Balefire stepped back as the Werre warriors laboured in the narrow, dusty space to free their comrade. Bearded jaws clenched in rage and frustration, he assessed the amount of cave-in debris still clogging the passage.
As if to himself, but loud enough for all to hear, he forced the bitter words out through barely-open teeth. "Once you free him, I fear we must abandon the task of opening this plug of rock and sand. Something...a feeling...an intuition...tells me we had best proceed on our quest. It abrades my heart to say it, but we must leave the women to fend for themselves. Twilight is with them, and I trust her to see them safely to wherever they decide to go. Knowing J'layah and Mea as well, I venture that they will try the citadel's main portal, or mayhap attempt the walls."
The scarred Warmage's expression, his very stance, radiated rage, but he spoke calmly, if with undertones of wrath held barely in check. "I feel that we will do them more good by advancing than by searching for them. I also feel that we must meet our foe sooner rather than later. My mind counsels caution, but my instincts demand speed. What's more, I have vague recollection of an ancient prophecy, which may bode well for our chances...for mine, at least. I shall go on into this cursed citadel, and finish the job Th'Sollar began. I believe I know how the Bloodstone must be used, and methinks it should be used as soon as may be. I advise you to come with me, if you will, and would welcome your swords and support, but I cannot make the decision for you."
So saying, the grim Dark Elf loosened his great sword in its scabbard, hefted his staff, and marched into the darkness toward the citadel. Very softly, he was humming the Ebonheart battle song as he faded into the shadows.
Balefire paused to let Elfiran catch up, and gave him a rare smile. The Dark Elf Warmage's smiles tended to be vicious or vulpine, but his one was filled with genuine happiness, showing a joy so sincere and unguarded that Elfiran's answering expression was largely one of surprise. The Warmage chuckled merrily.
"Elfiran, I never thought you would stay behind, and 'tis well pleased I am to have you siding me. I warrant the Werres will be along shortly; indeed I don't think they could be forced to stay. I see by your face that you find my demeanour odd...no, don't deny it...'twould be strange did you not. Bide a while 'til they come along, and allow me to explain."
Elfiran took a swig of ale and nodded for the mercenary to proceed.
"We approach the near environs of the citadel, indeed I believe we shall shortly be beneath the walls. 'Tis a foregone conclusion that within the keep magicka will work again, and I cannot but look forward to being able to use the Art again. I expect you feel the same. That trap I sprang must have alerted our foes to our presence and our location, and while we have lost whatever possibility of surprise we had, we are also free to act without concern for stealth. This were enough reason for happiness in itself -- stealth is Twilight's speciality, not mine, nor, methinks that of the Werres -- but the *real* cause of my joy is that I believe I have worked out a viable tactical solution."
Balefire stopped and listened carefully for any sign of approaching enemies, shrugged his massive shoulders and continued. "I have been trying to recall all that I have read in my studies of Th'Sollar and the Horned Council. Little enough it is, but in combination with that..."he paused, searching for the right term, "...that shadow play reenaction we saw, I believe I now know enough at least to be hopeful of our success. I am pleased," he chuckled again, a little hollowly this time, "that I have been fooled for much of my life."
Elfiran gave a start, and raised his eyebrow. He started to reply, thought better of it, and took a pull at his ale instead. What, after all, could he say?
Balefire continued, "I believe this ring, this Bloodstone, is far more than I had thought. Much more than a focus for the Art, or a convenient magic item heirloom of my House, I believe it is a truly powerful repository, a veritable storehouse, for an immense amount of magical power.
"Indeed," the scarred mercenary frowned slightly, "there is little doubt that I owe much of my rapid progress in the power and craft of the Art to the ring, rather than to my own talents...at least in the early days of my career. I would wager this passive-looking bauble has been preparing me for years for this encounter. Perhaps 'twas the doing of Th'sollar, who set upon it some compulsion, or perhaps it is sentient to some degree. Mayhap the gods are involved. It matters not. What gladdens my heart, good Elfiran, is that if my theory be correct, I can make use of it in a way that our foes will not expect."
Elfiran looked sceptical, but appeared willing to listen. "Say on, Balefire."
