"...And upon the Wings of Storm..." - Part 3: Gathering The hall was shrouded in shadow. The torches had gone out, now only blackened stumps in their silver sconces. The hall was not all dark, however: a ruddy light shone steady from a squat pedestal. The figure leaned forward from his cold seat and the light sent a maze of spidery shadows about his face. His eyes had a light of their own. "Ah now..." he breathed. "Do you hear that? The desert does battle with us. Can you feel it through the walls? A subtle vibration." The ancient figure shivered. A crooked smile cracked open his face. "There will be war tonight. LORD Th'Sollar will rise up his army again." The man's eyes grew wide, his voice rose. "His army of wretched CHILDREN! They ALL died, but they can't stop!" For a long while, he was consumed in fit of shrieking laughter. "He can't STOP! Ooooohoohoohoo!" He reached out a trembling hand and lifted the Heart. The stone increased it light, throbbing slightly at his touch. The man leaned back into his throne, stroking the gemstone. Two gargoyle skulls peered at him from the throne's back. A vision of another stone, far smaller, came unbidden into his mind. "I know. You hate it. The Bloodstone that emptied you is not far. Soon you, the Heartstone, will be filled again. And then...aaaah. You, the One, the First, will walk again." *** The coarse wind railed against them, as unforgiving to the Watchers as to the strangers now lost from sight below. A hand touched the to'khar's arm. He looked back at the questioning eyes of his watchman. "The boy is right: we cannot be Watchers any longer. We are now Hunters." The wind tore away his words, but she seemed to understand. The Hunters arrayed themselves in heavy storm gear, donning sandrobes, masks, and gloves. They unfolded their motshas, special flexible shields of hide for use only in the most severe storms. When the leader checked every man, he fitted his mask and his watchman checked it and nodded. A strong but light rope was produced and strung through loops in each man's robe. With hand raised, he set off down the steep rock wall and the six Hunters disappeared from the world. "Get up fool, or you will be buried!" The boy squinted through the sand, but if the night was dark above the storm, all was utter blackness within. The boy lay for a moment, then struggled to his feet. He was already buried to his knees when his watchman pulled him forward. The rope had torn out of the boy's robe, and Talnan yanked hard three times to signal a halt. Talnan stripped off a glove and fumbled for another loop among the folds of his charge's robes. With numb fingers, he tied the rope and yanked once to make sure it was secure. He pulled on the rope to signal all was well and the group moved on. The storm became the Hunter's entire world. Yesterdays seemed as dreams in this waking nightmare of slippery footholds, ripping wind, and absolute darkness. The boy, once full of spirit, was now being half-dragged behind the party. Sand pulled at their legs and arms, sometimes coming up to their wastes when a halt was signaled. Two motshas had been torn apart and many robes had lost loops. Holm'ka had lost his mask, a viscous blast having torn it even from his face. Now he wore a permanent grimace, breathing as much sand as air. Each man privately thought this madness, but had not the strength to utter a word. All sense of direction was lost. The land was constantly changing. Only their leader seemed to know where to step and they followed. "The very desert punishes us now," shouted one to another. They stopped. The storm had not grown worse, nor had a halt been called for. They all heard it, impossible though it was to hear above the screaming gale. It was a scream surpassing any earthly sound. It chilled the bone as no wind can. "Shee'thos'r. M'agrathra!" They all fell to their knees, even the khajiit, though the sand was piling about them. Together, they shouted into the wind: "Au nauth Penterah, for nauth osthula. Pere osthula! Pere Penteran!" They prayed. Though there was no light to see by, far above their heads, winged shapes took form. Several Hunters looked about in fear. "We mustn't be here. No Werre can set foot on Thoth Durghanti when the Lord walks." The khajiit gave a rare smile, though none could see it beneath her mask. "I'm not a Werre," she shouted in the ear of the man next to her. He spared her but a glance before looking back up at the sky. "Those that are not Werre are never allowed on the Sea of Bone." He then shot a meaningful glance at their leader. Their leader stood and muttered: "It cannot be helped." With as much strength as he could muster, he yanked on the rope and forced the party to move again. Though they were desert-hardened, every muscle ached and their backs were bent. They slogged on, though all around them the dead were awakening, pulling from the sand and wind. They hunted. *** Alduin lay on his back, propped up a little by his pack. He thanked himself again for having worn it instead of placing it on his pony. He had just finished scribing how Balefire had resolved to face the teeth of the