, crossing to another section of the structure and passing in front of the huge statue.
“I wonder what that’s supposed to signify,” he wondered aloud.
“Authority, I would imagine,” Kalaman said. “Authority large enough to hold an entire race in the balance.”
“But that’s what the other statue showed us, isn’t it?”
Kalaman stopped for a moment, as if searching for words. “Not necessarily. That statue below – at least the plaque explaining it – sounds more like a protest, for lack of a better word. A somber remembrance of times gone by, and not necessarily in a friendly way. A cautionary tale, as it were.”
Harald cocked his head to one side, regarding the odd elf. “And this one?”
Kalaman shrugged. “I would wager that this one represents exactly what I mentioned before. Authority. It’s much older, I believe, probably erected during the height of Dwemer power. It’s almost defiant in tone. ‘Here we are, the pinnacle of the greatest race on Nirn and beyond.'”
“That’s saying something, coming from an Altmer,” Ulkarin said.
“Half-Altmer,” Kalaman grinned back at him. “I know that some of my fellow elves think themselves the greatest creation in all planes of existence but we are, after all, echoes of the Ehlnofey by way of the Aldmer. None of us is more than a pale replica of former greatness.”
“That’s a lot of words, magician,” Ulkarin told him.
“And yet,” Reamonn added, “I sense the truth in them.” He peered at Kalaman and nodded. “As one who tends to let language run away with him from time to time I appreciate what you have to say. Very much so.”
Harald continued down the stone pathway, pondering. If they made it out of the Reach alive and returned to Skyrim, it seemed to him that an Archmage with such a practical understanding of the world would be a very good ally for a future king to have.
A future king. Shor’s beard, I’m thinking of myself as a future king.
The walkway led to another dark foyer, with a cobweb-filled opening straight ahead. Harald walked toward the dim light mounted just in front of the cobwebs, and cleared his way through the sticky strands.
Before them was the top of a dome with a dirt-encrusted, blue plate inset and a ramp curling both up and down its far side. Harald made for the ramp but as he passed the center of the dome, a shape atop it caught his attention and brought him to a full stop. As he clambered up the sides of the dome he heard Reamonn come into the room and gasp.
“Who would have thought a race capable of such staggering architecture could simply… vanish?”
“It is astonishing, isn’t it?” Kalaman said.
“What have you got there, Harald?” Ulkarin called to him.
“Falmer. It must have fallen from above or something, because it’s face-down and I don’t see anything that tells me how it died.”
“Lucky for us it did, I guess.”
“Perhaps it was a spider attack,” Kalaman said, pointing up at a large egg sac wedged into a convenient-for-spiders corner of the room. Harald nodded and jumped onto the ramp, running up to search in the sac and among the shelves and platforms beyond it.
Harald heard a gagging sound below him and looked down to see Reamonn holding a cloth over his mouth.
“Gods. It’s hard to stomach the stench these Falmer wallow in,” the man mumbled through his cloth.
Harald couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “That’s a single Falmer, Missionary.”
“And it stinks because it’s dead,” Ulkarin added. “Wait till we get to the main event.”
“Couldn’t possibly stink worse than that mine with the undead in it,” Harald added.
“True, that.”
He’d just turned to go back down the ramp when all Oblivion broke loose.
“You’re dead!” Kalaman yelled, once again summoning an atronach. In the sparse glow of the conjuration’s light Harald saw that the spiders who had been hiding among the webs and the egg sacs took exception to their being there. Kalaman and Reamonn had one spider occupied. Ulkarin growled and took aim at a huge, dark, scuttling shape almost below Harald’s line of sight. Harald followed suit, drawing the Nerevarine’s bow and trying his best to hit anything that wasn’t Ulkarin.
“This ends here!” Ulkarin cried, landing what looked like a killing shot on the larger cavern spider just as Kalaman approached it from the other side, laughing maniacally.
“There. Back in order,” he said, snuffing the magic he held in his hands.
“I think it’s safe to say our Falmer friend died of cavern spider,” Harald said. “There’s nothing else up here; where to next?”
“Deeper, friend,” Raemonn answered. “Many mysteries waiting for us, no doubt!”
Harald nodded, and descended the ramp. There was a gate set into the wall opposite them; as he neared it, though, he ran headlong into a wall of stench. A Falmer had tangled with a dwarven sphere and both had gone down. The Falmer, of course, being organic, was doing what dead organic things do. Somehow, the idea of mysteries waiting didn’t thrill Harald quite as much as it had just a few hours earlier.
