Chapter Twenty-Three
S’maash arrived in Whiterun during the middle of a chilly night. He hugged his blue robes tightly over his armor. Guards stood watch both inside and outside the city walls.
“Destruction magick’s fine. Just don’t go burning down any buildings,” a guard said.
“Never my intention,” S’maash replied with a nod.
He pressed on down the stone roads to Dragonsreach. Inside, warm fires burned brightly as an elderly maid swept the floors. Thorald, in his magnificent finery, sat upon his throne at the far end of the room. He stood when S’maash approached. Once they were close, the Jarl addressed his court wizard.
“Glad to see your return. I’ll begin immediately as there is little time to waste,” he said. The palace’s heat quickly warmed the elf over as he listened intently. “Word has spread like wild fire that necromages have taken residence in Strongmouth Cave. I don’t like the thought of their evil machinations taking place inside my city walls. Their presence threatens my people,” Thorald announced.
“What would you have me do,” S’maash asked, slightly befuddled.
“I spoke to the Companions. They are willing to fight these necromages, but I fear their skill in blade and armor alone isn’t enough of an effort. The Harbinger, Vilkas, suggested I speak to my court wizard. My decision is for you to speak directly with him in Jorrvaskr. See to what he requires. That is my order, S’maash.”
“As you wish…I hope this can all be handled with haste. I–”
“Yield not to haste, mage! No doubt you have your own research, much as Farengar did, but I need you to help the Companions solve this problem without incident. Is that understood?”
“Of course. I will go see the Harbinger then.”
He sped from Dragonsreach like a rabbit outrunning a fox and reached Jorrvaskr, mead hall and resting place of the Companions. The ancient, wooden building had the appearance of a capsized boat. Great, long, wooden boards lined its roof. Shields hung in decoration. S’maash entered through large, wooden doors.
Inside Jorrvaskr were three tables lining a fire pit where meat was cooking. The aroma made S’maash’s stomach rumble. Three, seasoned warriors eyed him with curiosity. One, a gorgeous woman with trim figure and thick, auburn hair, approached him.
“Are we lost, dunmer?”
Squinting, he said, “Not in the least. I am the Jarl’s court wizard, S’maash Ilteriel.”
“Come, Aela, finish your story. Then, I will have words with this wizard,” a scarred man in heavy, strange-looking, steel armor said.
Aela walked back to her seat and beckoned for S’maash to sit as well. Then, she continued her story. The mead hall was alive with revelry that night.
“So, Farkas had tracked the frost trolls back to their lair. His brilliant idea was to charge in, sword swinging. I told him the best plan of attack was to sneak in, making little noise, and take the trolls by surprise. You should have seen the look on his face, yes that one,” she said, chuckling.
The third warrior, obviously named Farkas, had long, thick hair. It was graying, but he seemed every bit the powerful nord. He, too, wore steel armor, though it was a more common type worn by many adventurers, and not the kind emblazoned by wolfish features as Vilkas wore.
“I don’t know why you have to tell it like that,” Farkas commented.
His voice was frightening and powerful but it reminded S’maash of Balimund and he smiled. Aela seemed rather boisterous in her demeanor as she spoke, and Vilkas appeared calm and collected- the leader, or Harbinger, as it were. Aela continued.
“Naturally, I explained that since we arrived at their lair, it was likely that more trolls were inside. That convinced him to follow my lead. Anyway, we skulked into their icy home and slaughtered a half dozen with relative ease,” she finished.
The warriors enjoyed a good belly laugh. After calming down, Vilkas turned his attention to S’maash. The crackling of embers broke the silent stare of the man’s gaze.
“So, Thorald sent you to lend a hand with these necromancers? You’ve dealt with them before,” Vilkas asked.
S’maash stirred. “No, but he feels steel will not be enough to handle them. I am unclear as to what help I might provide, but I am not untrained. You might like to know my brother and I just recently killed KrifAhrkDir, the dragon atop Sigrid’s Plunge,” the elf boasted.
The warriors around the table eyed each other. S’maash believed they were not taking his account seriously.
“If you can handle a dragon, a few necromancers should be easy work for you, dark elf,” Aela said.
“Come now, these are two very different opponents, but she makes a good point, what was it? S’moash?” Vilkas said, trying to recall the elf’s name.
“Yes, S’maash; if we are to eliminate this evil influence, we will have to discover why they took residence in Strongmouth Cave in the first place. Furthermore, it is important to know what sort of powers they wield and to what end they are scheming,” the wizard contended.
“He talks like you, brother,” Farkas said, impressed.
Vilkas looked to Farkas and nodded. “Then, I will tell you what we have discovered. There are at least two dozen of them and countless undead. They keep dogs as well. That abates our efforts to sneak in.
“We have the numbers to charge in, but it is unwise. Should one of us fall…their evil magick can resurrect the fallen to fight for them. One of us as an undead abomination would be a travesty and a desecration,” Vilkas raised his voice in anger as he spoke.
