Hope Is Lost

The very air seemed to thicken, and energy crackled around them, as the
two foes strove to bend the ancient power to their wills.  A sourceless low
vibration began, building slowly into a rumble, and dust began to sift down 
from above, sparkling and swirling in the fiery pulsing glow of the Heart and
the Blood.

In the shadows, something stirred...

                                ********

The Master pulled back his lips in a death's head grin. His staff in left
hand, right hand curled over the Heart, he was the mirror image of Balefire.
The air brightened about the wizards, and the Master's robes whipped 
about him as he and his foe stood in an ever-growing vortex of magicka. 
The vibration slowly increased, and the space above their heads crackled.

"Pretty words," sneered Veer'Shule. "You have a foul tongue, dark elf, but if
you truly believe what you say, then you do not know whom you now face!
Impudent apprentice. You have stuck your head out from your briny cesspool
only to have it cut off and sent rolling back into the noisome depths!"

Both men now spared no more words for each other. The contest was now in
earnest. The ring and great stone throbbed in unison, searing the eyes of the
now-bystanders. The perfectly white skin of the Master was awash in red and
his staff bled crimson light. Terrible Words fell from him, smashing against
the ears, numbing the mind, but Balefire retaliated with spells of his own.
The air was a living thing.

The Werre were hunched over, squinting through the hellfire, gritting their
teeth against the assault of the Words. Cromm had recovered his great-axe and
now painfully made his way to the pair in the furious vortex. The Werre 
formed a V, driving through the crackling wind.

The pressure on Loriella's mind suddenly ceased. Her body relaxed and she let
out a long sigh. Darkness tugged at the edges of her mind; the siren song of
sleep. The battle raging in the center of the room did not touch her. It
seemed a matter distant, something in a half-remembered dream. She began to
succumb to oblivion when there came a hoarse groan on her right, jerking her
to the present.

Alduin began to breathe again. The air was no longer solid in his lungs, and
they greedily sucked in its sweetness. He groaned softly at the effort, and
levered himself up on one arm. The power of that Word! His body was shaking
in the aftermath. The sound of the battle came to him as from a great
distance, muffled as through heavy fabric. A movement close at hand caught
his bleared eye.

"Loriella!" His voice came as a croak. He cleared his throat and called to
her again.

Loriella sat up, suddenly aware of her surroundings. She crawled over to the
old man, and they helped each other to their feet. The Words' effects were
quickly waning.

"The air. I couldn't breathe."

The khajiit saw the remembered fear in Alduin's eyes, but could not speak of
her humiliation. She merely nodded and squeezed his shoulder. Now the battle
came to them in a rush of sound and light. A shadow passed over them and
looking, Loriella saw the Werre making their way toward the dazzling light
that was Balefire and the dark Master. Their shadows were long and stark. The
acrobat looked at the scribe.

"Stay here!"

Before he could open his mouth, she pushed into the wind. She was greeted 
with such heat, she nearly stumbled back into the cool shadow of the 
column. The vibration was pronounced now, and the crackle of the magicka 
eclipsed the Words and Art of the wizards. Both their mouths moved in 
silence.

Cromm halted his advance. The hairs on the nape of his neck prickled.
Something tugged at the corner of his mind. Before him, Balefire still stood
tall; a proud man, staff erect, ringed hand aloft, every inch the master of
his art. In that moment, Cromm saw the royal blood running in his veins. He
was a statue of some great lord of the heroic past. Veer'Shule as well stood
firm, his robes now tatters in the whipping wind, and as Balefire was noble,
he was regal. Like a king of old, he was, likewise a master and lord, but
while Balefire's skin was black, the Master's countenance was blacker still.

The feeling tugged again. In his mind, he saw It...saw Them! He madly looked
about, heart racing. How could it be? The War had ended Them. Yet They were
here. He glanced once more at the Master and warmage. Lightning arced between
their staffs, wreathing them in stark white. He made his decision. They were
here. Balefire was on his own.

"Aya'tivui! Koth ta vida!" His words were snatched away in the wind, a faint
cry of a child in a storm. "Krul anad. Denigroth!"

That final word hung in the air, defying the wind.

"Denigroth!"

The Werre immediately formed a ring, facing outward. Loriella had almost
reached them when an intense cold gripped her. Irrational fear took her and
she jerked around. The shadows were moving. Elfiran, too, looked about. His
keen eyes picked out the demon-shapes first.

