Flashes of white light exploded behind his eyes as his senses cracked and his muscles convulsed. Round and round and round he spun down a whirlpool of screams and ice and flashes of half-remembered visions – a chair with rough leather restrains cutting into his wrists and ankles under his seizure; the beam of crystalline headache cutting into his irises from a metal framed face; blood pressure building as a dam about to break. A gentle hand on his shoulder.
His head submerged and he saw her face – dark ringed eyes, greasy midnight hair, and slashes of grim determination. He reached out for her, unable to pull up a shout from his lungs, but he was too late. Her face snapped from existence and was replaced with bright, blue sky.
Isaac blinked up at the baby blue sky. He lay on his back, breathing heavily in a cold sweat. A gentle breeze caressed the side of his face and the tip of his nose. He felt hard ground against the back of his head.
Isaac shot up into a sitting position. “Willow!” His shout carried on the wind and echoed off the landscape around him. As he looked around, breath caught in his throat. Grey mountain peaks shot up all around him for miles in each direction, majestic and towering like no landscape he had ever seen. In an amongst their peaks, he saw trees of deep greens and oranges. Way off, a titanic waterfall cascaded from some unseen source above and landed in pools before dropping into a basin just beyond his sight, in and amongst some trees.
“Oh,” he said. “That’s … not normal.”
The landscape of the mountain bowl was rugged itself. Rocks and boulders grew from beneath the rough, dry looking earth. The ground cracked and raised up in nolls and small hills.
Isaac shivered as that wind brushed across his, and he realised he was naked. “Oh. That’s … slightly embarrassing.”
He looked around his immediate vicinity. A jumble of wood lay close by. He stood on stiff limbs caught himself as his blood redistributed itself around his body, as though he’d been laying there for a long time. When his vision ceased its swimming and retracted dark vignette from the edges of his eyes, he saw that the wooden wreck was some form of old horse drawn cart. Its front two wheels had collapsed, causing it to crash forwards to the ground.
All across the ground, he saw scorch marks. They weren’t obvious to begin with, but as he got closer to the carriage, he saw the ground was blackened and dried out.
“Oh … good.”
And a dead horse lay on its side, just passed the carriage. The smell hit him, then, of singed hair and flesh. Isaac clenched his teeth as he prepared for his stomach to turn, but instead, it rumbled, and he became aware that he was ravenously hungry, too.
Preparing to run at the first sight of danger, Isaac tentatively rounded the front of the cart. Lying face down was its driver – mercifully, wearing clothes which, despite their strange old-fashioned look, he reckoned would fit him and at offer some respite from the cold air. He started to shiver, unsure whether due to the temperature or his hunger.
Isaac leaned down and turned the driver’s body over and jumped back with a shock.
At first, he thought the driver’s face had been mangled or burned, but as his eyes relayed the information to his brain, he realised he was looking at the face of a large cat. Ginger brown fur covered its head and hands, and didn’t look to be some kind of outfit or costume. It had a snout, complete with whiskers, and two large ears sprouted from its head. Stepping back, he saw it had a long tail which protruded from the back of its waistband.
The cat carriage driver was dead, but he couldn’t see any blood or scorch marks across its clothes or body. Perhaps it had fallen and impacted the ground face-first when the carriage broke.
“Sorry, buddy, I’m having those clothes.”
Isaac busied himself unbuckling the brownish green tunic and trousers and quickly pulled them on, all the while, throwing glances across the landscape to watch out for the murdering fire culprit. He was relieved to find that neither the tunic nor trousers had a tail-hole stamped out of them, and so his rear was safe from view. The clothes, despite their primitive fabric make, felt surprisingly warm. Though, they weren’t in quite the right size, and he needed to find some better ones to avoid chafing in the wrong places.
The cat had also owned some thick fur boots, which he plunged his cold, bare feet into. In the back of the cart, he found a tough burlap sack full of green apples – two of which he immediately crunched into – and an assortment of seemingly random items, including a pile of dusty books, a bag of tools including a hammer and some tongs, an a small, blunt knife that looked like a dagger – complete with a cross guard. He flicked through the first two books which seemed to tell stories with characters and places he’d never heard of.