Harald gagged. “Ok, Reamonn, I owe you an apology. This really does stink. If you have a sensitive nose, no wonder you smelled it from up on top.”
“Mmm-hmm,” the man mumbled through the cloth over his nose.
“Let’s get out of here,” Ulkarin said. “It’s still better than the undead but not by much.”
“A rather pungent bouquet, I would agree,” Kalaman noted. “Let’s move on.”
Harald drew his sword and dropped into a crouch, hoping not to be an easy target. Around a corner the corridor sloped downward. He was peering into the shadows at its base when there was a familiar – and alarming – click. He looked down to verify that yes, in fact he had just stepped on a pressure plate. A whirring sound led his gaze to a long, thin track in the center of the ramp; it held a thresher blade which was now headed straight for him.
“Damn. Back up, everyone! They’re old but they can still slice you to ribbons!” he called to the group. The blades were coming too quickly for Harald to back up, so he jumped to the side, behind one of the massive stone support pillars. He hadn’t realized that Kalaman was directly behind him. The tall elf scrambled to get out of the way but apparently was just a moment too slow.
“No!” he shrieked, accompanied by the sound of something ripping. Harald watched in horror as the Archmage darted to the other side of the passage, swearing in some language Harald didn’t recognize, and began casting a healing spell much stronger than the one Harald had at his disposal.
He’s going to be alright. Maybe I can get him to teach me that healing spell! That might come in handy.
Then he looked down at his own stubby, bludgeon-like armored hands and chuckled. He’d never have the long, graceful, nimble fingers of a mage – or a thief. That thought made him frown.
I’d gone for several hours without thinking about Qara and her father. I hope I survive this and can get back home.
“I’ll be fine in just a moment,” Kalaman called across the corridor to him. I’m not convinced the sleeve of my robe will be, but it’s a small price to pay. Let’s keep going.”
Once the blades had retracted, Harald darted past them and into the space beyond. He heard a slight scuffling noise and tried to pinpoint its source, but instead heard a sigh behind him.
“Yeah, I hear it too,” Ulkarin said, drawing his bow. “There he is. I’ll bleed you dry!” he shouted, letting fly an arrow.
Harald, however, had made the mistake of looking back at Ulkarin. It was purely his own fault that the poisoned Falmer blade dug down through the exposed padding over one arm and sent poison into his system.
Harald howled in distress, the green sickness spreading through him. But instead of healing himself he attacked, slashing in fury and repeatedly smashing the Falmer with his spiked shield. He dimly sensed his health draining away but somehow couldn’t stop pursuing the creature. He would keep attacking until the beast was on the floor.
Finally it went down. Harald blinked once, twice, coming back to himself and beginning the process of healing. He heard Ulkarin’s bowstring twang once more and turned to find that, back up the ramp, Kalaman and Reamonn were busy dealing with another Falmer.
“Time’s up for you, mate!” Ulkarin shouted, sending another arrow flying up the ramp.
“Bad idea,” he heard Kalaman growl. But Harald couldn’t join in the fight. He felt sick to his stomach and could do nothing more than focus on ridding himself of the urge to empty his gut. Finally he felt well enough to see how the others fared, just in time to watch Kalaman’s atronach expire in a fiery explosion. He was just about to say something when Kalaman pointed ahead, shaking his head.
“Is someone there?”
Harald darted down the ramp again and into the room beyond to find two more Falmer approaching. The first was an archer, a fact he discovered when once more the relatively lighter padding at his elbow parted and let a razor-sharp, poisoned arrow nick his skin. Once more he found himself howling in anger and pain, dashing forward in a red haze to attack. This time, though, he’d been struck by a truly foul poison that had him fading fast. If he didn’t end the Falmer immediately he would likely die right here. He Shouted a casing of ice around the creature. It didn’t last long, for Kalaman had been tossing fireballs at the Falmer as fast as he could; but it gave Harald enough time to escape and heal. Kalaman finished the Falmer with two quick fireballs, then turned to where another had emerged.
Harald breathed a sigh of relief and started after the mage but yelped as yet another arrow nicked him. The poison on this one was even worse. Harald stumbled, coughing, and stopped moving as both Ulkarin and Kalaman pushed past him to attack the Falmer. He dug into his pack, desperately searching for a potion to help stem the effects of the poison, and found what he needed just as Ulkarin took the creature down.
“Cheeky,” Ulkarin said, poking the dead Falmer with his toe. “You alright, mate?”
Harald coughed again and nodded. “I will be. That was a lot of really nasty poison to take on in so few minutes.” He looked around and sighed, for once again he’d completely lost track of Reamonn.
