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>      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."
>

Having reined in his mount at the redguard Werre's call, Balefire considered the
implications of the statement.  The dark elf's will was something to which he
gave
little thought, usually, but it wasn't really something to be taken for granted.
The effectiveness of his spellcasting, and of his resistance to spells cast upon
him, was largely dependent on the iron will he had developed and honed on
battlefields and lesser frays all across Tamriel.

> 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 wanting to say anything to hurt the warrior's pride or to offend him, the
warmage contented himself with a murmured, "Thank you, K'tarin.  I have worked
as
much on my will as I have on my weapon skill or spellcasting.  It has often
meant
the difference to me between life and death."

> "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.
>

Twilight strove to master her temper as she saw that K'tarin, while bluntly
outspoken, was not really impolite by his own standards.  Having fought both
with
and against many varied mercenaries, including Khajjit and Argonians -- whose
ways
were wholly different from those of humans or elves, she considered his words
for
themselves only, trying to judge the information without emotional or social
distractions, as she might a tactical battlefield report.

> 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.
>

A look of sympathetic comprehension slowly suffused Balefire's countenance.  He
realized what must be troubling the Werre, but for now he kept his own counsel,
waiting to see what, if anything, the redguard would say.

>      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.
>
>

"Nay, good Alduin, let us abide here for a bit longer.  I believe that Mea is at
last approaching us, and for some of us, at least, this particular spot is
preferable to most of the rest of this ancient battlefield.  I strongly suggest,
however, that you let K'tarin choose where he would rest.  'Tis early yet to
camp
for the night, but methinks this spot is an anomaly, a small area where the Art
works."  The big dark elf's saddle creaked as he shifted his weight, and he made
a
sweeping gesture that covered the wasteland around them.  "This is the site of
an
ancient battle of the Werres, is it not?  And one in which they at least
contained, if not completely destroyed, a cabal of foul misusers of the Art?
Little wonder, then, that magic us weakened almost to nothing over much of its
expanse.  The Werre abjure the Art, is it not so?  Or at least, they forswear
it.
Not so their foes in this great slaying that took place here.  It may be that
this
small area where magic can be used is the site of some fell sorceror's dying,
imbued with the great outpouring of magic at his demise.  Or, mayhap, it was the
site of some wizards' last stand, and their efforts to maintain their power in
the
area have remained against the onslaught of Time when they did not stand against
the ferocity of their Werre foes."

The grizzled warmage's visage turned bleak as he addressed the scribe, his deep
voice deadly serious as he said, "I know of a spell of scrying that can
penetrate
the mists of Time, Scribe.  It was taught to me by a Patriarch of Akatosh, in
payment for a service I did for the followers of the Dragon God of Time.  I
could
show you what took place here, I believe, but I would greatly prefer not to do
so.  I am sure K'tarin would prefer that even the images of fallen heroes -- and
their foes -- be left at peace.  What's more, yon citadel is too close, and its
dwellers, if any, too much an unknown quantity, for me to wish to weave that
sort
of spell.  I respect your desire for knowledge, Alduin; I am a scholar myself,
albeit a somewhat warlike one.  I deem it best to leave these environs
univestigated, at least for now."

Twilight looked at K'tarin with a calculating yet sympathetic gaze as she
absorbed
Balefire's words.  At last, a friendly smile spread across her face as she spoke
to the redguard warrior.  "I have no reason to be offended by your words,
K'tarin.  Indeed, albeit I am well-versed and well-practiced in the Art, I have
not the experience of my swordbrother, nor yet the half of his power of will,
having neither his years of study nor his decades of practice.  It is no tribute
to my power that I can use the Art here, but as Balefire has said, 'tis due to
some peculiarity of this area.  I admit that I am reluctant to leave the area,
much as you might be reluctant to leave behind a well-forged weapon or shield
when
going into battle..."

"Aye," Balefire interrupted, "you have the truth of it.  But as soon as we see
to
it that all of our company -- including Mea, if indeed that be her I can see
approaching in the distance -- are at their best, needing no health or stamina
spells from us, we had best be on our way to retrieve J'layah's sister's soul,
and
deal with whoever or whatever it is that wants my ring so badly.  We have been
warned about not 'feeding the heart', whatever that may mean.  It has a vile and
sorcerous sound to it, and it reminds me vaguely of something I once read, but I
cannot call it to mind.  No matter; if it be a foe's heart, I'll more likely
cleave than feed it."

The scarred warmage paused and stretched out his hand.  He concentrated for a
moment, and an apple appeared.  Leaning precariously far forward, he proceeded
to
feed it to his horse.  "Do you remember, Twilight, one of the first things I
taught you when we first started to campaign together?  The story of the Thief
and
the Archmage's Dagger?"

Startling in the heat and wind-driven sand, Twilight's delighted laugh rang out
like a spring breeze rustling wildflowers.  "Aye, Milord Balefire, I remember it
well."

Grinning a -- for him -- rare boyish grin, Balefire chuckled pleasantly.  "While
we wait for our last party member, then, swordsister, be so good as to tell the
tale to our companions.  I warrant Alduin already knows it, and Elfiran has
likely
heard it told by storytellers in the Porcupine or in some other tavern, but
mayhap
not all know it, and K'tarin, especially, should appreciate it."