"We may be being overheard even now, so I shall provide no more details right now. Suffice it to say that I think it likely our enemies will calculate based on the power of the Bloodstone, of which they no doubt have some knowledge. They are likely to think me an unwilling dupe, a puppet brought here willy-nilly by some plan made long ago by a legendary wizard. I doubt that they can know of just how much I have studied and practised the Art, of my own will and in my own way, particularly in the last decade or two. I am almost certain that they cannot imagine the plan I have in mind, to make use of the power of the ring and that which I can legitimately call my own. It involves a technique unknown in Th'Sollar's time; indeed, it was dismissed as impossible in those days."
The dusky Warmage's eyes glowed crimson in the darkness, and his smile was no longer the joyful one it had been. "If whatever henchmen our foes can muster succeed not in bringing us down, I am convinced that I have the knowledge to destroy the Heart once and for all time. Look you...this faceless foe of ours has already demonstrated ignorance. Not stupidity, mind you, but ignorance. His choice of a tool was seriously flawed, not so much because of the man he used but because of the organisation he selected to manipulate. The Dark Brotherhood was almost the worst possible choice of organisations to work through, even though his catspaw was a rogue member. This foe of ours has sat here like a bloated spider at the centre of a web, but he has been isolated. In retrospect, 'tis clear. In those days, the days of Th'Sollar and the Horned Council, the Dark Brotherhood was a much more powerful group than they have become in our day.
"Instead of alerting me and awaking my suspicions -- and my memories of arcane tomes half-forgotten -- by trying to have me killed, he should have hired a *thief* -- or a thousand of them -- to steal my signet ring while I thought it still a simple magic ring. Instead, his machinations have fed my wrath and brought to his doorstep not only me, but a small army of puissant heroes, including, good Elfiran, yourself. For whatever reason, our foe lacks up-to-date knowledge of what has transpired in the world. If I live to reach the Heart, Elfiran, his ignorance shall doom him. I will wager you a year's supply of ale on it."
The Warmage grinned again, a joyful smile once more, though his eyes still smouldered, disturbingly bright in the dark stone passage. "I expect to meet whatever troops our foe had at his disposal, quite soon now. At least, I certainly hope so...I feel like killing something."
Elfiran took one last pull from his ale-skin, then carefully stowed it away. "Balefire me friend, whet ye say has got me thinkin a bit. Like you, ah know not what awaits us. Whet we left behind outside the tunnel is but a smaller part of the whole. Twilight, Mea, and J'layah could prove te be more useful out there drawin' some of the forces away from us. Tho' ah expect thet the evil thet pervades this place will focus most of it's denizens on us down here".
Both men continued walking down the tunnel as Elfiran spoke. "Ye are right about the Dark Brotherhood tho'. Tis a poor choice indeed in this day te use". Elfiran's ears twitch as he turns his head to the side a bit as though he's heard something further down the tunnel. "Ah know not the whole history of yer ring, or this place altho', ah do remember tales from me youth about the battle waged outside. All ah know fer sure is thet ye've been a loyal companion te me an' me tavern. Ah could nay let ye face everythin' down here without at least me own blade helpin ye. As far as usin magicka agin, ah thought ah'd ne'er miss not usin' it, but it appears thet it's as much a part of me as this Long Sword". Both warriors stop and appear to be listening for foes and friend alike. Elfiran turns to Balefire, grasps his forearm with his hand, and says....
"Te this ah swear Balefire.....ah'll be next te ye swingin and castin down here till yer finished wit yer destiny. If ah should fall, twill be while ah'm coverin yer back. And Arkay help who gets in our way". Elfiran drew his Daedric Long Sword of Life Stealing, and salutes Balefire the way the Blade Master on Sumurset Isle taught him so long ago.
"Till me last breath friend, till me last breath!"
Loriella watched the Warmage go, his broad back disappearing in the gloom. Elfiran, satisfied with the Werre's progress, nodded to the Khajit and followed after Balefire.
Cromm and the Werre cell would soon have Holm'ka free. She glanced back to see K'tarin holding up a large slab of rough stone while Talnan and Joran were gingerly lifting the wounded man from the rubble. Cromm was looking past her at the receding back of Balefire. His eyes were unreadable, even for the Khajit who knew him so well. If she couldn't read him, his mind was serious indeed.