Armed with the dagger and a third apple, he stood atop the cart and looked around. The land seemed mostly featureless, with the odd bare tree poking up from between uneven dirt and rocks. It dipped steeply some way off in the direction that the carriage was facing, and taking a few strides forward, he saw that the basin opened out into a river – or rather: small pools of water that seemed to bubble and steam, like hot springs.
“Well, chief,” Isaac said to himself through a mouthful of juicy apple. “This is certainly a new type of mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”
A movement caught his eye and his heart leapt. In the direction of the distant waterfall, among the thicket of green conifers, he thought he saw someone move, if just for a split second. It could have just been a trick of the light - It was so far away that it was impossible to make out shapes. He watched for a few seconds longer before his stomach growled at him again, impatiently.
“Let’s hope these cats don’t eat people.”
--
He set off in the direction of the waterfall, clambering up and over hidden mounds in the earth and nearly falling off them as their sheer edges blended in against the greys and beiges. Despite the breeze ricocheting around basin, the golden sun on his face was warming, and with the help of his pilfered clothes, his shivering stopped. As he hiked, he saw that a single mountain stood out in what must have been the middle of the basin. It looked as though a small trail led up one side, but it was hard to tell from his distance.
Isaac tucked the knife into the back of his belt.
The rocky, uneven terrain led him up and then down, and then up again. He climbed over dry tree roots and avoided cracks in the earth where steam rose. Pools of steaming water became more frequent. As a larger one blocked his way forward, he walked up to the water and hovered a hand above its surface. It was warm – comfortingly so, and he shivered as goosebumps ran up to his shoulder.
He pushed damning thoughts to the back of his mind: what if he was alone, in this strange wilderness, miles and miles from any civilisation? What if he wasn’t able to find any food? Apart from the horse, he hadn’t seen any animals – not even birds. The river might hold fish.
“Hello there!” Someone, close by, called out to him. Isaac stopped walking immediately and his hand shot to the hilt of his knife. Ready to dash backwards, he looked slowly upwards to the source of the voice. It didn’t sound how he imagined a cat to speak – rather, it sounded like a normal woman, with the twang of some sort of accent that he couldn’t name. Speaking before violence was for the best, too. At least this way, he had a chance to learn more about his situation.
“Hello right back at you,” he said, in his friendliest voice, forcing a smile. “Who goes there?”
A figure he hadn’t noticed as he’d stepped up to the pool waved to him. Pale skin pink from the hot water, blonde hair – the person was not a cat. That was relieving to him for reasons he couldn’t explain. They were sat partially submerged in the water, only their head and bare shoulders clearly visible.
“You first, stranger. It is rare we get visitors out here.” The woman’s voice was not aggressive, but her words carried caution.
Isaac stood up straight and showed his empty hands. “My apologies, I’m a traveller who’s got a bit lost. My name is Isaac.” He bowed his head politely as he introduced himself. If needed, he could whip the dagger round easily. Trying not to arouse suspicion, he carefully moved his eyes to scan the treeline, which must have been within a few hundred metres. At the first sign of a trick, he would run straight back the way he came.
“Isaac. That’s a strange name,” the woman said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone called Isaac before.” She pushed herself up, out of the water, and Isaac’s whole body tensed as he prepared for the worst.
“My name is Annekke, of the humble Crag-Jumper clan. I’d be surprised if you’d heard of us.” Her tone was friendly, now, and as she stood up, quite confidently naked, Isaac saw she was tall and strong, with muscles built for labour. If it came down to a fist fight, he thought he’d probably lose. She brushed a hand back through a wet mess of dirty blonde hair and turned to pick up a tunic like his from the ground next to the pool. “Why don’t you come back to the village with me. You look like you could eat.”
--
Darkwater Crossing was the name of the quaint settlement which perhaps didn’t deserve the foreboding title. To call it a village was a stretch. A few cobbled stone and thatch houses sat around the opening to a mine shaft, which had been dug into the side of the hill. A small fence wove around a tilled cabbage patch, and a few leather tents were pitched in a semi-circle near a campfire that gently smouldered, possibly from the previous night.
