“Two sentries down, andddd, three. Good work Anglin.” I watched from a clutch of trees as the guards were cut down by the cloaked killer. Yngdaril had been built into a hillside, spattered with light tree cover. Those of us with white cloaks and covers had moved in from the backside after a tundra eagle screeched an all clear. Anglin had killed two men in the trees, now a third in the ruins of an old tower. Two more were cooking something down in the pit of the burial mound, another pair were sitting with their feet up, watching the eastern horizon. They wouldn’t last long.
“Angven, Grimvald, you’re up.” I tapped the other twin on the shoulder. He drew out his dagger, and scurried up the stairs that lead up the side of the mound. Grimvald was behind him, mirroring his motions. Angven went for the left side bandit, sneaking in behind his chair. The larger, meaner man from Seacrest had his axe ready, spun to spike his victim. Angven leaned in, got a chokehold on his bandit, and stabbed the man four times in the chest. Grimvald wasn’t so clean. He drove the spike of his axe into the other’s temple, dragged him off his stool and crushed the mans throat with a punch. Angven rolled his kill down the side of the mound, there was hardly a noise as the corpse landed in the snow.
Twang!
“Wha—?” Twang!
Thump.
“Last two are dead Boss.” Anglin called down from the ruined tower, unstringing his bow.
“Good work. Hania, Jorn, Grimvald, Jori, Gromm. We’re the point. Molnen, Hemjar, I want you and the guards to hold here for now. Lodor, Adalvald, take the rest of who we have, hold behind us, but be ready to charge in. Twins, you keep your eyes open up here, call it out if you see runners. Karliene, you be a good girl and help them.” I patted the wolf on the head. For all Hania said, she seemed just as eager as ever.
We started down into the pit, two black iron doors were set into the weathered stone. They had tool marks around the edges, recent ones. The necromancers had probably needed to break the rust and ice off the doorframe. Lodor’s lot pulled the two feathered corpses off to the side as I got to the entrance, reaching out with my newly acquired sense.
[Corpse Hunter Activated!]
I could feel the wretched things, some moving, some slumbering in their tombs, some standing watch over the important chambers. Dozens of draugr, a hundred weaker presences, and something so dark and vile I recoiled when I touched it. I could feel a bloodthirsty, ravenous animal down there, and it was not happy.
“Gah… fuck…” The presence made me want to vomit, the sense of anger, fury, and bottomless hatred was something I’d never expected.
“What is it Johannes?” Jori asked as I felt those hungry eyes looking through hundreds of feet of stone.
“Another vampire, but this one, he’s pissed. He’s not moving… and he saw me too. I’ll explain later, I can feel undead when they get close to me. Sometimes they can see me if I look too hard. I don’t think he’s in any position to be a problem.” The vampire felt like it was desperate, starving, maybe imprisoned.
“That’s, well, I guess that’s a useful power for Stuhn’s champion. Lead the way.” Jori made to put his hand over the door. I pulled my helmet down over my head, it was time to finish things. The door groaned open, revealing a torchlit hallway.
“Slow and steady, eyes open for traps.” The hall sloped downwards, turning gradually into a clockwise spiral. It leveled off for doorways about half way down. Aside from the crackles of the torches, there weren’t any identifiable sounds. I motioned for Hania and Grimvald to follow behind me on the left, Gromm, Jorn and Jori followed the right side wall.
Hold here, listen.
I motioned for Jorn with hand signals when we reached the doors. He nodded, sword held ready. There was something coming from behind my door, my helmet was screwing up the noise.
Something here. Hold the hall. You two, follow me.
I reached out for the door handle with my left hand, mace ready in my other. The door made surprisingly little noise, just a small scrape against the floor.
“Oy! Oy! You fuckin’ gits! This is my ti— Oh shit! Shit! SHIT!”
“AAH!”
Crunch!
A scarred, bare chested man leaned out from around a corner, waving his fist at me as I’d opened the door. It took him a few moments to realize I was not who he thought, and that was enough to close the distance. He stumbled back from the corner to reveal he wasn’t just bare chested, but completely naked, and quite excited. The flanges of my mace crushed his skull, leaving a fist sized crater in his face. The scream had come from my right.
A woman, just as scarred and marked by rough living, was trying to roll off of the bed. I hesitated for one second, one and a half, she was going for a dagger on the table. She took my shoulder between the tits, and sailed into the wall. I’d hoped that would have knocked the fight out of her, but I wasn’t that lucky. She tried to grab at my helmet, clawing at the eye holes and mail. She opened her mouth to scream something, and caught a fistful of hollers with her teeth. I grabbed at the woman’s throat, hoping to choke her out. A bright flash of steel drove itself into her ribs once, twice, three times. The she-bandit seemed surprised, shocked, and then terrified with each stab Hania put into her. The woman writhed, desperate to escape, but her resistance slackened off after the third stab found her heart. I let her drop against the wall.
“I had her handled.” I turned to face Hania, she was wiping her blade on the bed covers.
“You wouldn’t have hesitated if it was a man.” She pointed to my first victim.
“No, I wouldn’t have. Lets—” There was a noise of the other door opening, I could just barely see over Grimvald’s shoulder. A younger guy had a confused look on his face as he saw us, and then it went rolling off his shoulders. Jorn’s sword cut clean, the body finished taking a step before collapsing. A body covered in chainmail, that was now rolling down the hall trying to catch a head wearing a steel helmet.
Clank-clink-clank-clunk-clink-dink-donk-clunk-bonk
Jorn had moved into the doorway, there was short scuffle followed by a decisive thump as a second body hit the ground. Jori had started down the hall, trying to catch the noisy corpse, but stopped when a shout sounded.
Just fuck my shit up, yeah, that’s fine.
“Back to the hall!” I ran out, ready to raise a ward. Jori must have had the same thought, because his left hand was extended out, flickers of blue dancing on his gloves. The shouts got louder, and more distinct, then the helmet rounded the corner and the shouts stopped.
“Push push push!” I flung a green flare back towards the door, a cavalcade of stomping feet came rushing behind us. We made it to the bend, and there was nobody to be seen. I could feel the draugr farther down, starting to stir with the excitement, but draugr don’t shout and yell. There was a wooden double door on the left, the outside of the spiral, and alcoves on the interior. The alcoves weren’t big enough to hide in.