Feeling powerless, she made as if to catch up with Balefire, but dropped to match his pace when he and Elfiran were within earshot of her sensitive ears. Normally, she loved danger, but Cromm's icy demeanour shouted caution. After some time, the dark elf stopped and spoke with his friend.
Loriella stopped as well. Indeed, she retreated a ways. The Dark Elf seemed able to see in the dark at least as well as she. Straining, she caught much of the conversation. Even though she did not understand much of what was said, she was vaguely reassured. They began to walk again. Gathering up courage, she straightened and walked slowly forward. It was a conscious effort not to be stealthy. Even so, she came within a hundred paces before the Dark Elf acknowledged her.
"Loriella is it? You needn't stalk me. Walk with us."
Loriella blushed and scurried forward. For a long moment, the three of them walked in silence. The passage began a slow decent.
"What do you think of Cromm? I mean To'Khar K'than?"
The question caught the Warmage off guard.
"To'Khar K'than seems an honourable man, and to lead his men through the open desert through such a storm as last night's took much strength. It is well he joined us instead of hindered us. We will have need of his strength, if he wishes to stay. That I cannot force him or the Werre to do. This is not their path."
The Khajit frowned, shook her head. Her mane of hair obscured her face a moment. "You don't know Cromm. He thinks highly of you. He doesn't show much, but I know. He has a secret hope."
Elfiran continued to drink, feeling like a wallflower. The tall Warmage said nothing, allowing the silence to spur her on. Instead of continuing, she changed the subject.
"Did you know? I mean...that you have the..."
Balefire looked hard at her out the corner of his eye. If it was more than an innocent question, she hid it well. The tunnel dipped sharply, then levelled. A narrow fissure had opened from floor to ceiling and they stepped around it.
"It is the family signet ring. I've had it since I was a boy. But no, I did not know I possessed the Bloodstone until we arrived in this desert. We had never intended to come here, but were drawn here nonetheless."
The Khajit grew thoughtful. Her voice changed as if reciting.
"A task whose goal changes becomes a dangerous task. The mind may still be set upon the first goal and so obscure the second."
They stopped. Balefire, brow knitted, pinned her with crimson eyes.
"You need not doubt my resolve. Th'Sollar had fallen when he felled the Heart, though he did not kill it. I have said I will finish what he could not. I swear it on my bones, whatever evil resides here in this black citadel, it...will...be stamped out! Such a threat to Tamriel must be stopped! Beyond that, it has incurred my wrath."
Loriella was pressed to the wall by his ferocity, and her bright eyes dimmed beneath his. But as soon as he finished, the familiar gleam came right back. The storm past, a smile tugged at her lips.
"You speak like a Werre."
The smile and bright eyes were contagious, and the dour Warmage found himself unable to scowl. The sound of footfalls signalled the approach of the rest of the party. Alduin, light contraption again firmly strapped to head, led the way. Cromm was close behind and the two Werre had Holm'ka between them. He was favouring his right leg and his right arm was tightly wrapped in red-stained cloth, but otherwise had the same determined glint in his eyes as if to say: "I don't feel a thing. Just put an axe in my hand and stand back!" K'tarin brought up the rear.
Loriella could see clearly the To'Khar's face in Alduin's lamplight. His features had changed slightly: where there had been distance and in decision in his eyes there now lay a keenness and resolve. His whole manner was that of an immovable rock. He was himself again.
"Honourable Balefire, Warmage and Blood-bearer!"
His voice rang from the stone.
"I have a decision to make, as difficult as the one you have made. I can only hope I choose well. First, however, I must ask of you a view of the Bloodstone."
Balefire wrestled his immediate anger to submission. To show the ring in this place was dangerous. The two men stared hard at each other, striving to pierce the facade each erected. The dark elf saw that something had crystallised within the Werre. A contest had been won, and now he awaited vindication.
With deliberation, Balefire raised an armoured hand and drew off the gauntlet. He made a massive fist. Alduin's light played off the mottled stone. Shadow accentuated the mark of the Warmage's house. The ring felt warm and heavy on the Warmage's finger. Cromm looked upon it with unmasked reverence and made no move toward it. The stone was mirrored darkly in his eyes. The other Werre stood silent, struck into dumbness.