The shadows separated themselves from the columns. Great beings of obsidian
night, their skin as hard as any armor, glinted red in the hard light. As
tall as a man and half again, their two great pairs of wings spanned four
times their height, translucent. Their feet were talons. Cleavers were their
hands. They had no face in any real sense, but a blank mask, devoid of
feature.

The Werre broke into pairs: Cromm with K'tarin, Talnan with Joran. Holm'ka,
hastily cutting away his sling, came over to Elfiran's side. Elfiran spared
him a curious glance. The Werre had loosed his axe, but it was designed for
two hands and his damaged arm did not allow such use of his left hand. It
could do little more than help guide the weapon.

"Master Elfiran, we must fight in pairs. One of us is distractor, the other
attacker. I am in no condition to strike blows. Beware the cleavers! One
touch and death will be swift. Put this on your blade. Your blows will be
ineffective otherwise."

The dark man tossed a pouch and cloth to the high elf. With quick 
strokes, he anointed his weapon with the green liquid. Its smell stung 
his eyes.

"It is t'sun. Poison-acid. Denigroth cannot recover from its bite."

With that, the monstrosities were upon them. All about them, the ringing of
metal and bone filled the hall as axe and sword clashed with the bone 
cleavers of the Denigroth. Elfiran quickly understood the need for the 
t'sun. He weaved his sword between the great cleavers, with Holm'ka 
taking the brunt of the beast's fury. Every blow the high elf scored only 
seemed to anger the beast. Every gash and hole he drove though the 
obsidian flesh would quickly begin to close, but as the wounds mounted, 
they healed more slowly. The acid damage proved too difficult to repair.

The Denigroth shifted its attention to Elfiran now. Both cleavers were 
trained on him. Now he was on the defensive, parrying and blocking. The 
beast was perfectly ambidextrous, using each arm will equal ease. Holm'ka 
hacked at its back, carving out great divots from its spine and flank. 
Finally the beast stumbled. It was fighting on two fronts and losing. 
More than once the cleavers nearly brushed Elfiran's skin. They had 
already rent open his armor in a few places. He was not used to this type 
of combat. If a foe scratched him, it was of little consequence, but to 
allow no contact? This monster was almost his match. Almost. He allowed 
himself a small smile as the beast fell to the floor, bleeding its milky 
lifeblood from a hundred wounds. With a savage cry, Holm'ka cleaved its 
head and it moved no more.

All about them, the battle continued. Three Denigroth lay dead, but the sight
did not cheer the high elf's heart. More of the monsters were sweeping from
the hall's corners. A vision of the great battle upon Thoth Durghanti flitted
before his eyes; of the black tide of Denigroth crashing upon the island of
Werre before the citadel's walls. The thought came and went. From where he
stood, he now saw the real danger. The beasts were trying to reach Balefire!
With his attention locked with Veer'Shule, he was open to them. With a cry,
he leapt forward, Holm'ka at his side, to engage another Denigroth. He would
die before any of these foul creatures would touch his friend and brother.

Loriella froze, but only for a moment. The great shadow rose above her. Its
outspread arms swept down. Without even time to scream, the lithe khajiit
rolled out of the way. She didn't have time to be afraid anymore. She was now
relying on cool professionalism, and her profession was an acrobat. Quick as
lightning, she was behind the beast, and with short sword in hand, cut deep
into its knee. The hard flesh nearly turned aside her blade, but with a deft
twist, the point sunk right to the back of the kneecap. She laughed, both at
her skillful blow and at the insane situation in which she now found herself.
Here she was, battling a being of pure magicka she was sure she couldn't
kill, who's very touch *could* kill, and her thoughts kept turning to a nice
down bed in some small town inn. Any inn would do, as long as it was far from
here.

The Denigroth spun about, wrenching the blade from her grip. She noticed the
point had indeed gone through the kneecap, but to her horror, the tip
disappeared as the wound closed itself, pushing the sword out. It 
clattered to the bone floor with finality. It was all Loriella could do 
to avoid the next blow. The beast touched her hair, and she imagined her 
scalp tingling as if asleep. Her sword again in hand, she squared off 
with her opponent and dug into its wrist. She stabbed again, dodged, 
ducked, slashed, parried, leapt and rolled as her whole world became this 
unstoppable nightmare. Every wound she inflicted healed in moments. The 
beast's skin chipped at her blade and her arm began to ache. Finally, the 
blade snapped. In desperation, she drew out her ebony dagger. She saw her 
reflection in the smooth blank head. Her beautiful auburn hair had gone 
white where the cleaver had brushed it.