“The doors. Jori, you know a spell to blast them open?”
“I do!”
“Lodor, keep going, block anyone from coming to join us.” I pushed the young noble past us, along with the line troops. Jori put both his hands up, a furious blue swirl was spinning between them. It launched out to hit the seam between the doors. The wood froze solid, a heavy layer of ice and frost on top.
“Back up!” Jori shooed us away as his right hand flared with fire, his left with a ward.
Steam explosion, nice. Steam explosion… Shit.
“Back off, back off! Shields up!” I brought up my ward, so did Hania, and gave Jori the space he needed. A fireball ripped into the ice he’d built up on the door, there was a loud bang and the noise of wood splintering, along with some alarmed shouts. A few bits of shrapnel bounced off my ward, but nothing too big. Jori was quick to follow up his breaching, lightning feelers danced through the air, the odd smell of ozone rapidly filled the hall.
“Go go go! Jori!” I pushed forwards, and got the mage’s attention before he could zap me. Jori drew out his axe, advancing into the ruined doorway. Hania took his right side, throwing a fireball at a black shape moving in the steam cloud. An arrow bounced off my ward, Jori shot some god awful crackling blue orb to answer it.
“Jorn, take the right with Gromm, Grimvald, left with me! Hania, Jori, middle!” We split into three pairs, rushing out of the swirling steam. Arrows deflected off my ward, some off the lower plates covering my legs. Panicking guards were rushing to get armor on and weapons from racks. The room was a barracks, with bunk beds, a hearth, a few tables and chairs, all thrown into disarray. What it had been before the bandit occupation, I couldn’t tell from a glance. Tall pillars held up a high roof, but there was no balcony or second level.
One man lunged out from behind a pillar, a half strapped brigandine jacket flapping open. His sword missed my head as I ducked left, stepped into his guard, and caught him with a cross to the nose. His head snapped back, blood already pouring down his face. I reached my mace over his right shoulder, took hold of it with my left hand around his back, and spun him to the floor. Something hit the mail aventail covering my face, I could taste blood, but nothing had stuck me. I saw a woman drawing her bow back again. My ward forced her to aim low, not that it would do any better. The bandit I’d tossed was starting to get back up when my mace caught him in the back of the head.
“Grimvald, kill that fucking archer!” Another arrow skipped off my ward, then an axe spun towards the shooter. She had to have heard me, but that didn’t help her reflexes. The axe hit her in the chest, just below the collarbone. Grimvald leapt over the bandit I’d been dealing with, moving to finish the job on the archer. I spared a glance to the center.
Hania was fighting off two bandits with her longsword, one lunged, she was fighting off one bandit with her longsword. The second man stumbled, then convulsed as a lightning bolt seared into chest. His chainmail didn’t do him any favors, grilling a pattern of rings into smoking flesh. I kept moving forwards, only a few steps behind Grimvald. The warrior made a wide step left at the next pillar, dodging the axe waiting behind it. Grimvald’s counter was lightning, the rim of his shield punching out to check the bandit’s advance. Grimvald wasn’t small by any measure of the word, the force of his shield stopped his foe cold. I wasn’t small either, six foot something of plated Nord took the odd-footed bandit at the hips, I landed on top of him.
“I yie－” Too late for that. Grimvald slid to a stop beside me, another axe in his hand, I held the bandit down. Two chops, one in the face, one at the neck, and the bandit wasn’t a problem anymore. Hania and Jori had pushed to match us, fighting a small group that Jorn and Gromm had forced into the center. Grimvald and I closed the encirclement, the bandits hadn’t stood a chance.
“Wait! Stop! We yield!” A tall, lanky bandit threw down his weapon as we pressed the last three of them to the wall. The other two, another man and a woman, also threw down their blades. Gromm stepped in to pick them up.
“How many mages are there down below? I’m going to count to three, and I want all of you to speak the answer at once.” I put my mace back in its belt ring. The bandits looked to each other.
“One. Two. Three.”
“Two!”
“Three!”
“Two!”
“Interesting, so two of you say two, one says three. Which of you doesn’t know how to count?” I had a feeling I already knew where the discrepancy was coming from.
“Wait! Wait! There were three, at first, but we haven’t seen the third one, not for weeks. He didn’t leave out the front way, and he hasn’t come up for meals either!” The odd man out spoke.
“Describe the missing mage. Just you, you other two stay quiet.”
“He’s tall, uh… I think he’s old, really old, he talks with a strange accent, uh, he’s always covered up, head to toe. Wears red robes, with a sort of cowl thing, and a mask.” That sounded exactly like a Volkihar to me.
“Did any of your guards go missing? Maybe the weakest, or someone who had fucked up?”
“Lucky! Er, Lakke, a Redguard. He was from some gang out west, they chased him out of the mountains around Solitude. He got caught sleeping on watch, we haven’t seen him since.” Three was quick to volunteer. I looked to the woman.
“You, how long ago was that? When did you last see Unlucky?”
“Two, three weeks.” Word would have gotten out that we’d killed the other vampire a week or so ago. If the other two necromancers had figured it out, they might have chained up the other one.
“You get to live a little while longer. Come on.” I grabbed the woman, and passed her off to Hania. Grimvald and Jorn each took one of the men. Back out in the spiral, Adalvald, Molnen, and Hemjar were waiting.
“You lot can fight.” Hemjar nodded towards the dozen or so corpses we’d made in the barracks.
“We’ll save some for you, don’t worry. Grimvald, take over the topside, I want all of these prisoners alive, and intact. No accidents, no runners, understand?” Grimvald huffed, but nodded.
“Understood, all of the prisoners will be waiting for you Champion.” Grimvald pushed the three up the corridor, I sent two Seacrest men with him.
“Hemjar, Molnen, I don’t think there’s too many traps in here, so come on and join us. Tolin, I want you keeping our way out clear. Don’t touch anything.” I shuffled the formation a bit. The traps that would have usually been in the floor weren’t present, and the architecture didn’t seem to match the dragon era barrows. Not this part at least.
“I was starting to think you’d have us sit out all the fun. Would’ve liked to crush a few of them.” Hemjar pointed at the dead.
“If I’d let you up front, we wouldn’t have gotten any prisoners. Lodor! Any guests coming to join us?” I reached out again, sniffing for draugr.
