Chip pondered the situation as he and Farkas moved deeper into Dustman’s Cairn. It bothered him that nobody in the Circle had said anything about their shared status as werewolves. They of course wouldn’t want to be known as werewolves, living in Whiterun, but even so. Their silence was so different than what he’d encountered on Solstheim, with the Frostmoon Crag werewolves. They’d been so much more clearly wolf than the Circle.
The Frostmoon werewolves were out there just living according to their nature.
He smiled to himself, remembering them. No matter how many days passed, he couldn’t shake the memory of approaching the girl seated on the rock. The problem, of course, was that he couldn’t see himself living in the wild like that. Not quite. He was too fond of his cabin, and his comforts, and friendly company in a tavern.
Where do I fit…
His internal musings were cut short as they rounded a corner and heard a voice.
“What was that?”
Chip spotted the man first. He stepped into an alcove and prepared his bow, then returned to the corridor ready to fire. A second Silver Hand bandit emerged from the shadows, approaching them at a run. Chip dropped him with a single shot. The archer at the end of the hall stepped out into the clear, bow at the ready.
“You won’t get the best of me!”
“We’ll see about that!”
Chip’s shot landed; but so did the Silver Hand’s. And it hurt horribly. He hissed and stepped back out of the way, glaring at Farkas.
“A little help?”
Farkas was peering down the corridor, but didn’t seem to be interested in chasing the Silver Hand. Chip growled under his breath and reached for the conjuration staff he’d had from Hircine’s shrine in Solstheim. If he couldn’t get help from Farkas, he’d make his own. From the magic stepped a werevulture. Chip shuddered at its ugliness even as he healed himself, grateful for its distraction. Farkas finally dashed after the vulture to attack the man.
And yet, Chip thought as his final arrow took the bandit down, I’m the one who got the kill in the end. Do not underestimate Hircine’s champion.
Then he shook his head.
Getting a bit big for my britches, eh? That’s never worked out too well.
They passed through two more chambers and a set of wooden doors, into a tall room with stairs to a second level. Chip had made it fully into the room when he realized that what he saw to his left wasn’t just a stone plinth, but was one of the Silver Hand wielding a massive battle axe. With the man far too close for Chip to use a bow, he pulled his blades instead and attacked. The Orc took a powerful swipe at Chip, but missed horribly as Chip ducked and rolled out of the way.
“Oho, not so fast!” Farkas laughed, stepping forward to engage the Orc. Chip swiveled at a sound behind him, to see an archer on the upper level aiming directly at Farkas. He grabbed his own bow and fired another of Hircine’s arrows; this time it was a large wolf that emerged from the magic and ran up the steps to attack the archer. Farkas finished off the Orc while the wolf backed the archer into a corner and kept him there long enough for Chip to dash up the steps and take him down.
Then the real fun began. The top of a sarcophagus flew open, and from it rose a heavily armored draugr, wielding a war axe and shield, and the ability to Shout. Farkas ran up behind it, swinging; the wolf snarled and snapped at it. But the draugr was focused on Chip, and Chip alone. Its war axe came down on his shoulder; it was a glancing blow, thankfully, or he might have been without an arm. Still, it hurt; Chip backed away, hissing at the pain and healing himself as fast as he could. The draugr turned to its left and Shouted at the wolf, disintegrating it. The next several moments were a blur, as Chip and Farkas took turns closing in on the draugr while the other healed up. Back and forth they went, for what felt like an eternity, dodging the draugr’s Shouts; then, just as Farkas took a step backward, Chip slipped silently behind the draugr and caught it with both blades. Finally, it dropped; and Chip smiled as his mother’s short blade grabbed what there was left of the creature’s soul.
“So are you all in one piece, Farkas?” he asked.
“Of course I am, whelp,” Farkas answered with a grin. “Let’s keep moving. We need to find that fragment. Lead on.”
Chip readied his blades. On the far side of the balcony, a staircase led back down a level to a partially-collapsed chamber with a ritual table in one corner and wooden doors in the other. He scooped up several small potions from the table and headed for the doors. Beyond them the barrow was packed with corpses, several of them seeming to glimmer with remnants of energy. Those he attacked from stealth, smiling in satisfaction as the light from their eyes died away; each time, he would turn to see Farkas with his heavy blade raised and ready, but doing what he’d been sent here to do: observe.