I’m probably paranoid, but I’m beginning to truly distrust the man. Kalaman wades into a battle, enthusiastic. Reamonn disappears.
Between the group and the area the Falmer had been was a waterlogged lower level with a stone bridge across. There were stairs down, but Harald crossed the bridge, hoping to avoid a swim. Beyond was a room filled with hissing, steam-powered machinery and tall shelves holding random parts and bits of metal. He scanned the contents carefully. It would be altogether too easy to miss what they were here for.
Ulkarin tsk’d. “It’s like a needle in a haystack in a field of haystacks! Those gauntlets could be anywhere!”
“Yes, they could. That’s why I’m taking my time. I don’t want to have to do this twice.” He pointed ahead. “At least it looks like we can go lower without wading.” Not far past the still-working machinery was a centurion, its metal body splayed out on the floor. “Someone got this guy just as he stepped out of his frame.”
“The Falmer, likely,” Kalaman said. “I’ve heard tales of them attacking these automatons as a group. Individually, they would stand no chance against a centurion. Together they’re worse than a swarm of bees.”
There were more gates and doors along the corridor ahead but Harald made for the room at the end. He had a feeling about it: a centurion would have been placed to protect something important, and it might well be behind the metal doors. A single dwarven sphere greeted them as they stepped into the room, but between the three of them it took no time to dispatch the machine. And there, against the wall, was a small metal bookshelf holding a pair of dwarven gauntlets.
“There!” Ulkarin said, pointing at them. “Are those the ones?”
“I don’t know,” Harald said, looking around.
“Where is the missionary, I wonder?” Kalaman asked.
“I have no idea,” Harald grumbled, “and I’m beginning to be annoyed. I’ll take the gauntlets anyway, though I’m not wild about carrying this much extra weight if I don’t have to. Maybe we’ll be able to ask him later, if he shows up.”
“Spoken like a leader, yer Highness,” Ulkarin said with a grin.
“A tired and frustrated leader, Tiny.”
Once he’d satisfied himself that there was nothing else in the room, Harald turned to leave. And there, in the doorway, was Reamonn.
“Hello,” he said mildly as Harald approached.
“Hello to you as well. Nice of you to show up.”
“I’m sorry,” the missionary said. “I was just scouting…”
“I know, I know. Scouting ahead to see where we’re heading next. Do these look familiar to you?” Harald snapped, hauling the heavy gauntlets out of his pack.
Reamonn looked at them for a moment and shook his head. “The relics lie deeper still.”
Harald merely sighed, stuffed the gauntlets back in his pack, and headed for the first staircase leading down. There was more machinery operating here, below.
“Look at these walls,” Ulkarin said. “Solid stone! How do ya think those damn dwarves did that? No magic I’ve seen, and I don’t think they were the type to do it by hand.”
“It was undoubtedly magic, nonetheless,” Kalaman replied calmly. “I haven’t seen it in action either – none of us within living memory have. Its power lingers, though – a faint thrumming just beneath the surface, if you know what to listen for.”
“Is that so?”
“That is, indeed, so.”
“Shhh!” Harald hissed. There was an aura of wrongness in the room, and it came from straight ahead. The spiked arch at the lowest level reminded him of something – he wasn’t certain what; perhaps he’d seen a drawing of such a thing in a book. But shuffling about in front of it was a tall, red-skinned creature that had the hair on his neck rising. It moved like one of the undead he and Ulkarin had killed, but it had far more flesh on its bones. Harald crept up behind it, fortunately landing a surprise attack. It turned to glare at him, leaned forward and, before Harald could get out of the way, spewed a stream of green poison.
Poison! Again? This is getting to be too much!
He took a couple of unsteady steps backward. Much to his surprise, the figure that burst in from the side to end the enemy was Reamonn. Once again, Harald scrambled for some healing. This time, he looked up at Reamonn, somewhat guiltily, and murmured thanks before moving to inspect the arch.
“What do you suppose this is?” The floor between the arch’s legs and the wall behind it were covered with malevolent-looking red vines that also spread up one wall behind it. “I’ve never seen anything like it and yet for some reason it seems familiar.”
“Oblivion gate,” Kalaman said. “These appeared all over Tamriel during the Oblivion crisis, well over 200 years ago now.”
“Fortunately this one seems to be quite inactive,” Reamonn added.
“And it stinks like the grave,” Ulkarin said, disgusted. “This doesn’t lead anywhere. Let’s find some place that does.”
“Absolutely.” Harald led the way back out through the corridors, back to the single door they’d not yet opened. It was clear that this was the way down; since down was where they needed to go, he was certain they were on the right track.