“None yet. We’re ready.” The men of Frozen Wharf and Icehome had formed a double line of shields to block the entire corridor.
“Slow advance, watch of for traps and tripwires. Don’t touch anything!” The veterans of the first barrow dive chuckled at that, but they kept the shield line going, down and deeper. There were a few other small rooms, embalming chambers, storehouses, and two burial rooms with newer coffins. By the look of them, they were more recent than the usual sarcophagi found in a barrow.
“Jori, you can read Nord runes can’t you? What does this say?” I looked over the prominent one, it was large and well decorated. Jori came up, and quickly had a grin on his face.
“Here lies Hidja Giant Killer, the Stormblade. Hero of… It’s a unique place name, I couldn’t tell you what the sound is supposed to be.” Jori kept reading.
“Riga knows, she told me the name of the village. This is her grandfather a few dozen generations back.” I looked around the room. There was a chest tucked into a back wall, and a sword embedded into the stone behind it.
“Hidja, Hero of many, lived for…” Jori was scribbling down notes as he spoke, but my concern was the sword.
[Giant’s Bane]
[Description: Forged millennia ago, this blade is legend. It was once wielded by a Nord Hero, Hidja, and others before him. With it Hidja slew seventeen giants, their souls further fueling the power of the blade. Lightning, ice, and thunder follow in the wake of every strike.]
“Certainly earned the title of Stormblade…” I spoke more to my self than any one else, admiring the weapon. It was more than simple steel, there was a blue tinge to the metal, but I had no idea what it could be. I started to reach for the blade when Jori yelled.
“DON’T TOUCH THAT!” I felt like a dumbass, breaking my own rules.
“Woops. I didn’t touch it.”
“Good, it’s protected. Were you not listening?” Jori looked a bit annoyed.
“No, I wasn’t. That’s a mighty blade.” I looked it over again. For someone the size of Riga, it was a bit big. For Hania or I, it was on the longer side of longsword, but shy of a greatsword.
“It is, but it’s guarded by an enchantment to prevent theft. Only Hidja’s kin can take it without getting something nasty. The magic’s still strong.” Jori closed his eyes, probably focusing on the magical energy surrounding the blade. My sense for magic still wasn’t great. I could tell if it was there, but that was about it.
“We’ll have Riga take her inheritance if she wants it. She could do with a fine blade to call her own. I’m sure she’d love to be lady knight like Hania here.” I nodded to the woman. She was inspecting the painted history on the wall, reading the runes under it.
“Hidja was a mighty man. I see where Riga gets her spirit from.”
“I thought you were Imperial by custom?” I pointed to the runes.
“That just means I was given a book to go along with the sword. My father leans more to the Nord side, my mother the Imperial. I learned to read the runes alongside Common. My father’s keep has murals like this, relics from our ancestors. Come on, more floors to clear.” Hania motioned for us to leave.
There were more rooms down the spiral, but no draugr or bandits inside. I doubted there were any more hirelings to deal with, twenty of them was already more than I had suspected would be present. The spiral ended with another set of iron doors, these had the distinctive dragon runes, the door frame looked far more like what I expected of a several thousand year old tomb. There was the distinct feeling of trouble on the other side to match.
“Mages front. We’ve got a mess of draugr on the other side of these doors. Two dozen at least. Skeletons high, on the balconies. How many archer do we have?” I looked over the men, half a dozen or so reached to start stringing their bows. They all had quivers full of arrows that had been dipped in Jori’s refined form of liquid sunlight. It was denser, almost like a gel, suited for staying on a blade.
“You six, go to the middle, second line. Jorn, Lodor, I want you and the men from Frozen Wharf on the left. Hemjar, Molnen, you and the guards take the right. Hania, Adalvald, Jori, you vigilants with us, we’re crushing the middle. Archers, shoot down the skeletons as you see them appear. The rest of you, shore up the sides if we start faltering. Kalor, Gromm, see to that.” There were about three dozen of us, each more than a match for the draugr on the other side, it was the damned skeletons above us I was worried about. If they started chucking oil lamps, it’d be Adis’ fate for all of us. Once everyone was ready, I reached for the doors.
Three, two, one!
I pulled both the doors open, Jori and Hania both had wards covering me. I was glad for it, the hail of arrows and javelins threatened to turn me into a pin cushion. One foot in front of the other, that’s all I had to do. Maybe a shout of encouragement.
“SEND THEM BACK TO THEIR TOMBS!”
[War Cry Activated]
The front rank of draugr were all grunts, their shields raised and rusty iron just behind. They melted under the radiant onslaught the vigilants unleashed. Bolts of sunfire ignored chainmail, explosive novas splintered shields, golden auras caused undead flesh to char and smoke. Even the vigilants seemed surprised at the efficacy of their magic. It was probably a rare thing for so many of them to fight as one unit.
The second rank of draugr ignored the plight of the first, stepping over smoking corpses, great weapons at the ready. I slipped an axeblade, sparks flying off my plate, and broke the ribs of its wielder with my mace. Golden light flared with the impact, my ring burning hot as I brought the mace back around shatter the corpse’s jaw.
Skrrriiinnkk!
The battle axe wielding draugr collapsed, blue lit eyes giving way to singed black bone. My helmet was ringing with the metallic buzz of a turned blade, it came by for a second thrust, this time at my neck. A full suit of plate meant swords weren’t too terribly effective, I knocked the blade off course with my forearm. It was time to try another of my new additions. Incandescent death spilled out of my left hand, dousing one, two, three, and four corpses to the right. They may have been undead, but fire was something that could spread universal panic. The draugr flailed and screeched as enduring flames scorched them head to toe.
A tremendous hammer tore into the flaming mob, knocking a head loose, shattering a rib cage, and fouling a third’s footing. Hemjar thrust his hammer forwards, knocking the third to the ground. The beast of a man crushed the draugr’s skull under his boot, all the while preparing another strike to smear a corpse across the floor.
“Fight! By Stuhn’s Light we’ll have their fucking heads!” I yelled above the clashing metal and shattering bones. There was a scream from the left, crimson blood glistened on several draugr blades. I loosed a pair of bolts into the next draugr, determined to lead by example. Arrows scratched my plate, blades scythed the air where my neck should have been, spear points burst a ringlet of my mail once, maybe twice, an axe hooked my ankle.