storm and dig out the sage from the sand, and how he had created a shelter against the wind. Of course, he had embellished the tale a bit, omitting the seeking stone in preference for Balefire's intuition. He'd let the dark elf read it later after he had rewritten it, for he had written it by touch and feared the scrawl would be illegible.. For now, they both listened to the storm rage without. The warmage's cloak had bowed inward alarmingly, but the weight of the sand could press it in no more. Horrible screams could be heard outside. At first, the sage passed them off as wind through the twisted spires of rock, but now he couldn't fool himself any longer. There was something out there. Many somethings. "I can't stand it any longer," said Alduin. "I must see what is going on! Blast this storm!" Balefire put out a hand when the old man struggled to a squatting position. "Even I had trouble getting here, Alduin. Though I admire your determination, I cannot let you go out." The Nord gave a puckish grin. "Who ever said anything about going outside?" With shaking hands (he was still weak from his early burial), he rummaged in his pack and brought out a parchment tube. He hastily, but not without care, pulled out the papers and laid them aside. "If you would, push this tube--" The dark elf nodded and took the tube before the sage finished. He scooted over to an open side of the lean-to, and with a savage thrust the hard leather punched through the sand. A shower of sand piled on the floor, then the howl of the storm came through the pipe. Balefire directed the tube away from the wind and peeped through. "It was a good idea, but there is nothing to see. It is all blackness without." Alduin fairly cursed, but stopped himself...then didn't. He cursed anyway. "Julianos damn this storm. There is something out there I've never heard before, and I need to write about it!" Balefire smiled broadly. "Don't damn the storm too much. You did get a tale out of it, and you may yet get another. When we rejoin the others, you can take their accounts." Alduin grunted, and began to pull back the leather tube. Balefire stayed him. "The air in here will grow stale. Let some cooler air in." K'tarin continued to stare into the storm. The sand was piling into the cleft, but not quickly enough to give anyone fear. It covered their knees, but it was easy enough yet to step above it. The Werre was whispering something to himself, his voice rising and lowering almost as if he were singing a song. No one had spoken since the great warmage had ducked into the storm. He had been lost to sight the moment he left the cleft. Finally J'layah stirred and crossed to Twilight. "Will Balefire be all right?" It was a rhetorical question. Twilight looked at the young woman. She smiled, but it didn't extend to her eyes. She laid a hand over J'layah's. "Balefire has braved many dangers, both of men and of nature. He is a sturdy warrior mage." J'layah was keenly aware that the elf-mix hadn't answered the question but let it pass with a nod. "Not to alarm anybody, but this sand is going to fill this hole and there doesn't seem to be anywhere else to go." Mea was right. The sand was coming in drifts now, piling up along the back of the cleft where the wind had a straight line against the rock. Elfiran cleared his throat. "A've been seein' thet lass. A've been thinkin' it would be well to put up a barrier of cloaks and swords. Thet'll hold off the sand for a bit." Everyone quickly stripped off their cloaks and drew their weapons, but even as they began to thrust the blades into the cracked rock, the wind suddenly lessened. It was as if an invisible barrier had been erected, for the storm still beat furiously at the rocks and the air was thick with sand, but the drifts in the cleft stopped growing, and the roar of the wind lessened. It was as if the storm were there in spirit, but not in body. Tabanallis said so, and he could not have been more right. K'tarin stopped his singing and a weary look came upon him. In a harsh whisper, which seemed loud to all after the quieting of the storm, he said: "The war plays out again. The battle of Thoth Durghanti has begun." Everyone crowded around. The Werre looked about and was instantly sorry he had spoken. The ghost-storm raged about them. Every so often, a powerful wind gust would race through the cleft to remind them of the very real storm that still raged at the periphery of their senses. "Thoth what?" "Battle? Between who?" "Plays out again? What--" The brave Werre shrank before the questions. If these people were anyone else, he would have berated them 'til their ears were warm, but they had shared perils together and two of their number were lost in the storm. He gave a sigh. They were going to see the battle at the Guardian Citadel whether he spoke or not. He held up a hand. "You are seeing the battle upon Thoth Durghanti, the Sea of Bone. Our Lord, Th'Sollar, made war upon the Guardian Citadel hundreds of years ago." He stopped. He forced himself to go on. "Watch and I will narrate." The adventurers turned to the battlefield. ++++++++++++++++++ Alduin dor Lammoth