"Put it away."
The To'Khar's voice was husky. The Khajit's eyes widened. This was the most overt display of emotion her husband had ever made. He began a song, low and quiet. K'tarin, then Talnan joined in, each at a verse. Soon the walls were reverberating with booming voices. While Cromm and K'tarin sang in the Common, old Talnan spoke the ballad in its native Werrish. The complex counterpoint of tongues was poetry all itself.
Horn calls rang and men forth sprang
From ridges up on high,
Orcs below with fire and bow
Let loose a deadly cry!
A storm rose up and on its fang
Were Denigroth high and low.
The armies met in hideous strength
The ground was soaked with blood,
Orcs piled high, bows rent, swords bent
The plain began to flood!
The storm was black and in its length
Denigroth came and went.
The orcs were dead and cruel men fled
Toward the Silver Eye,
The gates flew wide and from within
There issued swift reply!
The storm blew hard as has been said
And Denigroth, the fray, drove in.
Catapults threw their heavy load
Against the gates they crashed,
Stones came down and barred the way
As Werre, with axes, lashed!
And from the wind on which they rode
Came Denigroth, wild and fey.
The gates were sundered with a flash
And out poured more black foes,
The Werre fought with greater need
Their axes weaving blows!
The field became a sea of ash
The wind began to bleed.
Lord Sollár then roused his men
Upon a hill he stood,
While about the base there came
Denigroth, in blackest mood!
Upon the ridge a light stood then
Wizards swept down in flame.
A Shadow then obscured the gates
A Terror moved therein,
The enemy about the mound
Raised a mighty din!
The wizards knowing not the Fates
Were swallowed in the sound.
Upon the mound there leapt the Shadow
Black as darkest night,
Lord Sollár withstood its gaze
He met its will and might!
The man stood tall, though he be sallow
And his sight a haze.
The lord raised up his hand--behold!
And from his ring there came,
A crimson light that tore away
The Terror's shadow-mane!
The two were locked in mortal hold
And night gave way to day.
A wild scream then rent the air
The Terror had been felled!
The enemy engulfed the mound
And as the men beheld,
Their Lord Sollár did not despair
'Ere he fell and drowned.
Upon the men had madness grown
Who pressed the Denigroth,
They hewed their limbs and pressed ahead
And then took Perinoth!
The fortress now was overthrown
The land about was dead.
The Heart and Blood have passed away
And Lord Sollár is gone,
The Terror now has long been dead
And night gives way to dawn!
But who knows what will come today?
Who knows where we be led?
But after day then dusk must fall
Fear may re-awaken,
The Heart and Blood will stir again
The earth again be shaken!
A new dark lord will take the hall
And Perinoth regain.
A black-skinned man with fiery eyes
Will come from lands afar,
He will brave both storm and sand
And prise the doors ajar!
In his ring the Bloodstone lies
Death lies in his hand.
In his throne the dark lord waits
Heartstone at his side,
Denigroth prey on his mind
From which he cannot hide!
The Bloodstone which the Heartstone hates
Doth likewise hate in kind.
The midnight man and lord doth meet
Within his hall of bone,
Pillar, wall, and floor doth shake
Until a blow drives home!
Now the lord lay at his feet
Now the Bloodstone spake:
"You now are the master here
Lord of Perinoth,
Darkness lies at your command
And the Denigroth!
Death and war now comes by here
Famine on the land."
The midnight man ignored the words
The Heart and Blood he took,
He broke them in the shadowed room
The fortress moved and shook!
Upon the wind came fair swift birds
Barren land took bloom.
The black-skinned man with crimson eyes
Then left the citadel,
He passed away to foreign lands
Of which few hear or tell!
The citadel which all despise
Was swallowed in the sands.
In the future, I would think
As many moons pass by,
Perinoth in Derigliv
Will fade from mind and eye!
Yet possibly in some scribe's ink
The memory will live?
Give me here that bit of cloth
I'll write while I yet live.
For I was there at Perinoth
In darkling Derigliv.
For a long moment, only the sharp scratching of Alduin's pen disturbed the heavy air.