Smoke had begun to fill the room by the time we pushed halfway across, fire and lightning were our best weapons against the dead. That smoke was choking us, blinding us, concealing strikes. That was how the axe had snuck around my leg. A big draugr, a Scourge, had waited for my attention to shift left, and tried to yank me off my feet. He nearly got me, a second draugr spoiled it. The creature grabbed a hold of my shoulder, pulling me back up for a waiting dagger. I was in no place to stop the strike, arms flailing to find a balance.
A sword took the hand holding the dagger, a rapid fire burst of golden beams took the head. Jori materialized on my right, put an arm out to steady me, and caught an axe with a ward. Back to my feet, I spotted the draugr that had tripped me trying to slip away to the back of the line.
“No you don’t! Jori! Kill that one! There!” I pointed out the too smart undead. We both hurled a flurry of spells at it, but there were too many lesser draugr between us. It slipped away back into a corridor at the end of the chamber, then I lost sight of it. We had the numbers now, three quarters of the way across the floor, half a dozen draugr left, three, none.
“A damn good fight!” Hemjar crushed a draugr with his hammer, just to be sure it was dead. He was bleeding in a few places, superficial wounds.
“Headcount! Who’s down? Who’s dead? Kalor, secure that door!” I turned and saw the old warrior first. He waved his fresh reserve forwards, shields ready.
“Two wounded on our side.” Jorn called, his blade was absolutely coated in viscera.
“One dead, Mikel, just a few bruises otherwise.” Molnen stood from the dead guard’s body. He had a spear driven into his chest, a lake of blood had spilled across the floor, heart shot.
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“Two need to be taken to the top, but we’ve got them stable. They’ll live long enough for Riga to tend them. A few new scars for the rest.” Hania was crouching beside a vigilant and one of Gromm’s men.
“Can you men limp to the top if someone helps you?” I looked at the pair. They nodded, I sent them off with Jorn’s less injured men to help. The extra armor I’d handed out and absolute magic supremacy was paying dividends. One dead, four wounded, against… fifty undead? It was hard to tell the fading auras apart, so many had been broken and fallen on top of one another. Reaching out to the deeper sections of the barrow, there was a drought of draugr. I’d make it ten, powerful ones, but still only ten, and fifty skeletons. The auras all blended together, we’d see how right I was.
“Champion! Over here.” Lodor whistled for my attention, but quickly stepped back, gagging. He had been standing in an off shoot doorway, one that probably didn’t lead any where important.
“What is… Oh… Oh that fucking smell.” I wanted to vomit in my helmet. The room was piled high with metal cages one one side, there were three slabs for preparing the dead on the other. Bones, blood, reagents, and a pile of black soul gems decorated the slabs, half mutilated corpses had been stuffed back into the cages. If it hadn’t been for the smoke and the blood of the fight, we would have noticed the stench sooner. It was cold in the barrow, but not freezing, the bodies had started to slowly rot.
“By all nine divines…” Adalvald swore something to himself.
“Lodor, close that door. We’ll burn it after we finish this.” I turned to look to Adalvald, then the men that had slowly come forward. “No prisoners. You hear that? NO PRISONERS! Anyone living beyond that doorway is a dead man walking, I don’t care if their heart still beats! Stuhn will have his justice!” Not many of the soldiers had gotten close enough to see what was behind the now closed door, but they didn’t need to.
“NO PRISONERS!” The words were echoed across our company.
Down and deeper we went, and we spotted our first traps. They were the usual floor plates, but the stone had been melted and fused together with surrounding tiles. It was simple and expedient, the raised triggers couldn’t spring the traps if they couldn’t fall. It would take too long in an assault, but exploration… I filed the thought away for later. There was one more chamber between us and the main burials, split by an underground stream. Two bridges had fallen into it, I didn’t fancy our chances of jumping over it, not in heavy armor. It was flowing fast, and deep by the looks of it.
“There’s got to be another way around.” Indeed, their were six doors leading off in various directions. One of them had to have a second path. I could still feel the draugr, and more importantly, the crazed vampire, so I doubted the other mages had fled. They wouldn’t have left the vampire alive to rat them out, or seek immortal vengeance.
“We could split into teams, search for a route.” Lodor suggested.
“Aye, that’s a good way to end up lost and ambushed. How much rope have we got?” Kalor looked around. I had rope, so did Jorn, Lodor, all the men that had joined my first barrow raid. It’d been extremely helpful in testing for traps after we cleared the place.
“Enough, probably, I’ve got a hundred yards here.” I patted the tight bundle on my belt. It wasn’t fit for holding the weight of a man, better for bundling up loot.
“We can tie off one end here, hook it around one of those pillars. Wading across will be slow, but we could do it.” Kalor put his idea forwards.
“We’d also all be freezing to death on the other side.” Molnen vetoed it. I thought the same.
“Mages can warm us up, can’t they?” Kalor displayed the same ignorance of magic that most nords did, but his heart was in the right place.
“It’d be a waste. Magic is like a muscle, use it too much and you get sore.” Jori put it into simple terms. Kalor shrugged.
“Use the rope, tie it off outside the door we pick. Don’t go wandering off into any natural caverns, never know what we might find in there. If any doors are blocked on our side, do not, under any circumstance, open it. I’d rather not meet my first Falmer today.” I put the two ideas together. The word of falmer sent shivers down several spines. The nords were familiar with the scary stories of their youth.
I split the lot of us into several teams. A vigilant would be with each, just in case of magic traps. I didn’t have to re-iterate the no touching rule, but I did anyways. The door farthest ahead on the right was my pick, with Hania, Jorn, and Kalor following.
The barrow had started to go to ruins this far down. Time, water, and neglect had not been kind to the old stone. It led into a catacomb, skulls and bones packed loosely into the walls, some spread across the floor. There were some more complete skeletons, weathered and beaten, that Hania said were too damaged to be raised. Despite that, chalky marks gave evidence as to where all the ones trying to kill us had come from. Molnen just about stabbed me when we met each other at a junction, their door had also led into the graveyard. We split there again, running our rope around theirs. That way, we could find each other if we needed too. It was now or never for Hemjar to make his move.
The catacombs ended in a large open chamber, stone rubble strewn across the floor from where the ceiling had caved in. Dirt and debris was spared from the walls, much to Hania’s delight.