They’d worked their way through several more chambers when, just as Chip sent another draugr back to its eternal rest, a living woman wielding a greatsword ran out from around a corner. Chip had stepped out of the way; and Farkas, having turned to look at him, was clipped by the woman’s first blow. He whirled to face her, struggling to raise his sword to an attack position.
She’s going to slice him in half before he can get in his own blow! Time for a wolf. Or something.
Chip pulled out another of Hircine’s arrows and fired it directly at the woman. This time it was a werewolf stepping out of the magic, sleek and black and nearly as fierce as Farkas was in his wolf form. It lit into the Silver Hand as Chip wrestled with his quiver to find elven arrows. He sank one into the bandit while she and Farkas traded blows. He loosed a second just as the werewolf raked its claws down the woman’s side in an attack so heavy that Chip heard the ripping of both her clothing and her flesh. In spite of that, the blow she’d been unleashing on Farkas struck him. Farkas gasped and stepped back around the corner of a stone pillar, sinking to one knee.
“Farkas! No!” Chip shrieked. He didn’t dare stop his attack to help, though; he cast an anxious glance at Farkas and then looked back at his target. The werewolf had nearly torn her to shreds, and his arrow merely served as an exclamation point to her death. The wolf stood panting over the bloody corpse; Chip didn’t know whether a conjured werewolf would feed or not, but he wasn’t going to interfere. Instead he turned to see Farkas, still down on one knee but pushing himself up.
“Don’t worry, whelp. I’m a tough old dog. She kinda surprised me, though. Thanks for having my back.”
“Are you sure you’re ok?” Chip gasped, watching Farkas straighten up. I don’t know what I would have done if he wasn’t OK. I like this guy. He treats me like a brother, even if he calls me a whelp. If something happened to him I’d have to deal with Vilkas. The rest would be upset, but it would be Vilkas I’d have to watch out for.
And none of that matters. What matters is that he’s ok.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Haven’t you ever noticed that we heal pretty quick compared to people who aren’t like us? Give me a small potion and a couple of minutes and I’m good to go,” Farkas said.
“Oh!” Chip wanted to smack himself in the head for being so slow. “I just picked up a couple of those. Here. Take them.” He handed Farkas the healing and stamina potions he’d found on the embalming table and watched his shield-brother swallow them. Farkas nodded then, and grinned at him.
“Eyes on the prey, whelp. We’ve got a ways to go yet.”
Chip nodded and moved farther into the barrow’s depths, neutralizing any draugr that showed signs of animation. They arrived at another wooden door, beyond which was a huge chamber that must once have been truly imposing. Now, however, it was a shambles; several of the great stone support pillars had collapsed, letting in enough moisture and light from somewhere above that mosses and ivy grew in abundance, hanging down from the walls and covering the dirt mounded on the floor. There were mushrooms here and there, as well. Chip could smell as well as see the greenery and the fungi, and it was hard not to be completely distracted by the urge to run and sniff everything.
Focus. There may be more Silver Hand bandits in here.
As if on cue, a voice from the far end of this enormous chamber called out.
“Who’s there?”
Chip was standing just beside a huge mound of debris. He took one step sideways to get behind some cover, and peered ahead. There were at least two figures moving out into the open.
He aimed his bow and lobbed a quick shot through the narrow opening between the chamber’s two halves. By sheer force of luck it met the first man just as he stepped into the clear; the arrow buried itself directly into his chest and he fell dead. More bandits came out of the darkness, though, stepping over the fresh corpse.