"My decision is made," he continued. "You have prised the doors ajar. The Blood is hot and there is hate within it, though not directed at you. Death lies in your hand, but in your eyes as well. We have sung 'Perinoth in Derigliv.' You are he who comes from afar. I name you so."
The Werre all placed their fists over their left breast.
Balefire smiled gravely at the Werre warriors and returned their salute. His gaze took in all of the assembled companions, and when he spoke his bass rumble echoed with emotional overtones. "I am honoured to be associated with all of you, and most grateful to have such a collection of heroes with whom to share this quest. It appears that I have walked into an unexpected destiny, and it may be that some or all of us may meet Death ere this affair be settled. Let us hope that it be our foes' rather than ours."
The Warmage looked at Elfiran and chuckled grimly, "Who would have thought that protecting a tavern would lead to this? 'Tis a true friend you are, and I earnestly hope that we will be able to speak of these doings over ale in the Porcupine in the not-too-distant future. Now it appears we must perform the deeds of which to boast later." He spoke to the rest of the party, grim determination ringing in his voice, "Let us spread out somewhat, and be prepared for anything. My night sight should suffice until we reach the areas where the Art can again be used to illuminate things somewhat. Follow me, then, for now." Checking to see that his staff was securely slung, and loosening his great sword in its scabbard, he turned and led off at a brisk march.
***************
"Bide a while, good Elfiran. We have come quite a distance unchallenged, and I feel...yes!...behold!" The Dark Elf mercenary's eyes glowed brighter, and his voice turned gleeful as he waved a hand. Soft light suffused the passageway and Balefire's staff flared in answer with its blue-black nimbus. "The Art is usable once more, my friend. Our fortune turns."
Elfiran smiled in answer, and replied, "Aye, Balefire, and none too soon. D'ye ken thet sound, from thet away, down yon branching tunnel? Methinks it may be a..."
"Scorpion!" Loriella's voice rang out from behind them, as the tunnel mouth was suddenly filled with a clattering confusion of claws, mandibles, and gleaming chitin, a ton of arachnid ferocity bent on their destruction.
Balefire leapt straight at the giant scorpion, his claymore's scabbard-leaving "shriiinng!" ending, with its blood-red arc, in a deadly "crunch!" as it met the flashing attack of a huge claw and sheared into and through the armour-like integument, spraying ichor over the ancient rock of the tunnel walls. Whirling, ducking, and changing direction in a confusion of blood-red armour and swirling cloak, the Warmage danced out of the way of the creature's arrow-quick barbed tail, turned a drop kick into its razor-edged mandibles into a twisting leap over its carapace, and brought his claymore flashing down and through its other claw, almost faster than the eye could follow. The Dark Elf then *ran down* the scorpion's segmented back, barely pausing as he caught the stabbing tail stinger in powerful hands and plunged it into the creature's own body.
Blue-white light exploded around the Warmage atop the now-dying scorpion, and he shouted "Ware magic!" as he absorbed the spell thrown at him and answered it by flinging a roiling mass of green energy down the passageway behind the scorpion's body. The spell-flare illuminated the contorted features of a dying mage caught by Balefire's Wrathbolt, and briefly showed other figures massed farther back in the darkness.
"Black and Red!" Balefire's war cry rang out, and the battle-lust in his deep laugh echoed from the walls. "Black and Red!" and "Follow me, heroes!" as he dropped from sight beyond the scorpion's carcass.
It looked like an illustration from some temple's book on the consequences of sin. Surrounded by hacked and burnt corpses human and elven, framed by the blistered and cracked carapaces of two huge dead scorpions, the red-mailed Dark Elf stood in a pool of blood and ichor with suffocating mage dangling from his upraised left fist. The flickering torchlight made of his teeth-bared snarl a demon mask, and changed the colour of his victim's face: now purple, now black. In his right hand Balefire held the Sword of the Dawn, point down in the gritty cave floor, fist wrapped around the quillions at shoulder height.
"You have already forfeited your miserable life, scum. It remains for you to decide only what will become of your soul. You call yourself a mage, perverter of the Art...can you feel the hunger in my sword?"
The mercenary Warmage felt his foe's struggles grow feeble and saw his eyes rolling up into his head, and eased his grip around the mage's throat. A strangled gasp might have been an answer. He shook the upraised mage and was rewarded with a nod and a word that might have been "mercy". Balefire laughed, a horrible sound.