“You know, we’re probably the last people that are going to see this.” I gestured at the murals. Mountain peaks draped in dragons, the gods watching their subjects from on high. Lower, were cities and temples built into the mountain sides. Priests gave tribute to their scaled overlords. Armies clashed below, in the fields between mountains. It really was incredible work, even if it had been made by deranged cultists that were still a pain in my ass today.
“It’s true. Soon we won’t even have first hand relics of what a dragon looked like. I know they were evil, but it seems a shame to let them fade away somehow. I’d love to see one.” Hania’s scholarly side was showing.
“Be careful what you wish for. Not all of them were evil, but we’d be better off if they stayed a memory.” That drew odd looks from Jorn and Kalor, but a downright worried one from Hania. She cocked her head at me, I shook mine. I wasn’t going to break the news about dragons just yet. Vampires were bad enough. I looked around the chapel, for lack of a better word, and saw two doors near the back, one led in the direction that should have been over the stream, the other back towards the catacombs.
“Come on, more doors to search.” I started towards the left side. A groan sounded from the right, then a crash. Hemjar’s hammer broke through the old wood and rusted iron, a second and third blow knocked it right off the hinges.
“Seems you caught up.” Jorn tried to banter with the big man. He stepped through the wreckage, trailed by Molnen and two guards I didn’t know well. There was no sign of the Vigilant that should have been with them.
“Aye, caught right up to you. No thanks to Molnen here.” Hemjar scowled at the other thegn. He came to a stop in front of me, hammer planted in front of him.
“Where’s Lyana?” Hania was quick.
“Oh, she got tired, took a rest. She’ll be fine.” Hemjar flexed his hand, there was a bit of blood on his knuckles. Hania started forwards, I put out a hand to her.
“Don’t. Molnen, what happened to Lyana.”
“She’s unconscious, not dead. She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“This? What the hell is going on?” Jorn was slow on the uptake, Kalor was already checking his shield.
“The Jarl’s gotten tired of me, I think. You two, what were your names? Actually, I don’t give a shit. Step aside and there will be no hard feelings.” I looked over the guards. Both were older men, scarred from previous battles. Probably the best men Korir could trust. They faltered a step, looking to Molnen and Hemjar.
“No hard feelings? I don’t think there will be any either way. You’ll be dead you treacherous snake.” Hemjar hefted his hammer.
“Treachery?” I shook my head. The amount of embarrassment I’d caused the Jarl was enough for him to want me dead, honestly. If he’d gone totally off the deep end, I guess he could believe whatever he wanted.
“Like it wasn’t obvious? You happen to come into the Jarl’s hall with the body of local guard, his killer in tow, then you just so happen to catch his sister in the act of helping those who had killed him? I don’t believe it for a second. You had Malur framed with her help, nobody wanted to believe the poor little bitch was in on the whole thing. Malur would have sniffed you out. I have, and your witch whore will be next!” I’d heard enough.
“Hania, let me borrow your sword.” I handed off my mace to the Vigilant, she readily obliged.
“So because I didn’t let you torture an innocent girl to death, and I, rightly, made you look like a fool, you’ll go along with this crazy story the Jarl has come up with? Did you ask the Jarl to kill me, or did he ask you?” Hemjar was going a bit red in the face. Molnen was just shaking his head.
“Enough of this insanity! Hemjar, you’ve always been dumber than horker shit, but you can’t believe this! And you Molnen, you’re the smartest man in the Jarl’s service.” Kalor stepped forwards, without a weapon drawn.
“Kalor, don’t involve yourself in this. I don’t know what manner of magic trickery he’s been using, but I will find out soon!” Hemjar took one step forwards.
“I don’t believe a word of it. I was hoping to avoid this. The only thing that will come of it is death for Hemjar, and probably the Jarl too.” Molnen stepped back from the coming fight. Hemjar spun, furious.
“You! YOU! Craven bastard!” Hemjar sputtered, the two guards looked unsure of what to do at that point. If they jumped in, so would Hania, and they’d seen her roast a half dozen draugr with a thought. Kalor and Jorn probably gave them pause too, but they could kill soldiers. They didn’t have a counter for a mage.
“Either throw down the hammer, or fight. I have necromancers to kill sometime today.” I twirled Hania’s sword in my hand, getting a feel for it. It was exceptionally well forged, and I knew she kept a razor edge on it. I reached down to the purple vial on my belt, and let a few drops run down both sides of the blade.
“Cowards, one against four then, I’ll kill you all!” Hemjar turned back to face me.
“One on one, no magic. The rest of you stay out of it.” I corked the vial, and put it back on my belt. Hania growled.
“If he puts a mark—”
“Stay out of it. Trust me.” I pushed her back, then it was on. Hemjar charged.
I backpedaled slowly, hopping one foot to the other, just like I had the last charging bull. Hemjar was big, strong, and dangerous, but he had a lot of inertia, just like the horker had. I made one big jump right, one left, one ri— left and back, leaning away, Hemjar missed by a few inches, I drove the point of Hania’s sword at his ankle. My aim wasn’t great, I cut a neat hole behind his shin plate. I ducked the backswing and swiped for his bare arms. Hemjar knew it was coming, and pulled his guard in.
To Hemjar’s credit, he didn’t react at all to the pain of the shallow stab, and he was firm on the leg. Blood stained his boot, nothing major. His momentum had carried him away, and I knew better than to follow him. He circled, leaving a trail of blood droplets on the stone floor. He twisted towards a lunge, sidestep and counter, blocked, our second exchange was bloodless. Hemjar may have been a dumbass, but he knew how to fight with his hammer. I could end the fight with a blast of flames, but that would be underhanded trickery to most nords. I’d win with the blade.
Giving up the initiative to Hemjar was a dangerous game. He was larger, had a longer reach, and vastly more experience than I did, but I needed him to swing first. One good counter, a strong slash, and he’d stumble.
“Hit me!” Hemjar bellowed, beating one hand against his breastplate. I was too far, he was trying to bait me into the spike that tipped his hammer. I feinted a step forwards, but kept my weight on the back leg. The hammer shot out, scraped over my shoulder, I made a sloppy chop from a high guard. Hemjar took the bait, turning into a step forwards to slam the haft into my helmet, too slow. A bleeding line drew itself under his right forearm. The slice wasn’t deep, but it didn’t need to be. There hadn’t been much room, or time for a proper slash, but he’d put his arms out. I drew the sword back into a close guard, running the blade under his elbow to wrist.