Chip decided to call on Hircine once more, firing an arrow to conjure the sleek black werewolf. The confusion it caused bought Chip a split second. He couldn’t tell whether Farkas was really better or not and didn’t want to find out the hard way. He jumped atop the pile of debris and began firing arrows. His first shot was a lucky one; the bandit went down immediately. Farkas took a feeble swing at his nearest opponent but didn’t do much damage; meanwhile both Chip and the werewolf honed in on the center man, dropping him after just a few seconds. Finally they turned their attention to the last man of the group and took him down, the werewolf snarling and slashing in apparent delight before turning to pad quietly toward the far end of the colossal chamber. Chip shot a glance at Farkas and had a quick nod in response. He then followed the werewolf onward until the ball of conjuration magic flared, returning the creature to Oblivion.
Another wooden door opened onto a landing and a stairway down to their right. Chip was fully engaged in avoiding the pressure plates set into the floor and pointing them out to Farkas when he heard a woman say “Huh?” ahead of him. She, and a man who roared out from a side chamber, rushed the two Companions. Farkas engaged the man, while Chip took on the woman.
You might think she would be the easier target, but you’d be wrong, he thought as he slashed at her with his blades three times, four times, and even more. The woman was out for his blood, and desperate to stay alive; and Chip was bloodied and barely able to lift an arm by the time she finally went down. He healed himself, briefly, but only for a moment. Farkas snarled “you’re as good as dead!” at the man, but it was clear that it was just bluster; Farkas was flagging and the Silver Hand was holding his own. Chip mustered up every last bit of energy he could and attacked from behind while Farkas had the man’s attention. It should have been easy. It wasn’t. By the time they had him down, both Chip and Farkas were bent over, sucking air as hard as they could.
Finally Farkas was upright again, and he pointed down the corridor. “Iron door, this time,” he said. “Taking bets on it being harder things ahead?”
“No,” Chip said, snorting. “No bets. I’d lose.” He loosened his shoulders and took a sip of water, then checked to make sure everything was at the ready. “Ok. Let’s move.”
What lay beyond the iron doors was intriguing. An empty antechamber led to another two-story cavern, spanned by a stone walkway with its metal enclosure still intact. Chip heard the sound of weapons being sheathed as he crept silently out onto the walkway.
“Huh?” an Orc’s rough voice sounded from just beneath them. Chip froze in place, thinking they’d been spotted; but then heard the snorting of a draugr. He peered down through the metal mesh’s openings and saw a set of doors open up and another Silver Hand rush in to help his fellow. Chip grinned and fired an arrow through the enclosure, striking the man squarely. What he hadn’t realized was that he’d still had the Hircine arrow in his hand, having pulled it from its last victim.
The werewolf that stepped out of the arrow’s magic eagerly attacked the Silver Hand converging in the room below Chip and Farkas. He pushed forward on the walkway, around the central pillar, and then froze. A bandit with a greatsword had come up to the far side of the walkway and stood directly in their path. He seemed not to have spied Chip yet in the very dim lighting; Chip slammed an arrow to his bow and fired. It caught the man in the chest just as he started dashing across the walkway and the combined momentum of the arrow and his own movements took him down.
Chip heaved a sigh of relief and motioned for Farkas to follow. As they reached the end of the covered walk and stepped out into another barrow room, the hair on Chip’s neck rose with his sense of danger. Far too many of the draugr supposedly buried here and in the space below were merely resting, not dead. He dispatched the nearest one to them. But there were sounds of battle around a corner to their left, sounds that drew him past the draugr far enough to take stock of what they faced. There was another pod of at least three Silver Hand bandits, possibly more, in the next barrow chamber at the bottom of another ramp. Chip fired another wolf arrow down the slope and stepped back out of the line of fire.
There were three or four of them. There were also at least three draugr, probably more, beginning to stir with all the commotion around them. Even with the help of the werewolf that he’d just conjured Chip knew that he and Farkas were no match for that many adversaries. He made a snap decision and grabbed the staff he’d won in Hircine’s realm, slamming it into a crack on the floor. Then he stepped back out of the way as all Oblivion broke loose.