“Understood…the dogs could be lured away with meat. Once the few, I assume a few mages will stand guard, are dealt with, we can move in. Are any of you familiar with Strongmouth Cave,” S’maash inquired.
“I am, a little,” Aela replied.
“Good. I’m also a healer and an enchanter. At the very least, I can provide you all with equipment to help resist the forces of magicka.”
Suddenly, he was struck by an out of place question. Wonder if there’s an enchantment to help resist soul trap or even other schools…the resist magicka enchantment only seems to apply to destruction.
“A good start,” Farkas commented.
“Aye. Aela will lead us into battle tomorrow morning,” Vilkas said. “We will kill their watch dogs first then move inside the cave. You need to know…they appear to be working on some kind of undead golem…an undead atronach.”
That’s something…S’maash thought. “Very well. I shall return once the sun rises with rings and amulets for us all. Aela, Farkas, Vilkas, what weapons do you wield,” S’maash pried.
“A bow,” Aela replied.
“My brother and I both prefer skyforge steel great swords,” Farkas answered.
“Understood,” S’maash said and left.
He jogged back to Dragonsreach where he informed Thorald of the plan. Then, he took to his arcane enchanter. Hours later, he jogged back to Jorrvaskr and met the warriors outside.
“These are for you,” S’maash said handing out gifts.
The Companions were appreciative, but in a serious mood. “If we’re all set, it’s time,” Aela barked.
S’maash followed behind them as they walked towards Whiterun’s gates. Farkas and Vilkas made much noise in their heavy gear, yet Aela, whose antique-looking, steel equipment looked rather heavy as well, moved with a degree of litheness. Moments later, they were standing outside of Whiterun.
The morning sun shone over the horizon, and intermittent breezes made for balmy weather. The extensive grasslands of Whiterun hold swayed. The Companions trudged over and around small streams and ponds. Hours of traveling passed, but little discussion; none of the warriors so much as smiled. Aela came to a halt by a squat hill; gray rocks were scattered about the green mound.
“Strongmouth Cave is only minutes from here. Farkas, the meat please,” she said.
Farkas opened his travel pack, producing pieces of raw beef. Aela took them and moved slowly. Every, few, dozen pa
ces, she dropped some food.
“While she lures the dogs out, I want to tell you something,” Vilkas started.
“Go on,” S’maash replied.
“We were tasked with solving this problem, and the Companions honor their deals. We appreciate your help, but we will take the forefront of battle. You are welcome to join the fray, but don’t feel compelled to try and keep up with us,” Vilkas smiled for the first time since they left.
S’maash smiled back. He looked at the brothers.
“It was with my brother that I battled that dragon. How long have you two been Companions,” S’maash asked.
“Our father had us join years ago. We’ve spent our whole lives as Companions. I’m not the brightest in the bunch, so I always trust my brother,” Farkas replied.
“Fighting is in our blood; honor, in our hearts. We were meant to follow in the footsteps of Ysgramor,” Vilkas added.
Aela returned. “It’s all set. The dogs should smell the meat soon and come running out. Once they get close, we’ll slay them then move into the entrance.”
They waited; mere moments passed before hungry mutts came forth. The shaggy breeds of Skyrim, as the rest of its animals, were thick, hearty creatures. Dark, heavy fur protected them from cold nights, and their stock kept them safe from predator attacks, unless those predators were the Companions.
Aela took her elven bow, nocked a steel arrow, and fired at one dog. The arrow soared through the air before striking the dog in its sternum. With a muffled whine, it died. The other dogs perked up. They sniffed about as they searched for danger. Slowly, they fanned out, but the archer made quick work of them.
“Excellent, shield sister,” Farkas commented.
“To Strongmouth’s entrance,” she replied.
They had moved carefully over the terrain, S’maash noticed, but suddenly, a welling up of power visibly took over their demeanor. They were more than ready for battle. They hungered for it, and they all dashed towards their destination.
The cave entrance appeared to be carved out from the landscape. Two posts supported strange banners. The black and purple cloths whipped in the wind. Upon them was the same design S’maash had seen in the Midden, a skull surrounded by bony hands. They entered.
“It’s dark in here,” Farkas commented.
“Of course it is, ice for brains,” Aela whispered back.
“Would you like a magickal light, or should we resort to sneaking in the darkness,” S’maash inquired.
“I can move well enough with little light, just follow me,” Aela answered.
The group of four skulked very carefully. From what little light penetrated through cracks and crags in the cavern, they saw brown and gray rocks scattered about. Some of the walls were braced by massive beams to prevent a cave in. The path from the entrance into deeper portions of the cave was very winding. Shortly after, they came upon wooden steps built into the natural floor and leading down at a steep decline. An orange glow wavered against the wall far below them.
“There’s plenty of light down there,” Aela said.