Hemjar hissed with that one, and jumped back, putting the point of his hammer forwards. A short thrust at his face kept him back. Blood was seeping between his fingers, staining the already ruined floor. Hemjar shifted his hip, just as he had before the last two lunges, I was moving with him. The hammer came at a horizontal, towards my ribs. It was a mistake, the tip of my sword was moving a lot faster.
I swung for his neck, the haft barely came up in time to stop it. It didn’t stop the blade from sliding down the length and removing all four of his left fingers. Hemjar screamed that time, stumbled, choked, it was over. He had his intact hand wrapped around his throat, trying to hold in the river of blood I’d let loose. My blade had flicked back up, three inches of razor steel carved into his neck. Jorman had taught me that trick.
“You should have put the hammer down. Or worn chainmail.” I stepped back from the ailing giant. He gargled something.
“What?”
“Eelging.” He croaked, a spray of blood came out with the word.
“Eel? Oh, you mean healing? Magic healing?” I shook my head at him.
“EELGING!” Hemjar took one faltering step forwards, lost his balance, and sank to a knee.
“Champion… You can save him.” Kalor spoke first.
“I could forgive his baseless claims, I could forgive him trying to kill me, but threatening Riga, that won’t stand. You die.” I took his head, the body clattered to the ground. Nobody made a move for a few moments.
“Molnen. You saw this. Jorn, Hania, Kalor. Was this righteous? Merciful?” I turned to Hania, offering the sword back. She took it, but Kalor spoke first.
“Oathbreakers are put to death. The Jarl broke his to you, Hemjar carried it out. This was justice. More merciful than what Hemjar would have shown you. I still don’t believe it though.” Kalor shook his head.
“The Jarl’s been slipping for years. Drink and despair. The other Jarls don’t take him seriously, the Hold is worse than it’s ever been. What little he had was burning down around him, then a stranger walks out of the ice and sets things right faster than we’d get a response from the high king.” Molnen walked forwards and stooped next to Hemjar’s head.
“Fenrik… He mentioned that the Jarl was troubled, but sending an assassin after one of his sworn men? Even a newcomer, that’s…”
“Despicable. My father had a man flogged to an inch of his life for taking a bushel extra in tax from our farmers. Johannes carried out his duties, as agreed. It’s no fault of his own that the people here whispered, strong men saw a leader to pledge themselves to.” Hania sounded a step away from screaming fury.
“My father won’t let this go unanswered. Johannes saved my life, he risked his own for people he’d never met. What are you going to do?” Jorn turned his eyes to me.
“I’m going to walk into the Jarl’s hall wearing the Helm of Winterhold, and throw Hemjar’s head at his feet. Maybe foot. If they don’t pull that arrow out of him, there’s a good chance he’ll be dead or crippled by the time we get back. If he’s alive, I’ll call him out for his crimes, and demand that he forfeits his position, if his wife is the new Jarl, I’ll do the same. I doubt the other headmen and thegns will be too pleased to hear he ordered another killed.” I looked to Molnen.
“They aren’t. Only one other headman joined us, from Salt Stone. Thegns though, there’s a few important sons that will be running to their headman fathers at the first chance. Jorn isn’t an oddity. Kai spoke the truth of it when he said no man would question you taking the Jarl’s place. Especially now, even more so if you know where the Helm of Winterhold is.” Molnen raised an eye brow.
“It’s here. Jori tracked it down to this barrow. I think that’s why Milek chose this place to work from, he knew about Jori’s studies. My guess is that they were going to do some damned fool thing like trying to take over the hold, the helm would have helped with that. Doesn’t matter now, they’ll all be dead soon. Speaking of, we have a path to find. Come on, and keep quiet about all this until afterwards. Hania, do you mind…” My words were cut short when Molnen picked up the head, and stuffed it into a bag.
“That works. You two, are you still going to try something fucking dumb?” I looked at the two guards. They shook their heads, figured they liked them where they were.
“Good. Go get Lyana, and bring her back here. If she’s any worse than unconscious, I will kill both of you.” I sent them off, they were back two minutes later. The Vigilant was breathing, and cursing after a quick check over from Hania.
I was able to convince her of the benefits to merciful forbearance, but she refused to let the guards or Molnen walk behind her. The door to the left opened into more catacombs, as I suspected, and spit us out on the other side of the stream. Most of the rest were already waiting for us.
“Catacombs on the other side?” I asked Jori.
“With space for thousands. We were lucky. If Milek had gotten here…” Jori let the thought hang. It would have been an unstoppable catastrophe if the Mer Kin had been able to raise every single one of the skeletons. Weak as they were, they could have crushed us by numbers alone. Not to mention whatever they had found elsewhere. The barrow on the coast hadn’t had catacombs like these.
“He’s dead, and the other two cretins are about to be. Did you send anyone looking for us on the other side?” I looked back to the door we had come from.
“No, we figured that you’d stopped in the temple like some of us did. The murals are incredible.”
“Hania said the same thing. So everyone’s ready? Where’s Gromm?” I looked for the man.
“Holding the path open on the other side. Seemed prudent. Can you feel anything sneaking around?” Jori motioned to the chamber at large.
“No, they’re all down below, in the main chamber. Ten draugr, fifty or so skeletons. I’m expecting another draugr lord down there, maybe multiple. They’re wicked things.” One of them was a challenge, but if there were several, a few of us were going to die. The mages would be trouble too.
“If they burn, we can slay them.” Adalvald appeared from the swirling rabble of soldiers.
“They burn pretty good, especially with Jori’s bottled sunlight.” I gestured to the glowing flask on his hip. Most of the vigilants had coated their weapons with it, the rank and file too.
“Ah, you mentioned that Angven crippled one that way, yes? A dagger.” Adalvald recalled.
“That he did. If we’d managed one good hit to the thing’s face, I doubt Jorn would have been stabbed.” I looked to the man, he’d recovered well since then.
“If they didn’t have skin like boiled leather and bones like iron, I wouldn’t have gotten stabbed either. My strike should have taken the thing’s hand off.” Jorn huffed.
“Perhaps that giant…” Adalvald looked around, confused.
“He won’t be joining us. I’ll tell you later.” I cut off Adalvalds question before he could ask. Hemjar’s absence would be noticed if we stalled here.