There were at least two werelions, along with one or two werebears and possibly a boar. Chip knew, immediately, that he’d made the right choice. Three draugr were rising from their niches as Farkas ran back past him, and the werebeasts engaged them, making short work of them. The sound was deafening; in the relatively narrow confines of this ancient crypt every howl, every concussion of a weapon against bone or stone, every cry of pain or taunt of anger was amplified, bouncing off the hard surfaces and assaulting Chip’s already-sensitive ears. On top of that, every time the Silver Hand took down a werebeast, another emerged from the magic of the staff, adding its howls to the cacophony. Chip kept his blades at the ready; but truly, all that he and Farkas could reasonably do was to stay uphill of the battle and watch for stragglers. To step into that cyclone of slashing claws would be almost certain death.
A part of Chip wanted to transform, to howl his own battle-rage against the Silver Hand, to rip them to shreds along with his brothers from the Hunting Grounds. He kept glancing at Farkas, wondering whether he was feeling the same. But both of them held back, tired from their previous battles, and let Chip’s allies handle the fight. Finally the five werebeasts converged on the last Silver Hand; knowing the battle was all but over, Chip turned back to collect the staff.
His ears rang with the sudden silence as the conjurations winked out of existence once more. He headed back down the ramp and then heard Farkas’ explosive “Aha!” One man had somehow managed to hide from the onslaught, and stepped out of the shadows to engage Farkas. Chip stepped neatly around Farkas and took the man down with a quick flurry of blades.
“I don’t suppose I should ask where you got that staff,” Farkas rumbled. “It was pretty useful.”
Chip grinned at him. “Probably not, at least not this minute. Let’s just say that it was a very long hunt and leave it at that.”
“Alright then,” Farkas nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”
Their path led through the long section of barrow that was now littered with corpses, then around a corner to the right. There was a quick dogleg left, up a half-flight of stone stairs to a ledge overlooking a tall, open room, and then down a wood staircase into that room. There was one exit: a stone archway into another large chamber with a double set of wooden and iron doors at its far side. This space looked as though it might have been used for ceremonies, given its elaborate stonework and furnishings. He poked around in all the corners and found nothing of note except for a lone chest containing a key.
Well there. I’m guessing this will get us through those doors over yonder. Oddly conspicuous place to keep such an important key, but who am I to judge?
The doors did, in fact, yield to the key. The long, round corridor beyond them held several enthusiastic skeevers that were easily dealt with, but annoying. There were more skeevers in the small chamber just beyond, a space clearly used for embalming and still containing several draugr, well-wrapped but abandoned on the table. One passage out of this room had been blocked by fallen debris. The exit that wasn’t blocked led to a tunnel, rough-hewn to circumvent the obstructions. It wound through the rock to a wider cavern full of frostbite spiders.
Chip didn’t like spiders, but he would fight them any day in preference to the draugr he heard somewhere ahead. Farkas, though, was snarling and snapping and making distressed noises as he chopped away at the largest of the spiders. Chip tried not to grin. Everyone had something that gave him the willies; maybe spiders were Farkas’ thing.
The draugr they’d heard came rushing down a dirt ramp to attack. It was a tough one, heavily armored and possessing a Shout Chip had heard many times before. He didn’t know what it meant, but he did know that he had to brace to keep from staggering when its force struck him. Still, between the two of them they were able to defeat the ancient man relatively unscathed and continue along the path to a second draugr. This one was Chip’s kill. It started muttering imprecations at him in a language Chip didn’t understand. His temper flared; and with the quick whirling attack he’d learned from his mother and his uncle, he sliced the ancient corpse open, listening in satisfaction as the enchanted shortblade grabbed its remaining energy.
There were more draugr in the winding barrow section just beyond; but they stayed down, not even Farkas’ heavy armor rousing them. Past them was another iron door. Chip glanced at Farkas, to be sure he was ready; and Farkas gave him a grim smile and a nod.
When Chip opened the door, he immediately sensed that this was their destination. It was a long, wide space, its ceilings far above. Deep niches containing sarcophagi lined the corridor. A raised platform at the far end, backed by a massive, curved word wall, held a ritual table. Looking up, Chip saw that the higher levels of this cathedral-like room were wider than the corridor just before him; and he feared that meant there were more niches with more sarcophagi than he could see.
“This is going to be trouble,” he whispered to Farkas.
“I know. But I bet the fragment is up ahead there.”
“Yeah. Let’s do this.”