“The village gets its name from the lake at the foot of the waterfall, there,” Annekke explained as she and Isaac stepped out of the other side of the trees and into the clearing of the settlement. She pointed past the tents, which Isaac saw were made from patched together animal skins, and out to a lake of the deepest blue. They were right up against the border of the mountain wall, and the lake stretched away from them until it reached the crashing epitome of the huge waterfall he had been following. Isaac looked up and saw that a large stone bridge crossed the lake, high above them, connecting what must have been a path up in the mountains. The waterfall’s peak disappeared between the spears of grey mountain and conifer tree way above.
It was gorgeous. Even from where he was stood, he felt he could smell the fresh spray of the river water, mixed with pine. It was also much less exposed to the wind.
Around them, people bustled. A few men and women carried lumps of an orangey rock to a domed kiln, out of which poured smoke. They carried pickaxes, and their clothes were covered in dirt from hours likely spent in the mine.
A child ran up to them from the tents, fixing Isaac with an excited look. “Mother! Mother! Annekke has brought back a stranger!”
“Hello, little Hrefna,” Annekke said with a smile, and leant down for a hug as the girl collided with her.
Another woman appeared around the corner of the closest house, similarly tall but wearing a tattered floor length dress instead of the tunics the others seemed to prefer. She wore a strange, round, fur hat that seemed as though it was once opulent and looked out of place in its rustic surroundings. In contrast, a heavy pickaxe was looped through her belt. She held a frown but didn’t appear threatening.
“Annekke,” she said, in a gruff voice with a cough. “Your husband won’t be happy to hear you’ve brought a man back from the springs.”
Annekke laughed and pushed the little girl towards her mother as she got closer. “Enough, Tormir. You know I wouldn’t do that, even for an Imperial as handsome as this.” Annekke dipped her head in Isaac’s direction, and he laughed politely, highly confused.
“Speak up, then,” Tormir said and crossed her arms. “What do you want?”
“Tormir, how about we sit down first?”
“It’s okay, I can speak for myself,” Isaac said, and raised a hand in polite defence to Annekke. To Tormir, he said: “I’m sorry for interrupting. I’ve been wandering for a few hours. I managed to get lost in the … the hot springs, and stumbled into Annekke who rescued me.” He watched as Tormir’s frown deepened. “I thought, perhaps, I could just take a moment to rest and gather my bearings.” He finished his little half-truth speech with a friendly smile and waited for Tormir’s suspicious response.
“We don’t have much, but you’re welcome to have some food and a rest,” Tormir said, her frown easing. “Stay any longer and I’ll need you in the mine.” She turned and walked away, calling to one of the miners by the kiln to fetch some food.
Isaac breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
Annekke led him over to the campfire and they sat on fur sleeping bags that she pulled out from under two of the tents. She poked the ashen logs with a stick, but the fire had fully died.
The miner brought over a loaf of fresh-looking bread and a bowl of steaming cabbage soup. Isaac ripped off a chunk of bread and dipped it into the salty broth. The miner went away and came back with another serving for Annekke
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“I apologise for Tormir,” Annekke said as they ate. “With the war on, everyone is on edge.”
A war? Isaac added the detail to his rapidly growing mental list of notes.
“Did you know Ulfric Stormcloak himself was captured? It happened right over there,” Annekke continued and pointed beyond the two small houses and down a dirt path that led out of the settlement, disappearing round a bend of trees.
“Ulfric Stormcloak was captured? That is … surprising news,” Isaac said, picking up his bowl and draining the rest of the lumpy soup.
“Nothing interesting ever happens here. But that was exciting!” Annekke’s face lit up. “Enough about me, though. You’re a traveller? You must have some exciting tales. Where did you say you were from?”
As she spoke, Isaac watched a pair of armoured figures stroll down the trail towards the settlement. They wore blue and brown quilted knee-length tunics that rustled with what appeared to be chainmail. One carried a small, round shield – a brutal looking mace swung from their side. The other shouldered a curved bow and a quiver of arrows. They chatted pleasantly as they walked and waved to one of the miners, who waved back.
“You know, with the war on, its brave of you to be travelling alone.” Isaac thought he heard a drop of concern enter Annekke’s voice, almost suspicion.
