A Place of Power

     Alduin had grown accustomed to traveling. Indeed, he was the most worldly
of his brothers of Kineschel unu Lammoth, the Pearl Tower over Deep Lake. As
such, he had perfected the technique of writing while on horseback. The older
scholars shook their heads, but there was no denying that Alduin dor Lammoth
was the most prolific writer among them. His attention to detail was due to
his ability to write under any and all conditions.
     He was finding it hard to write now.
     The sun beat relentlessly down on his bare head. He could feel his pink
dome turning pinker, but the hood on his cloak kept getting yanked back by
flurries of sand and dust. He had given up trying to keep the hood up. Alduin
was almost caught up with events when he glanced up to see why everyone had
stopped.
     He saw J'layah hand the ring back to Balefire, and not until after the
impossible rose sprang from the dark elf's fist did it sink in. Spells had
just been performed! Magicka in this place of all places! With feverish hand,
the scribe flashed his pen over the stiff parchment, recording this most
unexpected event.
     Impossible! J'layah held up the rose. Impossible! She smelled its sweet
scent. Alduin stopped himself from thinking 'Impossible!' again and kept
scribbling. He was so caught up in his writing, he didn't notice K'tarin.

     The Werre looked at the ring, then the rose with amazement. "Balefire,
you truly are great. First you bring me here through magick, something I
would have thought impossible. Now, you bring a flower I've never seen before
into a lifeless desert. You have a great will."
     Even with the redguard's impassive countenance, it was obvious to the
warmage that the compliment did not come easily to the man. K'tarin turned to
Twilight.
     "Not to follow praise with rudeness, but I find it strange that you can
cast spells here as well. I have not seen your magick skills, so I cannot
really say, but I must doubt them in this place."
     Alduin peered over his pen at the Werre, trying to divine his thoughts.
It was rare for the dark man to be civil. He was the gruffest man Alduin had
ever met: one reason why the old man had chosen him as his escort to The
Angry Porcupine. Most people were put out by the redguard's rough manner and
would thereby leave Alduin alone. The scribe went back to his writing, but
was now keeping an ear open to the conversation and recording it word for
word. No way he was going to let a story like this pass by.
     K'tarin looked long at Twilight. For her part, she grew angry at first,
but cooled when she saw no malice or mockery in the redguard's eyes. He was
simply stating his mind as politely as he could. Nerves were on edge, and he
was trying not to step on toes. He had failed, of course.
     K'tarin had until now been at Alduin's side, but slowly approached the
two women. Twilight did not move, unwilling to show she had forgiven him his
transgression. He gave her a wide berth, eyes planted on the ground. As he
neared J'layah, he paused, as if unsure whether a trap lay hid in the ground
before him.
     He set his foot down.
     His face twitched and up shot his foot as if bitten by a desert snake.
He got himself under control and carefully set down his foot again. Everyone
was looking at him as if he had just asked them to take a sand bath. Balefire
was taught in the saddle and Twilight was ready to pounce as well. This Werre
may be a friend of the scribe, but he was acting strangly.
     Alduin was cursing. He had let the ink in his crystal inkwell dry up,
and was busily searching for a fresh one in his pack. No way he was going to
let this go unscribed!
     K'tarin stood there a moment more, seemingly lost in an inner stuggle.
He squared his shoulders and withdrew to Alduin's side. His eyes never left
the sand.

     Alduin had finally found a good ink bottle and quickly scribbled a last
paragraph onto the parchment. He was intensely curious about K'tarin. A
dozen questions were fighting for his tongue, but he knew it better to wait
before asking. The last time he saw K'tarin in such a state was three years
ago when he had lost a sparring match against a younger Werre. The lad had
little training, and so K'tarin had lost face. Alduin was not afraid of
catching the Werre's ire, but he knew that questions now would only deepen
the redguard's foul mood.
     The wizened man deftly rolled up his scroll and packed his pen and ink.
He shielded his eyes from the sun and peered at the great black Citadel,
rising above the desert like a monstrous beetle.
     "I judge it to be a good day's journey. Maybe more. We will surely
spend the night under stars. We'd best get moving." Alduin glanced at the
others. "That is if we are finished dallying about mysterious mounds of sand."
     Alduin wanted to get his friend away from the disturbing site quickly.
In this place, if K'tarin was disturbed, then he was disturbed, which was
not a state in which he enjoyed being.

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Alduin dor Lammoth