He stood on the parapet, hundreds of feet above the battlefield. The
pathetic men far below were scurrying about like gnats, the black Denigroth
tearing at their ranks from above. The catapaults that had blocked up the
gates lay in ruin like trampled spiders. Great blocks of masonry lay about
the broken gates from which more Denigroth continued to pour. Through all
raged a storm strong enough to stagger some of the men and only assisted the
black demons in their raking dives. Lightning flashed intermittantly as the
sand mixed with the air.
     There was a point of light. Red. It came from across the desert, slow at
first, almost leisurely. Soon, however, it gained speed and moved through the
fray as a fish through strong currents. A figure held aloft the light and
stopped at the gates. The battle did not touch him. Both men and demon
ignored him and the fierce wind did not so much as tug at this deep robes.
The figure was now looking up at the Master.
     Hatred welled up within the Master. This man defied him! He scorned the
storm and feared not the Denigroth, the purest incarnations of death. The
Master's lips curled.
     "Doom on your head! A thousand Dooms, Sollar! You are dead, and your
legacy will be buried! The Werre are about to fall. Hammerfell will be my
sandbox!"
     The tiny figure below raised its hands to its hood and paused. Slowly,
it drew back the cloth and beneath was not a reguard, but a midnight man. His
skin was ebony and his eyes shone red fire. The light from his eyes mingled
with the bloody light of his ring. He continued to stare up at the Master.
     The Master shrank back. His heart stopped and he found he could not move.
     "Not Th'Sollar? No. No, not you! You are false!"
     The words were forced and hollow. A quiet voice wafted up from the sand
below as the midnight man moved his lips.
     "A black-skinned man with fiery eyes
      Will come from lands afar,
      He will brave both storm and sand
      And prise the doors ajar!"
     To his horror, the Master heard himself finishing the verse:
     "In his ring the Bloodstone lies
      Death lies in his hand."

     The Master stood on the hot sand, the sky furrowed with ruddy clouds.
He stood at the foot of the gates, now made whole, and far above upon the
highest parapet stood a robed figure. It drew back its hood and stared down
at the tiny figure on the shallow mound with searing red eyes. The Master
opened his mouth to scream, but was drowned by the heavy sound of wings. The
wind whipped up and from the earth rose the Denigroth. With a thought, their
forms grew concrete: black and hard. They swept up on all sides and fell on
him from the boiling air.

     He sat up straight with the bedsheets tightly wrapped about his limbs.
He took in ragged breaths and blinked sweat from his eyes. He sat very still,
waiting for his heart to slow, staring at the curtains enclosing his bed.
When he began to cool, he found energy to grow angry.
     "Bah! Foolish dream!" He paused. "It was so real this time. Some wine!"
     He reached to draw back a curtain when it was torn aside by a great
curved cleaver as long as his arm. He jerked back and began to cast a Black
Touch spell when a faceless head pushed into the bed. The Denigroth turned to
him. He felt its eyeless gaze heavy on his body.
     "Veer'Shule Hhaathra!"
     The voice was harsh, barely above a whisper. Startled at the sound of
his name, the Master sat frozen. The cleaver-arm reached out and lightly
touched his chest. His body went numb and a freezing cold passed to his
heart. In a moment, he felt his soul leaving his body, drawn out by the blank
stare of the demon. He floated forward, then touched the face. Pain! His
being was being torn apart.

     He sat up straight with the bedsheets tightly wrapped about his limbs.
He took in ragged breaths and wiped the sweat from this eyes.
     "Oblivion!" he rasped.
     He tore aside the curtains hard enough to pull out a hanging-ring. He
slipped his feet into slippers and padded through the passages to the throne
room. He looked long upon the crimson orb there.
     "You did it again, didn't you? Dreams." He said the poisonous word with
contempt. "Dreams won't harm me. When you are joined with the Bloodstone,I
will own you utterly! Now..."
     He touched the stone and immediately felt something had changed within
the citadel. He sank into his deep throne and bent his mind upon the stone.
He was still shaken from the nightmare and took some time to collect his
thoughts, but the Heart was a powerful focus, and he was soon reaching to the
edges of the great fortress. There had been a breach. A foundation had
shifted. He probed more. The Blood...
     He grew frantic for a moment as the feeling of it eluded him, but he
calmed and soon found it beneath the sands. It is inside! On the edge of his
senses he felt a light tugging. Another has come. Powerful.
     "First the Blood. All the rest later."

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