Suddenly, the Denigroth lost interest in her. It simply turned away and
headed for the vortex. A strange mixture of emotions coursed through the
acrobat. Renewed humiliation, anger, fear, relief all fought for dominance.

"Where are you going?" She screamed.

A little voice in her head shouted back at her to leave the monster alone.
She was alive. Let it go! She was no match for it. But her humiliation,
and the image of her hair, overrode all discretion.

"Come back here you <censored>...!" She hurled such abuse at its back as her
benumbed mind would allow. "...flee-ridden, sow-bellied, horse-faced, bat-
eared, dog-breathed..." She trembled. "...fecund, toad-lipped (she forgot
for the moment it had no face), knobby-kneed, maggot-eyed...Aaiiee!"

She leapt full on its back, whipping out her second dagger. With the strength
of the desperate, she walked up its broad back with her knives, pushing each
to the hilt. Standing upon the giant's shoulders with cat-like poise, she
tore at its neck, showering herself with its milky blood, but each gash she
rent closed just as quickly. The wind flung her hair about her face, and she
saw the beast was walking straight for Balefire's back.

She grew feral. Caked in white, eyes wild, body violently shaking, she looked
like some primitive khajiit-ancestor. With her last strength, she sunk the
daggers deep into the Denigroth's head, their hilts becoming mock horns. Her
eyes stared at the milky ruin of it neck and with no more thought, she 
snapped down her head and sank her sharp canines into the open black flesh.

Blinding pain shot through her jaw as a tooth snapped but she held on. The
wound closed around her mouth and she bit all the harder. She would not 
be pushed out. The white blood tasted acid.

The beast slowed to a halt. It shook its head from side to side but could not
loose this suddenly painful terror. Her saliva stung deep in its wound. It
spun about, scything at its back, but was unable to reach her, its great
cleavers nicking its own flesh. Her daggers clattered to the floor as its 
head closed, but she didn't pay them heed. She had now come to her 
senses, and was again terrified. The blood was burning her mouth, but she 
didn't dare unlock her jaw. She was all too aware of the proximity of 
those deadly cleavers, felt the milky blood splash against her legs as it 
carved at itself in desperation. Her jaw was beginning to relax when 
there came a cry from below.

"Hold on lass!"

Elfiran came into view, sword dripping white. He danced about its legs,
driving his blade into its torso again and again. Loriella was aware of
another man, axe in hand. His left arm hung limply at his side. She tightly
shut her eyes, feeling tears of fatigue. She fell. The floor came up hard,
but she was too numb to feel more than dull pain. She looked up to see the
creature towering above her, cleavers held wide. Then a red-mailed figure
eclipsed her view and the floor shook as a heavy body impacted the ground.

She nearly blacked out, but a firm hand brought her back.

"Lass, are ye all right?"

She opened her eyes to see Elfiran's face, laced with white looking down at
her, full of concern. At Loriella's slight nod, he grinned.

"Ye do tend te get inta yer work, don't ye?" He reached down to touch her
sheered tooth. "Don't take this the wrong way, but Ah dinna think ye had it
in ye."

He stood and helped the khajiit to her feet.

He turned to the Werre, chuckling. "Would ye look at that? She *bit* the 
wee beastie!"

Holm'ka stared in amazement. "Maybe you are worthy of being Cromm's wife! A
true warrioress. But let me say something." He held out a pouch. "Use this
on your blades and not your teeth."

They turned to intercept another Denigroth getting rather near the wizards.
Loriella thought about what she had just done and felt faint. She had bit a
Denigroth! Was she mad? Another thought fell on her. Alduin!

She swept up her daggers and raced back to the columns where she had left 
him.

Alduin watched the khajiit go. He was now alone. Balefire was locked with the
foul Master. The Werre and Elfiran were marching through the magicka-driven
wind. Loriella had now gone to join them. For a moment, he merely sat,
enjoying the feeling of breathing again before turning to his task. He was
strangely reluctant to put pen to paper. He rummaged around in his worn pack
and drew out fresh paper. After much mumbling, he found his finest ink; the
royal purple, and his gold-tipped quill. He had just started to scribe when
he felt the presence at his back. He froze, playing the part of the rabbit,
wildly hoping that the oncoming cart would avoid him. He turned his head
slowly around to see two very large feet, horribly taloned. He moved his eyes
upward to see a Denigroth.

