Bubble, Bubble

     The Master paced irritably. The round room was dim, but thin shafts of 
light struggled through narrow eyelets near the high vaulted ceiling. Dust 
danced in the pale light. The figure was untouched. Day could not reach him,
and a cloak of shadow was about him. A deep bass relief clung to the curving
wall. Gargoyles, dragonlings, orcs, and giants marched across it. Men lay
under their feet. Set above them were evil shapes, exceeding tall and many-
winged. Their handless arms scythed the air and their faceless heads looked
out from the wall. Above all was a thick cloud that billowed up to the
eyelets. The scene was so skillfully crafted, the battle seemed to be moving.
The Master surveyed them all as a general commanding his army.
     He stopped his pacing and strode up to a side. He looked up to a flying 
beast and smiled. The smile was full of love, yet cold. Cold, for they were
all dead.
     "Denigroth," he whispered. "Oh to see you in the sky again! Ah, to rule 
the sky again, and the land below. The Heart's time grows near. When it
awakes, you shall be reborn. I shall remake the Horned Council and through
your eyes, see all of Tamriel cower."
     He stopped.
     "See."
     Something in the back of him mind struggled forth from its festering-
place. His whole body tensed as the realization struck him as a hard blow to
his back.
     "See!"
     He was being watched. The tension building in him these last few days 
was not merely due to the Blood being so near. Bloodstone. Heartstone. He 
knew they would eventually have come together. Would he be able to control
the Heart? A source of tension, surely, but he knew now the true source
of it.
     With quick strides, he moved down the spiral staircase in the center of 
the floor as a shadow before a torch. It was utter blackness here, but he 
knew his way and soon came to the throne room after many lost and winding 
passages. The torches were alight again, and the Heartstone lay on its 
pedestal, silent and dark. As he approached it, his anger mounted and the 
stone flared in response when he lifted it.
     "I will not be spied upon!" He hardly contained himself. His hands shook 
violently as he seated himself, face close to the stone. "I have remained 
hidden far too long to be found out now."
     He bent all his thought on the Heartstone. After the ghostly battle, he 
sensed it was withdrawn deep within itself, but he needed it now. He felt it
move within itself; a ponderous sensation. It was reluctant, but as the
Master pulled at it with his mind, the Heart grew more responsive.
     "I need your eyes. I need to see what you can see." The Master's nose 
nearly touched the stone. "Open your eyes. Open them, and look for other
eyes."
     At the Master's coaxing, the heart of the stone changed. A vision of the
desert without appeared in the stone, as if the stone's surface were a window
into another world. The vision sped over the desert. Many tiny figures
appeared, but the Heart's gaze passed over them and sped to the edge of the
desert. Confusion took the Master. If it was not the intruders watching, then
who?
     The vision left the desert behind and with ever-increasing speed, flew
over mountains, plains, cities, and forests. A great body of water appeared
and receded. The vision slowed with dizzying suddenness, and a room took
form. Many robed men walked about it, and one was looking back at the Master
with a concerned brow. In the far corner of the room, eleven robed men were
settled in a ring, chanting madly. Anger and fear welled up in the Master's
heart.
     "It is not your time to spy me out!"
     He drew in a deep breath and began chanting in a low voice. The words
were harsh and smashed against the walls of the throne room instead of
echoing. His voice began slowly and soft, but steadily grew in force. The
Master was using words of Power, ancient magic known by few, and it took all
his strength to utter them. He would put an end to this scrying if he could.

                                 ***

     The Archmagister of Sentinel was peering into the scrying bowl. The soft
blue light painted his face a ghostly shade. The seven chanting mages holding
the spell steady had been joined by four others. A terrible storm had come
up the previous night, and the spell had been nearly lost. Strange visions
the archmagister of Dwynnen had reported, for he had been scrying at that
time. Confused shapes were seen, as if a great battle were being waged, but
little could be gleaned. The archmagister of Daggerfall who had been watching
with the Dwynnen mage had immediately dashed off to the archives again, a
light in his eyes. Now the vision was clear and no trace of the battle could
be seen but ancient bleached bones. Had the battle been an apparition then?
The Daggerfall archmagister would have the answer if ever he dragged himself
from the deep Wayrest libraries.
     One of the chanters stumbled in his fevered chanting. A word was dropped
here, mispronounced there. The Sentinel archmagister was about to turn to
the man to dress him down. He had only begun chanting an hour ago, having
relieved a night-chanter. However, even as he turned, the mercury rippled.
He might have imagined it except for a slight undulating of the quicksilver's
surface when he looked back. If the spell were to fail, the vision would
merely fade, but it was still there, clear and bright.
     He was again about to turn to the chanter when two more slurred their
speech and the quicksilver rippled unmistakably.
     "What under Julianos...?"
     The chanters were beginning to sag, and their words grew forced. The
mercury in the bowl rippled constantly now, as if the table were being
shaken by a mild earthquake. The archmagister looked up and pointed at three
mages pouring over a tome. They nodded and hurried to join the chanting ring.
The chanters regained their earlier poise and their words came easily again.
The crisis seemed past, but the archmagister remained worried. He had never
encountered something like this before. With a curt command, he sent a gaping
apprentice to find the archmagisters of Daggerfall and Wayrest.
     The silver liquid started to ripple again, but this time the vision
changed. The desert darkened and became a blank mist. There was a shape
there. The archmagister leaned closer to see and became mesmerized. From the
mist came a great Eye. It was red, without white or pupil; a red orb clothed
in black skin. It pinned him with a piercing gaze. He could feel it looking
deep inside him, stripping away all barriers.
     The ring of chanters fell into chaos. First one, then the rest screamed.
A scalding steam rose about them and they fell to the floor, writhing. A mage
stumbled back from the circle and threw a wild glance at the archmagister.
The archmagister was slowly leaning forward, his face inches from the quick-
silver. The blue glow had become an burning red.
     Seeing the danger, the mage ignored his burns and rushed over to pull
his master from the bowl as the mercury began to boil. A heavy cloud of
mercury rose up.
     The door burst open and the archmagister of Daggerfall came into the
room. The Eye turned its piercing gaze on him, and he knew what it was. There
was scarce anything written of the Werre, but he had found reference of the
'First'...'Heart' in some tongues.
     "Everyone out!" he roared. No one needed encouragement, and the mages
stumbled and crawled from the poison room. Some were carried. The arch-
magister tore his eyes from the boiling bowl and shut fast the door.
     Amid the groans, someone whispered: "I have never seen such a counter-
spell!"

++++++++++++++++++
Alduin dor Lammoth