S’maash remained behind them, the archer at the lead, and Farkas behind her. Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, she slowly made for the wall and peeked around the corner. Then, she motioned for the rest to follow.
They rounded a left turn. It was there that a brazier burned brightly, also on the left side of the stony corridor. A dozen yards away, a large tapestry hung over an alcove dug into the walls, a skull with hands on it as well.
In the alcove—beneath the necromancy symbol—was a burial urn and some purple flowers, nightshade. Aela then needed to decide to move left or right down the new passages. She chose the right after a quick deliberation. Again, the cave grew dark. A groan bled through the halls, and they all came to an abrupt halt.
“Get that damn breton over here,” a voice echoed from around a corner.
Another groan was heard. Aela motioned to continue. The path she chose curved right again, and the four warriors stopped short, huddled against the wall, as they peered into a large chamber. Two men clad in black robes were leading a glowing person.
S’maash was familiar enough with resurrection spells. The person had an eerie, indigo light about him. From far away, he appeared to be an old breton in dirty, ragged clothes. The other two, the necromages, were ensconced by their dark attire.
“Go patrol the cave,” one man yelled.
The breton replied with a groan. He then ambled about towards the Companions.
“This new spell doesn’t seem to work very well, does it,” one necromancer asked.
“No, at least not all the time. Hopefully, we can perfect it soon enough.”
Aela fired an arrow into the breton. It stuck clean between the eyes. The undead fell to the ground as a glowing pile of cinders.
“Who’s there,” the necromage yelled.
He turned quickly, only to see his former zombie was nothing more than ash. The two men looked to each other then casted some sort of protection spell as they began their search for intruders. Their bodies glowed with a subtle light, making them overly easy to see. Aela fired an arrow at each of them before they ever discovered who the intruders were.
“Well that takes care of two,” Vilkas remarked with a soft chuckle.
S’maash was certain his help wasn’t needed. He began to question why Thorald pulled him from his important task. Perhaps there is more danger in here than I am aware of. They continued into the large chamber.
It was roundish, a natural opening inside the cave. Old, wooden tables, alchemy tables, arcane enchanters, shelves, and many books laid about the chamber. It was a study area used by the forces of evil. As the Companions searched for the next path, S’maash saw a blue book.
He read the contents. Delyla believes this new spell she crafted, black command, as she calls it, will allow complete reign over the faculties of the undead. For now, we still bother with ambushing traders and travelers, killing them, and reviving them. I hope soon enough we can attack this plan with more vigor.
S’maash wondered about the implications. He was already aware of the undead atronach they were working on, but it seemed they had a larger plan in mind. Whoever this Delyla is, she is obviously their leader. Perhaps we should try to catch her alive.
“Vilkas,” S’maash whispered.
Vilkas came close before answering, “What is it?”
S’maash showed him the book. Vilkas read it rather quickly then stood pensively.
“Do you think we should take her alive,” S’maash asked.
“I don’t.”
The nord turned and walked back to the others, leaving S’maash with a quizzical expression. Aela led them to a large crevice in the cavern. No end below was visible. A series of wooden bridges was strung before them. Hewn from posts, large bridges were supported by thick ropes and attached to stairs, or other support beams. Paths both higher above them and below them were available. The archer huffed, looking carefully over the bridges.
“We’ll move down,” she whispered.
S’maash gripped her wrist and pointed to necromancers who were descending the bridges and stairs from above. She nodded, but then she winced. Whether she was annoyed at herself or S’maash was inconsequential; they had company. Vilkas and Farkas took off running like sabre cats. They both drew their swords and attacked.
“You’ll never end our efforts,” a necromage yelled.
The other casted chain lightning, striking both brothers with purple arcs of magicka. Next, the one who had yelled summoned a flame atronach. Vilkas reached the first necromage and ran him through with no effort.
“I’m going to cut you down,” Vilkas screamed.
Farkas pushed past his brother and climbed some stairs to reach the one who had summoned the atronach. “You’re makin’ me angry,” Farkas grunted as he ran.
Before Farkas reached his target, Aela fired an arrow into the summoned creature. “Enough of this,” she muttered.
S’maash stood by with folded arms, appreciating how the battle was unfolding. Once Vilkas pushed his opponent off his blade, he followed after Farkas. During their attack, the atronach shot fire bolts. Another arrow from Aela’s bow struck the conjured demon and Farkas ran into it, bashing with the hilt of his weapon. He didn’t even stop to attack, nor was his momentum slowed. Farkas just pushed through and cleaved the fleeing necromage. The opponent let out a dying scream before hitting the ground.
“They never knew what hit ‘em,” Farkas said.
The death of the summoner caused a break in the ritual holding the demon bound to their plane of reality. The atronach was banished to Oblivion, and the brothers returned to Aela.
“Very nicely done,” S’maash congratulated.
They continued into the depths of Strongmouth Cave.