He shot to his feet and backed up against the column. He held his pen before
him, waving it back and forth. In his fright, he had no idea of the stupidity
of his actions. He really had no idea what he was going to do with the quill.
Autograph the monster? He had no chance to find out. The Denigroth gave him
an appraising glance, then moved on. Alduin didn't move until the creature
had passed well beyond him.

He started to breathe again. He saw flashes before his eyes, so he must have
been holding his breath for some time. He peeked around the column only to
see the nightmare advance on Loriella.

"Loriella!" he said in a hoarse whisper. His voice carried no further 
than his lips. "Loriella, behind you!"

The Werre now broke into pairs, and the khajiit spun around to meet her foe.
Alduin watched in morbid fascination for an interminable time before
remembering the quill held loosely in his hand. He dove back behind the 
column and got to writing. He sat so he had a full view of the room. He 
got a pang now and then; a feeling of uselessness. Here he was sitting 
against a column jotting down words and scrawling pictures while eight of 
the bravest people he ever knew were fighting for their lives mere yards 
from his stoop. Then his thoughts turned to the three women above. Had 
they made it into the citadel, or were they burning out on the desert 
floor? If they got inside, did they find a way down? They might be 
sleeping by the spirit waters at this very moment. Disaster!

He noticed he had stopped writing. He shoved such thoughts aside and forced
the events about him to paper. The Denigroth kept coming. The Talnan-Joran
pair was showing fatigue. Elfiran was very nearly a one-man "pair" himself,
with Holm'ka valiantly trying to wield an axe too heavy for one arm alone.
Loriella had tried to come back to the lonely scribe, but had been cut 
off by another Denigroth. Only her natural speed was keeping her alive. 
Cromm and K'tarin were back to back, keeping two of the nightmare 
creatures from Balefire. K'tarin was now wielding a sword. His axe lay 
broken at his feet.

A rending scream pierced the air. The master scribe jerked his eyes to 
the right in time to see Talnan grow rigid. The Denigroth had cleaved his 
axe in two. Almost tenderly, it reached out and touched him. Alduin could 
see from his vantage the wound was not deep, but the Werre fell to his 
knees. The Werre remained upright a moment more, and a tenuous haze rose 
up from his body. It hovered there, a ghost trapped by the steady gaze of 
the Denigroth. Then the beast lunged forward and absorbed the spirit into 
its head. Talnan's body crumpled and to Alduin's horror, the Denigroth 
was healed of all wounds.

Joran wailed and retreated as the beast came on with renewed vigor. Fortune
was turning against the heroes. Somehow, Alduin kept writing. He found cold
comfort in that, but when he glanced at the two wizards, even that small
comfort fled.

Balefire was no longer the proud warmage. He was hunched over, using his 
staff more as support than weapon. Its runes were an angry red. The Master, 
too, was bowed. His admantium staff was bending, glowing hot, but he did 
not release it, his hand blackening. The Heart was throbbing quickly, 
beating erratically, and the Blood was no longer in sync. White lightning 
and blue fire wreathed all, catching the Master's robe in phantom fire. 
The battle was going badly for both sides.

There was a sharp crack. The vibration had become a background noise, but now
it changed, and two columns had split open. Great pieces of ceiling came
crashing down from their heads, filling the heavy air with choking dust. The
very floor was shaking in an unnatural earthquake. As Balefire had warned,
the fabric of the place was unraveling.

Above all, a mist formed, swirling with the magicka vortex cocooning the
mages. The mist expanded, replacing the ceiling as bone and stone fell all
about. Alduin felt a great oppression from above, as if another Word of
Command had been uttered. The air was thick in his lungs. He forced his eyes
upward, to peer into the blank mist. Something was taking shape there.

An Eye.

A great pupiless Eye enfolded in blackest flesh stabbed down. Its entire will
was bent on the Heart and Blood directly below, but the periphery of its gaze
was still horrible to bear. The scribe shrank behind his column. Only the
floor buckling beneath his feet forced him to move. Passing to the next
column, his eyes were drawn to Balefire. Both he and Veer'Shule were on their
knees. The Master's staff lay melting, and Balefire's own was smouldering.
With his keen eye for detail, the scribe saw with terrible clarity the 
end of their hope.

Balefire was dying.

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Alduin dor Lammoth