They made it safely through the corridor and approached the ritual table. Chip knew that the word walls were usually guarded by powerful draugr. He could also see sarcophagi on either side of the word wall; and, as he had suspected, there were more lining the chamber on both sides and above them a level up. He grimaced.
This is no time to be shy about Hircine’s boon. We’re going to need these guys.
He reached for the Staff of the Wild Hunt, readied it, and mounted the few steps up toward the ritual table. Still, it was quiet. Nothing stirred.
I don’t trust it.
There were several potions atop the table, and those he took. More importantly, there was also a slanted display atop the back end of the table. On it was a piece of metal, broken on one side and sharpened on the other. Chip grinned. If this wasn’t the fragment of Wuuthrad, he couldn’t imagine what else it might be. He eagerly reached over the table and snagged the fragment, sweeping it off the display and into a pouch.
For a moment it was dead silent. Then, as he had feared, he started to hear sarcophagus lids clattering open.
“It’s on, Farkas!” he said, slamming the Staff into the floor.
At first only two draugr came out. The werebeasts – a lion, a vulture, and a boar – took care of them easily, assisted by Chip’s bow and Farkas’ sword. A sound caught Chip’s attention, above and to the right; more draugr rushed down the stairs to join the battle. Within a heartbeat or two, the entire space was full of howls, and Shouting, and the clashing of ancient Nord swords against ancient Nord shields as the draugr warriors taunted the beasts attacking them. Again Chip found himself overwhelmed by the noise; so rather than join the knot of fighting in front of him he leapt up onto the ritual table and began firing elven arrows at any draugr he could see clearly. They came in waves; the sarcophagi near the word wall opened first, then those above them, and finally the coffins they’d passed on their way into this room opened and their residents joined the fray.
Chip got in several solid kills, his elevation above the chaos giving him an advantage. He took his time with his shots, though, because Farkas in his dark wolf armor was hard to pick out of the mass of moving animals and dark-clad draugr. The last thing he wanted was to try to be the hero and take out his brother instead. Besides, Farkas was clearly enjoying himself judging by the yells and triumphant noises coming from him, far ahead of Chip in the narrowest and busiest part of the fighting. It seemed to go on forever.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. It was dead silent for a moment.
“Well done,” he heard Farkas say as he approached. Chip hopped down from the table and was just about to pull the staff from the ground when howls went up from the werebeasts. There was one more draugr, behind one of the word wall’s arms; its sarcophagus clattered open and it stepped out into a mass of slashing claws and fangs. The battle didn’t last long, but Chip was weary and glad that he hadn’t disengaged the staff too early.
Chip heaved a sigh of relief. “Well that was a workout. Let’s get out of here, what do you say?”
Farkas nodded. “They’ll be waiting for us back at Jorrvaskr. Let’s go.”
Chip had enjoyed the trek back to Whiterun. He’d soaked up the sun, and the fresh air; he’d even stopped to give thanks to Hircine for his help in getting through Dustman’s Cairn. Farkas had merely stood by, respectfully silent; and Chip wondered about that as he ran the rest of the way to the city. What was the Companions’ relationship to Hircine, anyway? He didn’t know. He didn’t know much about them at all, truthfully, except that they claimed to be the descendants of Ysgramor’s Companions from days of old. And yet here he was, having tried to prove his worthiness to them.
Mostly because I don’t like Vilkas or his attitude.
I do like Farkas, though. I don’t know why they call him the stupid one. There’s nothing dumb about him, not at all.
The marketplace was sunny, busy, and noisy as they made their way through it. Chip mounted the stairs toward Jorrvaskr, smiling to himself. If nothing else, he was looking forward to seeing the fragment he carried with him mounted in the display inside the great mead hall. He walked beneath the trellis enclosing the beautiful, fragrant Gildergreen tree and smiled again, thinking of the tales his uncles had told of rebuilding that trellis after the war. And then he looked up toward Jorrvaskr and blinked in surprise. There, at the top of the last stairway, stood Vilkas. Chip cringed a bit, internally; but Vilkas had an open expression on his face. Not friendly, exactly; but not angry.