“All of you! This is the final push! We’ve broken the back of their resistance, they have nowhere left to hide but the bottom of this grave. Let’s bury them in it, shall we?” I roused the men, and a few women. Thirty or so, eight of us mages, against sixty. The numbers lied, being that most of the enemy were skeleton warriors, but it could still go poorly. A few men still had the broken shafts of arrows sticking out of their chainmail, dried blood from minor wounds staining their hands.
The corridor leading down into the main tomb was a corpse hall, with cut outs in the wall for the more honored of the dead. Most were empty, but some were still wrapped, others had mismatched piles of bone. Counting off the spaces, I started to realize that there should have been a lot more draugr, an order of magnitude more. The alcoves for the dead stretched eight high, on both sides, and kept up all the way down to where the puzzle door should have stood. Sixteen, thirty two, forty eight, sixty four… two hundred eighty eight… I counted the columns as we went. Maybe they’d never been filled, maybe some of the bodies had only been good for skeletons. There were still more graves in this one tunnel than I’d counted undead in the whole barrow.
We stopped at the bend that lead to the puzzle door, fifty yards from where I felt the nearest undead. A peek around the corner, the door was open. A single draugr, about my size, was stood there with a greatsword forward. His eyes flicked to me immediately, sword tip drifting in my direction. There were more draugr, and skeletons, deeper into the chamber. They were waiting for us.
“It’s not an ambush… not really. They’re going to shoot at us the whole way down this hall though.” I drew back around to look at the rest. The mages weren’t spent, but it’d been a mighty effort in the first fight. I didn’t want to tire them out by warding our advance.
“I have a solution to that.” Adalvald stepped out, raised a fist, and threw a blinding sun down the hallway. The groaning shrieks and raspy howls proved the efficacy of the trick.
“Quick! While they’re blinded!” Adalvald drew his sword and headed the charge. I followed suit.
“Charge!” Getting through the kill box fast was as good a solution as any. The first arrows started raining down on us as we reached the puzzle door’s tunnel. Grave alcoves gave way to carven histories, and then to a wall of angry corpses. I felt three arrows bounce off my plate, one skimmed the mail over my neck. My ring pulsed angrily, sniffing out the death stench lingering on the arrow shafts. Adalvald met the sword wielding draugr head on, the still reeling undead had tendrils of smoke rising from its armor.
I didn’t have the luxury of enjoying Adalvald’s skill at swordplay. Skeletons were surging in to fill the gap after their first layer of defense had been foiled. Easy prey, they would fall, pulverized and brok－
Zzzaapp!
The lead skeleton raised its hand, and lightning coiled on boney fingers. My ward was still forming when it hit, the half baked spell shattered. Magical backlash coursed in my hand, it felt like I’d taken hold of a burning hot log. The skeleton started to channel a second spell, I was faster. Flames rendered bone to charcoal, and the skelemage didn’t do much to block the stream from incinerating those behind it either.
The tide seemed to be without end, but I knew that couldn’t be true, we were pushing them back, the floor felt like it was made of rollers with all the bones being scattered about. I’d seen two draugr go down, three more were fighting on my left, two on my right. A duo of skeletons splintered under my mace, then I saw him.
[Molsoraak, Draugr Death Lord]
[Race: Undead Nord]
[Level: 37]
[Health: 460/460, Stamina: 325/325, Magicka: 180/180]
[Status: Engaging You]
Fuck.
Molsoraak’s armor was a cut above, pitch black like… It was ebony, so was his weapon, a great axe meant for hewing men to pieces. A lane cleared, his lessers making way for the king. I found my self wishing I’d brought my own axe, the mace in my hand was not fit for the task. It was a lesson that would probably be learned painfully.
“Kren sosaal us dilon! FUS!”
The kinetic wave rippled through the air, there was no way to move left or right, I ducked and planted my feet. It hit like a troll, rocking me back, but I managed to stay upright. By the time I’d stood, Molsoraak was charging, axe raised high.
“Fuck you too buddy!” I flung a sunbolt at his knee, the armor covering it surged with magical protection. A purple aura intercepted the spell, flames washed over the leg but didn’t catch.
Double fuck.
My first plan spoiled, I fell back to the tried and true. The enchanted dagger on my belt glistened gold, the mace would carry righteous flame in its own right, I stepped into the man-splitting strike, hoping to catch the haft instead of the blade. Crushing force slammed down on my shoulder, even the trolls hadn’t hit that hard. The clang of steel on ebony rang from Molsoraak’s helmet, but I knew it was a bad swing from my mace.
Before I had the chance to slip out from under the axe, I felt a sharp point digging into the chainmail covering my armpit. The death lord hooked me with the blade, it felt like a giant had picked me up. Bruises, clattering steel, my vision was spinning to the floor, skeletons and men, the ceiling, a blue spear scraped inches from my right eye. I landed on my knees, and for once I came up with both my mace, and dagger still in hand. A skeleton prepared another ice spike, half the distance closed, three quarters.
Crunch!
One more skelemage down. Pounding steps were close behind me, I dove right, and came up to catch an ebony plated fist in the temple. Back down, I could see Molsoraak in all his might. The damn draugr had to be eight feet tall at least, his axe was more akin to a halberd. It was held high over his head, from my back there wasn’t anywhere to go. I dropped my mace and dagger, hoping to spoil his aim. Twin jets of flame spilled out of my hands, it was the only thing I could think to do.
ZZZAAAP!
Just as the undead lord made to bring his axe down, a tremendous surge of lightning blasted him from behind. The impact lit the whole chamber in competing blue and purple, my ears were ringing with the roar. Molsoraak bellowed something too, but I didn’t catch it. He spun, enraged that someone would have the gall to hit him. Adalvald was stood there with two crackling hands. Now was my chance.
Molsoraak’s back plate was glowing cherry red where the lightning had struck, a neat hole punched into it. More importantly, the faint purple aura of whatever enchantment protected him was gone. I raised my hand, and put two bolts of sun fire on top of each other, and that hole. Molsoraak stumbled forwards, tongues of flame erupting from his collar. What was it Kai had said? Four on one was fair against a draugr lord? I pushed the thought aside, and took up my dagger.