“Ah, I was just passing through,” he said, smiling to her. “I was travelling with a … merchant, but we got attacked, and I was separated from his carriage.”
Annekke’s face grew worried. “Oh, I am sorry to hear that. The roads are full of bandits nowadays. I scouted one just yesterday, heading back to his camp.” She bowed her head.
“You sound like you know a thing or two about the surrounding area, then.” Maybe this Annekke could help him figure out just what the hell was happening.
Maybe she could help him find Willow.
“I used to do a fair bit of adventuring back in the day,” Annekke said. “But life moves on, and I settled down here, with Verner.” Isaac watched as she drew circles in the campfire’s ash. Then she looked up. “Ah, speaking of whom…” Isaac followed her gaze to the mouth of the mine. A group of miners, covered in dirt, wiping sweat from their faces and coughing, emerged. The last one out pulled a rickety wooden cart behind him, and they began to offload more chunks of that metallic rock. One of the miners looked over to Isaac and Annekke and waved. He wore an ugly brown cap that covered his ears like a limp leather sock, but his face was friendly, if rather tired.
“My wife,” Verner said and walked over. Annekke stood and embraced him in a quick hug. Isaac stood too, and when Verner looked over to him, he bowed his head in polite greeting. “And who might you be, friend? If you’re looking for work, we can always use more hands in the mine.”
“Stop, Verner. Isaac is a merchant. He’s just arrived here after a long journey.” Annekke put her hand on her husband’s shoulder and guided him into a sit at the edge of the fire.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Verner,” Isaac said as he sat down again, but Verner looked at him with an odd expression.
“He doesn’t look like a merchant.”
Still smiling, Isaac blinked at him, then said: “Ah, you must be taking about my scruffy clothes! I had to borrow them from a friend. Didn’t want to get my fancy threads all dusty!” Hastening to change the subject, he pivoted. “I take it this is your mine?”
Verner puffed out his chest and grinned a toothy smile. “That it is! We struck a rare vein of corundum – vital for the soldiers and their steel.” His grin collapsed into an inquisitive frown. “Say, where did you meet my wife?”
“Verner!” Annekke laughed.
“My apologies, friend. It’s been a long day at work. Annekke used to help a lot more with the mining, but nowadays she’s a bit of a bounder.”
“It’s okay, Annekke. I understand your husband’s concern - I’m a stranger in your home,” Isaac said with a smile, not really wanting to be the cause of a marital argument. “I was crossing through the hot springs and stumbled into her. It’s a good job I did, too, or I might have been out there for hours longer.”
Verner looked to his wife, his brow furrowing once more, and Isaac wondered whether he’d said something wrong. “Was my wife clothed when you stumbled into her?”
“Verner, that’s enough!” Annekke said, playfully but with authority, and stood. “Listen. Why don’t you talk with our guest and offer him some help. I’ll assist with the smelting.” She kissed her fingers and placed them on her husband’s forehead before he could answer back, and turned to assist the miners with their job.
Above them, orange streaks were beginning to appear in the clear blue sky.
“Verner,” Isaac said. “I am grateful for your hospitality.”
“On my honour, my new friend,” Verner said, turning back to Isaac, wiping what Isaac thought was a wistful look from his eyes. “Ahem. Yes. I do love my wife, I just wish she’d get her head out of the clouds. We have a lot of work yet to do, and as you can probably tell, not a lot of money to sustain us. Darkwater Crossing is only a small village, and we need every hand working.”
As Verner spoke, the girl, Hrefna, skipped over to them, tailed by one of the miners. As the miner sat, Isaac saw his skin was light grey in colour, and his eyes were a gleaming red, devoid of irises, pupils, or any whites. Despite the man’s sharp features and black beard, his demeanour was friendly, and he placed a hand on Hrefna’s shoulder as they approached.
“Uncle Sondas, this is the stranger!” Hrefna pointed at Isaac, and the man regarded him, offering him a polite nod of greeting, before sitting cross-legged opposite him. Hrefna mimicked his movements and sat next to him, cross-legged also.