“We’ve been awaiting your return,” Vilkas said, stopping Chip in his tracks.
“Why….?”
“Come,” Vilkas said. His voice sounded almost kind to Chip. “Follow me.”
“OK, but…”
Vilkas didn’t answer. He turned and dashed toward the back of Jorrvaskr. More startling to Chip was the fact that Farkas did the same; he bolted up the stairs from behind Chip and followed Vilkas, disappearing around the corner of the hall and into the practice yard. Chip didn’t feel like running to catch up to them. In fact, he was a bit apprehensive about the situation. He didn’t understand what was happening and, having no real sense of how he fit in with these people, he didn’t want to rush into something he couldn’t back out of.
But follow he did, eventually rounding the corner and gasping as he found all of the Companions’ highest ranking members standing in a semicircle with Kodlak Whitemane at its center. He hesitated for just a moment when he saw the rest of the Companions sitting around the tables beneath the open roof.
What is going on?
Kodlak gestured for Chip to come stand before them. Farkas and Vilkas were staring at each other, clearly exchanging information in that unspoken way that only twins could do. Chip was nervous, but he did as Kodlak had asked. Once he’d taken his spot, Kodlak raised his arms and spoke.
“Brothers and sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold.”
What?
“This man has endured, has challenged, and has shown his valor.”
I guess… Not here, so much, but in Hircine’s realm for sure.
“Who will speak for him?” Kodlak asked.
And then the most remarkable thing happened. The man they called Ice-Brain, the one they said was stupid, who they all seemed to dismiss out of hand as nothing more than a massive assemblage of skilled muscle, opened his mouth and spoke. He might have been a bard, for the beauty and elegance of the words that came from him.
“I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us,” Farkas said.
“Would you raise your shield in his defense?” Kodlak asked.
“I would stand at his back, that the world might never overtake us.”
“And would you raise your sword in his honor?”
Farkas nodded. “It stands ready to meet the blood of his foes.”
A small thrill ran up Chip’s back. It already has, brother.
“And would you raise a mug in his name?”
Farkas grinned. “I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in his stories.”
Kodlak smiled. “Then the judgment of this Circle is complete. His heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call.”
Then all of them – the entire Circle, even Vilkas – responded. “It shall be so.”
They all turned and started walking away to resume whatever they’d been doing before. Kodlak, though, stepped forward to catch Chip by the arm.
“Well, boy, you’re one of us now. Try not to disappoint.”
Chip swallowed hard and stared into Kodlak’s friendly face. “You mean I’m one of the…”
“You’re part of the Circle, yes. Didn’t you hear from Aela about her Test, back when she joined?”
Chip’s mouth fell open for a moment. “Well, yes, but… I guess I thought she was just talking about becoming a Companion.”
Kodlak chuckled. “I can understand the confusion. But we only send people out on Trials if they are to join the inner circle. Welcome to the family, boy.”
“Thank you,” Chip said softly, his head nearly spinning as he grappled with his new understanding of his place in life. Kodlak walked back toward Jorrvaskr. Chip saw Farkas swinging his sword around, loosening up his shoulders, and walked toward him.
“Hey, Farkas,” he called out.
Farkas grinned at him and lowered his sword. “Yeah?”
“I… just wanted to thank you.” Chip wasn’t sure how to express the emotions he was having, at least not in a way that wouldn’t seem absurd. “I guess I didn’t realize what the trial was all about. But you did, and you kept me safe. And what you said, just now…”
Farkas chuckled. “Those are the words we say when someone joins the Circle.”
Chip grinned. So Farkas had them memorized. And yet…
“But it was beautiful, Farkas. I don’t understand why people say you’re an ice-brain. That was really beautiful. You shouldn’t let people talk down to you.”
Farkas snorted, but his eyes twinkled. “After all these years I wouldn’t know how to act if people started treating me any other way. Besides, Vilkas has enough words for both of us.” He raised his sword again. “You did well, little brother. Keep doing well. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”
Chip stood and watched Farkas go back to his practice. He thought of the close calls they’d had in Dustman’s Cairn.
If such a man has enough faith in me to call me brother, I’m going to do my best to be worthy of it.