"Thou fool! Look in my eyes, worm, and tell me if you see mercy there. I will tell you once more only: speak of what you know, truthfully, and I grant you a clean death. Persist in your stupidity and you shall feed my sword. 'Tis greedy with foes, worm, albeit it shares the life-force with me. You heard your comrades' death shrieks when it took them, did you not? Choose!"
The gargled response was enough like assent for Balefire to let the mage drop limply to the tunnel floor, but the point of his sword was at the half-strangled mage's throat in an instant. He waited for the gasps to subside, crimson eyes darting about the shadows beyond the carnage and his gathered comrades.
"Enough sobbing, insect! Where is the master of this foul citadel? I grow impatient. I would find the core of this evil and burn it out. Speak, I say!"
"I...argh...I...ah...thought it was you who had been hiding below, killing some and terrifying others, so that none would go into the sub-tunnels, but stayed only in the upper halls where it was...cough...safe. We have all heard of the Danger below...there were stories...I swear it."
"Strangely enough, scum, I believe you are telling the truth, for once in your wretched life. We are but recently arrived, yet you stink of fear long carried. Very well. You speak of the sub-tunnels as if you know them. Do you know an entrance? Hold! Look into my eyes...that's right...now, what you see there is your death. Lie to me and I will know it. Think first, decide which kind of end you want, then speak."
The mage paled, swallowed, and whispered, "This tunnel forks twice hereafter. Take the right fork each time. It will lead downward anon. There are beasts...scorpions and...others." He shuddered, coughed, and continued, "You will come to an arched stone bridge over a dark expanse of water. I have not seen it myself, but have heard it from others. Beyond this I know not. I beg of you," his voice rose in pleading tones, "have mercy!"
The scarred and blood-spattered Warmage went down on one knee next to his sobbing foe, put one crimson-gauntleted hand behind his neck and half-raised him from the bloody grit in which he had been lying. Gently, his massive fist closed around the bruised throat as he leaned forward to look the mage full in his tear-stained face. "The time for mercy is past, worm. I keep my word, though." A quick wrench and a mighty squeeze produced a sickening crack as the mage's neck broke. Blood welled up between Balefire's fingers where they had met in the mage's throat. He dropped the body and surged to his feet. Returning his sword to its scabbard on his back, he took his staff in hand.
When he turned to look at his comrades, the torchlight revealed no trace or his erstwhile wrath. His expression was impassive, unreadable. In mild, even tones, he said, "Well, comrades, you heard him. Beasts, and a bridge. "'Tis time to move."
Cromm stood at the dark elf's side. The snivelling mage, face quickly darkening, air escaping from slackened lungs, crumpled in a heap. The Werre's face betrayed nothing, but he admired the strength in those ebony hands. The battle had been furious. Balefire had felled two dozen mages and as many scorpions with Elfiran at his side. The pair's swift onslaught had carried them far into the enemy, and it was the Werre who crashed into the enemy's rear as they closed behind the Warmage and bartender. There were not enough scorpions and men for Cromm to reach his personal best, but it had been long months since he last had fought, and his axe-arm ached. He relished the feeling. The battle had been good for Joran. The boy had cleaved his first head and had not flinched at the sight of blood drawn by his own hand. Talnan, true to form, had sung a harvest song, scything to and fro with his notched great-axe. It had been hardest for Holm'ka. With his injuries, he could not lift his axe, and Loriella had leapt to his aid twice. My, that woman was quick! Cromm almost fancied he'd heard her purr when her fist-daggers had clawed out the throat of an arrogant mage who chose to forego a spell in favour of playing with the kitten.
The tunnel was silent now.
At Balefire's beckoning, the party quickly cleaned their weapons and stepped through the havoc wrought by blade and axe. Holm'ka's eyes smouldered. If hate and shame could heal, he would have been whole. Alduin finished checking the bandages. The binding was still sound, even after the rigors of combat. It seemed to him that the Werre were as good at the arts of mundane healing as harming. Axe and salve...there was some perverse truth in that.
As the group made its way down the hall, Talnan again took up the harvest song, humming it softly under his breath.