The deathlord charged Adalvald, the spear point on the end of his axe leveled for the old mage’s head. A concentrated blue disk popped into being, forcing the blade off target. All I needed was for the draugr to keep his back to me for a few more seconds…
Clang!
Searing pain shot through my left leg, and I was sliding across the ground again. A look showed why, there was an axe sticking out of my shin, embedded by the spike. A pallid grey arm was still holding onto it, a whole draugr had been drug along with me.
“Motherfucker that hurts!” I drew back my right leg, and kicked the snarling draugr in the mouth. One kick, some teeth, two kick, few teeth, three kick, no teeth. Dead hands tried to snatch at my good leg, faltering with each successive heel that met the thing’s head. Finally there was a crack, and I was ankle deep in draugr brains. The arms went limp, their flailing ended with the blendering of the frontal lobe. The axe in my leg was still a problem. It’d punched clean through my armor. I reached down to it, preparing for the pain.
[Armorbane Ancient War Axe]
[Description: An Ancient Nord War Axe with the Armorbane enchantment, it…]
I didn’t bother reading the rest. I’d had a need, and the world had provided. With a mighty scream of agony, it came loose. I could feel the wet heat of blood pouring down my leg, two seconds of healing would have to be enough. Molsoraak had Adalvald on the defensive now, I could see the old mage faltering. Some incredibly brave, and incredibly stupid man tried to charge into the fight, Molsoraak kicked him across the chamber. The other grunt troops were keeping a healthy distance, finishing the skeletons and lesser draugr.
I was on my feet, hobble-charging the death lord from behind. He lunged forward with a stab, nearly skewering his vigilant foe, then the haft whipped back around for my helmet. A fast thinking, not at all panicked, stumble spared me from another head ringer. The spike of the war axe bit into the draugr’s ebon plate, scraping a gouge in the metal. It found purchase at the seam between back and waist, punching through to the hip. My fortunate stumble meant that almost all of my weight went into the strike, dragging the draugr off balance. We both crashed to the floor.
“Gahaghah!” Molsoraak landed on my legs, and two seconds of healing had not been enough. The big, heavy fucker was snarling, snapping and punching at me before we’d even hit the ground. Golden flame was spreading across his left side, righteous strikes proving their worth yet again. My right hand free, there was only one thing to do in a fist fight with the giant. I lit him on fire, again.
Fwooosh!
There were screams, bellows, clangs of metal on metal, hisses and pops of melting flesh, cracking bones, the last thing I saw was a black plated fist headed for my jaw.
----------------------------------------
“Why does he always insist on getting into a fist fight with these things…” Riga was knelt down over the Champion, tending to his almost healed face. The chainmail hung around his helmet hadn’t done any favors to stopping Molsoraak’s last punch. All the teeth were grown back, the bones healed, but he’d have a long scar where his jaw had broken the skin.
“Doesn’t know any better. He’d beat the daylights out of most men in a brawl. Has. I’ve seen it.” Angven grinned, his brother laughed.
“Rolvar’s still sour about his nose. Didn’t you tell us he broke a draugr’s neck in the first barrow, bare handed?” Anglin asked.
“He did, got the bastard thing in a hold and damn near pulled its head off.” Gromm vouched for the tale.
“Was that draugr three heads taller than him?” Riga groaned, looking down to the other scar the Champion had gained. It was a rough triangle a few inches below the knee, puckered skin raised from where the spiked axe had put a hole in him. There were smaller cuts, scrapes, and bruises too. A small slice on his lip, a purple welt over his right eye where Molsoraak had dented his face plate inwards, a big brown and yellow splotch on his ribs. He’d survive it, but he’d need to sleep for a while.
“No, can’t say that it was, but Johannes did win this fight too. He’s alive, the draugr is burnt to cinders. I’d say he did pretty good, all things considered.” That drew a few laughs.
“The damned mages held Jori and I up. By the time we’d finished with them, Johannes had pulled one of Molsoraak’s eyes out and stuck his dagger in the other.” It burned at me that I hadn’t been at his side. Adalvald had been there, and spent the last dregs of his power to heal the Champion’s myriad wounds. The old man would be asleep for a week. I put one last stroke down the blade of my sword, smoothing over a few burrs that had formed.
“Where is Jori?” Riga looked around.
“He’s taken a few of the other Vigilants to help loot the tomb. Clearing out magical traps and the like. The place is massive, it might take us a few days to properly sort through it all.” Honestly, it could take weeks to properly see about the barrow, but for stealing everything that wasn’t nailed down, days would do. The soldiers milling about the hill were already sorting boxes being hauled up from below. Kalor, Jorn, and Lodor were keeping a careful eye on the proceedings, making sure that nobody got any ideas to skim off the top.
“We should take him back to Seacrest. He needs to rest.” Riga didn’t care much about the treasure, Johannes had made her the wealthiest woman in the hold by quite a margin already. One more reason for her feelings to the man.
“He can sleep just fine here, don’t worry over him too much. I healed up in a tent under four feet of snow last winter. Logging accident.” Grimvald showed his arm, a jagged scar evidence of an ill felled tree. Riga glowered at him, but didn’t push the issue.
“Keep a good watch on him Riga, he’ll be awake sometime tomorrow. Grimvald, I need your help with something. Come on.” Johannes trusted the man, and he owed his life to the Champion’s connection to the college. If it weren’t for that, the man would be a blood thirsty monster.
“Aye lady, how can I help?” Grimvald followed after me, back into the pit entrance of the tomb. I waited until we were out of ear shot of the men hustling back and forth, picking over the burial jars and bandit barracks.
“Jori and Johannes think the Helm of Winterhold is inside this tomb, and we need to find it before someone else does. Jori’s already searching for it. The necromancers probably hid it deeper down, maybe in the main burial chamber. That’s why we had the rest start from the top and work their way down.” That caught Grimvald’s ear.
“Suppose that’s going to be the Champion’s revenge for the Jarl sending Hemjar after him? Seizing the seat for himself?” Grimvald and a few others had caught onto the big oaf’s absence after the big fight. Molnen had displayed the head, and explained what had happened. The Champion’s company was less than pleased, the two guards that had been part of the plot were bound to trees outside next to the bandit prisoners.
“I couldn’t tell you what his plan with it is. I don’t think he wants to be Jarl, but he won’t let Korir get away with this.” I wouldn’t either. Korir had committed a heinous sin, and Stendarr would have his justice.