Cromm was at Balefire's elbow the moment the doors collapsed. Hardly
waiting for the dust to settle, the two men entered the hall beyond. Balefire
pulled ahead as the scene slowly impressed itself on the Werre's eyes. Soon
the warmage, too, slowed to a halt. Even he found it difficult to take in the
hall in which he now stood. It was the stuff of nightmares.
     The floor was uneven, paved with rounded stones--round, but not perfectly
so. Balefire unconsciously knew what they were before his eyes understood.
The floor, from wall to wall, was paved in skulls. Each was laid at a slight
angle so its empty eye sockets stared out at those who ground them underfoot.
All were facing the far end of the hall. Their lower jaws had been removed,
mounted in two lines, outlining the main causeway to the center of the hall
of bone.
     The walls on either side were almost lost to darkness, so wide was the
space. Dimly, rough murals could be made out, set with teeth and fragments of
bone. Though the scenes were impossible to make out from the doorway, their
subject matter was all too clear; great beasts upon a battlefield, men being
beaten into the earth.
     On either side of the causeway, there stood three pairs of pillars of
such girth as to require three men, linked hand in hand, to encircle. The
bases were broad disks of ivory, but the columns themselves were of long
bones and vertebrae.
     Pulling his burning eyes forward, the warmage saw him. Beyond the final
pillars rose a great throne of such perfect blackness, light could not touch
it. The two great torches on either side threw wide their yellow light,
revealing the ribbed ceiling in dancing hellfire, yet the figure within the
throne was enshrouded in shadow. Only his narrow white hands, cold and smooth
as marble, were seen resting on the arms of the throne.
     A cold anger rose in Balefire, starting in the pit of his stomach, then
swiftly rising upward, setting his eyes ablaze. As if in response, another
light flared before the throne, a perfect crimson. A pedestal was there,
squat, carved from black stone and polished smooth. About its base was a
ring of skulls, each bearing sapphires and emeralds in their eyes. Upon the
pedestal, cradled in a golden hand, lay a ruby of such perfection as Balefire
had ever seen. Its surface was smooth, and no light reflected from it, but the
crimson light radiated from within it. Only its light pushed aside the dark
about the throne, illuminating the figure in bloody relief.
     As the Heart's light grew, so a warmth grew upon Balefire's finger. His
ring! The stone upon it had grown heavy and hot. He knew without casting
aside his gauntlet that the Blood was giving off its own light.
     Balefire and Veer'Shule, Midnight Man and Master, stared at one another
as statues across a gulf of bone. Only slowly did the warmage perceive the
Werre behind him.
     Cromm had not moved. He stood as rigid as the columns and was even more
grim to look upon. The torches cast twisted shadows over his weathered
features. His eyes were pits of blackness, but a glint was there; eyes that
defied the shadows, being kindled with a fire of their own. Although his
countenance was inscrutable, every nerve within his being was being laid
bare. His mind was benumbed and his body did not seem his own. Only dimly did
he sense his fellows stepping through the broken gates. They too, halted.
Loriella wanted to run, flee from such a place of pure hatred. She could not
feel the Werre bones as the redguard could, but the black will of the Master
bore down on her as a physical thing. Alduin simply dropped his pen and
parchment. This, he could not put to words.
     Cromm had said that whatever lay beyond the great doors, there could not
be any greater sacrilege than the skulls of the doors. Now he stood rooted
among the bones of his ancestors, his comrades in arms and blood. The hall
seemed lined with them, but he could feel the bones extended beyond the walls
and ceiling. The hall's foundations were buried in them.
     His limbs began to tremble, and for the second time since he had joined
Balefire, uncontrollable emotion took him. His eyes filmed and his lips
trembled. To Elfiran, it seemed he was about to cry. Indeed, his cheeks
became wet and his face flushed. Of a sudden, he hefted aloft his great-axe
and threw back his head.
     It began deep in his chest, a low growl as of a bear slow to anger
finally rounding on his tormentor. The sound rose in pitch and volume,
filling the hall with a terrible scream. Behind him, K'tarin, Holm'ka, and
Talnan heaved up their axes and added their throats to Cromm's. Joran jerked
from his deathly silence and his voice soared above all others, reaching
even the ceiling cloaked in silent darkness. But though the screams were born
of ultimate despair and hatred, they were not inarticulate, but raised up a
single word, as terrible as the sound it rode upon.
     In that moment, Veer'Shule shot to his feet, throwing back his deep hood
in dismay. His head was bald, its skin translucent with extreme age and
deathly pale. His eyes were deep-set as a corpse, but they were very much
alive, quick and fierce. His long hooked nose marked him as a southern nord,
but his chin was sharp, bespeaking a breton heritage. Between thin lips shone
silver teeth. He took up a staff not unlike Balefire's own, but of mithril
instead of wood. Cruel runes were etched about its head and base. All this
Balefire took in.
     For a moment, the nightmare came back to Veer'Shule. He was standing
above the battlefield, the Werre far below, screaming their battlecries. He
came back to the present. The battlefield was gone from his eyes, but the
cry was still there, filled with the same bloodlust. It stopped only when the
Werre had no more breath to spend.
     When the echoes faded, the Werre surged forward, but Cromm quickly
mastered himself. He thrust out his axe, barring the way. Talnan understood
immediately and restrained the boy, Joran, who struggled fiercely.
     "Remember the Lay of Perinoth!" hissed Cromm, his voice hoarse. "Do you
not recognize the stone? This is not for us!"
     Joran's eyes screamed defiance, and K'tarin and Holm'ka did not try to
hide their thoughts. To oblivion with the song! Slay this evil where it
stands! Look at the bones! The bones!
     The robed figure let loose a cold laughter. It was nearly enough to
break Cromm's resolve.
     "Yes," the Master said, "stay where you are." He brought his keen eyes
to bear on the warmage. "And as for you, the Blood!"
     He spoke another tongue, yet the meaning of his words was clear. He held
out his hand and stepped closer to the Heart.

<><><><><><><><><>
Alduin dor Lammoth