“Greetings,” Sondas said to Isaac in a nasally voice. “I hear there’s baked slaughterfish, tonight.”
--
When Annekke and the other miners had finished unloading the ore into the smelter, they joined the campfire circle. Someone brought fresh firewood and piled it on top of the ashes. Sondras leaned over the fireplace and clicked a finger. Isaac watched as a small spark appeared in the man’s hand. In his palm, it grew into a delicate, controlled flame. Sondras held the flickering flame to the logs until the licking tongues caught, and the campfire began to crackle.
Another mental note to explore later, Isaac thought. Now was not the time.
Food was offered to the miners by Tormir, and the group ate and chatted. Isaac listened as they laughed at an in-joke involving a mound of dirt and Verner’s head. He pretended not to notice as Annekke threw Isaac glances across Verner. Bottles of a strong beer or ale were passed around, and someone said something about dragons that Isaac didn’t quite catch.
As the sky grew pink, and then deep blue, the miners began to crawl under their tents. Isaac stood up off the bedroll he had been sat on to offer it to Sondras, but he held his hand out. “There’s enough space for all of us, Imperial.”
“Imperial?” Isaac said, in a low voice. “Annekke called me that, too.”
“Oh, my apologies,” said Sondras, meeting his low tone. “Are you not from the heartland?”
“I might be,” Isaac said. He clicked his fingers and rubbed a hand across his forehead, summoning thoughts. “Sondras, you look like a man with a few secrets. Can I ask you something in confidence?”
Sondras, his dark grey skin becoming camouflaged against the darkening backdrop of dark grey evening, fixed Isaac a look with those red eyes. “You’ve got me wrong, friend.” He shook his head. “I’ve lived here my whole life, and been a miner for what feels like longer.”
Isaac squinted at him.
Tormir led a sleepy Hrefna into one of the houses, and Verner and Annekke, arms around each others’ waists, disappeared into the other.
“You can ask, but I might not be able to answer,” Sondras said. “How about a favour for a favour?”
Isaac smiled. “You can ask, but I don’t have much to offer, I’m afraid.”
“That’s alright. Listen. Some of the miners have been complaining about developing bad coughs. I fear we’re getting deeper into the mine and reaching the bad air.”
“I understand.”
“Now, I would usually make the trip to Windhelm myself, but with the lack of money, Verner needs all of us in the mine.”
“If you can point me in the right direction, I’d be happy to help,” Isaac said, before Sondras could get to his point.
The man clapped him on the arm. “You need to head to the White Phial – have you ever been to the city before?”
“I haven’t. I’m not sure which way to head.”
“It’s back across the valley, to the north. I’m sure Annekke will guide you in the right direction. She’s been dying to get out and travel again.”
“Sondras, it would be my pleasure to help.”
Isaac lingered on the sentence, and Sondras sighed. “When you get to Windhelm – after you’ve been to the White Phial – visit the New Gnisis Cornerclub. It’s in the Grey Quarter. Just follow the trail of whining Dunmer.”
--
She awoke with an explosion of breath from a standing slumber. Sound crashed behind her, and she spun just in time to see Hadvar throw himself in front of a draugr that was lurching in her direction. Lank hair stuck to one side of its head. Its deathly blue eyes locked on hers and she felt the attention of that unnatural presence wash over her like acid. Something was different about it. Stronger.
Hadvar tried to knock the thing out of its stride with a lunge, but the draugr swung a heavy blow against him with a black metal sword, and Hadvar aborted his attack and spun on his heel to avoid being hit.
The draugr raised its left hand towards her, and the temperature of the air plummeted and her breath caught in her throat. A burst of ice erupted from its palm and she staggered backwards.
Before the spell could reach her, Faendal was there. Appearing as if from nowhere, the elf slashed his blade downwards onto the draugr’s outstretched left arm. The blow glanced off an armour plate, but it was enough to knock the draugr’s focus on the spell. She watched as the spell arced across the ground, instantly turning the stone to ice, before the draugr brought its arm around and aimed a backhand slap at Faendal’s helmet.
Faendal brought his shield up, which she saw was also covered in that magical ice, but the draugr’s attack was strong enough to knock him backwards and put him on the defensive.
Hadvar charged again, this time at the draugr’s back. Once again, it noticed him just in time and switched targets, knocking Hadvar’s sword to the side before thrusting forwards with its own strike.
She watched in horror as the black metal sword thunked into Hadvar’s leather armour, and he cried out. For a moment, even Faendal froze. Hadvar pushed himself backwards, away from the threat, and tripped. He fell onto his back, his weapon clattering to the ground.
“Hadvar!” She shouted.
Faendal whipped back into action. The battered metal of his goat-horned helmet glinted under the haunting beam of moonlight that soaked the fight. He darted to the right and jumped, landing on the edge of a large coffin, which stood at the edge of the stone plateau, before launching off it towards the draugr. He roared and raised his sword above his head, ready to strike.
Instead of moving, the draugr grounded its feet and puffed out its chest, as if about to shout at Faendal; to her disbelief, it did.
Not just one voice, but thousands spoke a single word into the air. It was a word she understood beyond recognition of syllables or inflection, but with a vitality and energy that moved her soul. She connected with not just the sound but the force of each letter.
Fus.
The space in front of the draugr exploded with a boom that thundered off the cave walls around them and scattered dust and skimmed pebbles across the ground. With its voice, the draugr projected a push of air that cannoned from its mouth and hit Faendal. The magic word collided with Faendal mid-leap and threw him into disarray. He lost control of his momentum and sailed past his target, hitting the ground heavily with a groan.
The draugr returned its glare to her and stomped forwards once more.
“Stop. Stop!” She said and took a few steps back. She reached for Hod’s dagger, but her hand grasped at empty air. She must have dropped it when she went into that strange dream state. “I- I understood what you said! That word!” She tried again, but the draugr showed no signs of slowing down. It raised its sword.
And something in her mind switched. It was as though a lever was pulled from ‘off’ to ‘on’. A light lit up green in the back of her skull and her consciousness opened out wide, pushed by a gust of wind sent from heaven or hell itself. She saw with eyes not her own, the meaning of ‘force’.
And that pushing wind,
It tasted hot and corrosive.
It lathered soul from a sea of forbidden knowledge,
Not temporarily.
The word was a whisper on her cracked lips: “Fus.”
Her thoughts returned to the present to see the fruits of her daydream. And she felt it. That power, borne of the toil of generations that came before her, and dragons that came before them.
The power of the word purged from her throat and exploded in front of her, just as she had seen the draugr perform. The thing staggered backwards, and Faendal saw his chance. The elf pushed himself to his feet and, gripping its hilt in both hands, drove his sword through the draugr’s back. The thing fell to one knee, and she thought it was about to throw Faendal off, but he twisted the weapon with a grunt, and the draugr’s leg buckled. Its strength died away, and its eyes dissipated into the shadows of its empty eye sockets.
Faendal stood, leaving his sword lodged in the draugr’s back, and glared down at it.
“Faendal,” she said. “You- you saved me!”
But it was as though he hadn’t heard her. His jaw locked; his breathing was deep. “I am not fighting for you any longer,” he said quietly, but just loud enough so she could hear the grief and rage and frustration in his voice.
She was stunned.
The silence was broken by a clatter of metal as Hadvar stumbled to his feet. “That draugr was an impressive opponent. I really thought we were finished,” he said, breathlessly. He took a limping step but stopped as his face contorted with pain, and he grabbed his side.
“Hadvar, I-“ she stepped forwards to help but he waved her down. He unbuttoned a pouch attached to his belt and pulled out a small red vial. He brought it to his mouth and popped the cork with his teeth, spat it to one side, and threw his head back to drink the healing potion. He let the empty glass vial clunk off the floor, and straightened up, taking deep breaths but keeping his hand firmly pressed against his side.
“We should be thanking you, girl. We witnessed a miracle today.” His words carried awe – a golden reverence that should have lit a fire in her belly, or touched her soul’s gratitude and collapsed her legs into humble pride. But it just made her feel sick. “I- I don’t know what I did. I just did it.”
“You are dragonborn, girl. Don’t you know what that means?”
Before she could answer, Faendal spoke: “I can’t believe you kept this from us.”
She blinked in confusion. “Faendal, what? Kept what from you? I didn’t know I could do that.”
The elf pulled off his helmet and dropped it at his feet, next to the draugr. It clattered with a hollow sound. He looked her dead in the eyes for just a moment, and the world around them seemed to stop. She saw a single tear well up in the corner of his right eye before he blinked it away and broke his gaze. He turned away from her and said: “I am going to find the exit. I will mark it for you.” Faendal walked to the edge of the plateau and broke the moonlight’s boundary, instantly becoming swallowed by the black beyond. “The stone is in the coffin,” he said, his voice echoing and growing distant.
“Faendal?” She said, and stared at the space her friend had just occupied.
She heard Hadvar take a deep breath and he limped over to her. He placed his hand on her back and said: “Let us find this dragonstone and leave this damned place. I cannot wait to see the sky again.”
The open metal coffin was devoid of anything but that jagged lump of rock. It did not appear to be of the mountain walls but looked almost older, like the strange, curved wall to their backs. There was no doubt in her mind that this was what they were looking for – Farengar’s dragonstone.
She leant down and picked it up with both hands. It was surprisingly light, and as she held it up, she saw lines inscribed onto its surface, of text she didn’t understand and shapes she couldn’t recognise as anything coherent. Hopefully the wizard could make sense of it. It was too large to fit in her pouch, so she’d just have to carry it.
Finding the exit was not going to be as simple as Faendal had made it sound. The two were clean out of flammable light sources, with Hadvar and Faendal’s torches being destroyed in the fighting. They felt their way down off the plateau, and she followed the sound of running water. She couldn’t see it in the gloom, but she knew a stream ran through the cave, and it had crossing points.
At first, she thought she imagined it, but as she squinted through the darkness, and her as eyes grew slightly more accustomed to it, she saw a gentle blue glow somewhere off to their right.
Hadvar saw it too. “Look, one of those glowing mushrooms. Faendal must have left it there for us. That elf sure is quick-fingered.”
Slowly but surely, the pair felt their way up to and then along the edge of the stream, until they came to a small stone bridge that let them cross. It was slow progress, but with each passing minute, Hadvar’s breathing calmed, and he seemed to regain some life.
They made their way up to the blue glow which did indeed turn out to be a mushroom, left on the cave floor.
“There’s a staircase here. How in Mara’s mercy did that elf find his way through so quickly?”
Hadvar took the lead and guided the pair of them up the stairs. They left the sound of rushing water behind and entered what felt like a tunnel. It was not long before fingers of moonlight found them again, and they rushed forwards towards a cave opening.
--
Bleak Falls Barrow spat them out on the side of a cliff. She drank in the moonlight as fresh air hit her lungs, and she shivered. In silent agreement, the pair counted their blessings. There was a very real chance they might not have made it out of the cave, even after all they’d been through.
But where were they? Stood at treetop level, she looked out across a lake. Strewn across it were a few islands, and not too far off to their left, she could make out the submerged ruin of a tower.
“Ah, Lake Ilinalta. We are but a short hike upstream from Riverwood.”
Following a gentle climb down from the rocky ledge, Hadvar led them through long grass and into tree cover. The night air buzzed with nocturnal insects and life. Wind brushed through the pines above and nudged the yellow trails of glowbugs. An owl hooted somewhere far off. If there were wolves or other predators around, none make itself known.
As they walked through the night, the moon guiding their steps, the soft sound of lapping water became the tumbling of waterfalls, and she cast her mind back to the day she first arrived at Riverwood. So much had happened since.
The pair found a gentle crossing and waded to the opposite riverbank. Exhaustion was beginning to drag her eyelids closed, and she almost forgot to remove her shoes before stepping into the crisp, fresh river water.
Hadvar waved her goodbye as they reached the blacksmith’s house. Embers sleepily glowed in the forge.
Not wanting to wake Hod and Gerdur’s family, she decided to stay at the inn. Her coin pouch felt light, but she was sure Orgnar wouldn’t turn her away. Not with the stories she had to tell.
Fire warmth. Boots off. Bed covers. Sleep.
It didn’t come gently.