Chapter Twenty-Four
The Companions cut their way through a handful of reanimated dogs, men, and mer during their descent into the cave’s depths. A nord ruin awaited them. They gathered at the half rotted, immense, wooden doors before planning their next move.
“This cave seems to harbor an ancient ruin,” Aela stated.
“Aye, one I had not known existed,” Vilkas added.
S’maash eyed the necromantic symbols adorning both doors. “It would seem they have found an ideal place to resurrect their unholy army.”
“An awful desecration of the great nords of Skyrim. Fallen warriors and heroes alike belong in Sovngarde, not roaming old halls as undead,” Farkas spat.
“Let us not waste time,” Aela said, pushing the doors open.
A large, decorative, stone room stood before them. Smoothed walls lined with candles and braziers glinted with an orange hue. The opening of the doors drew the attention of many undead inhabitants roaming within. Creaky, old bones turned to meet the Companions. Several skeletons grasped their axes, hammers, and blades. The group of four spread out.
“I will destroy you,” Aela yelled.
Clashing of steel along with the crashing of bones bouncing off stone erupted. It was a relatively simple battle as the skeletons were no match for the Companions or S’maash. The dark elf wielded dual, icy spears, sending shards of ice into his opponents. Skeletons exploded from magickal impacts. The Companions hacked and slashed their way through. Farkas spun like a mad dervish as he brought all his girth behind his blade in horizontal slashes.
Vilkas, surprisingly quick as well, ran to one skeleton, ducked beneath a swing from opposing sword, butted the undead in the jaw then cleaved it. Without so much as slowing, he ran to the next, side stepped and swung overhead three times, leaving nothing of the former enemy but bone meal. Aela fired a few arrows as well. In mere seconds, the group of four vanquished a dozen undead.
“Good work, team. Now, we search this place,” Aela ordered.
“I have a feeling there’s trouble ahead,” Vilkas remarked.
Without regrouping, each man went about their own way. The large room harbored thick pillars with alcoves carved into all, four sides, likely where the undead had been stationed. Adorning the pillars, were more candles. Far ahead of them, at the end of the room, was the only passage. They convened and moved on.
Before long, the ruin gave way to natural stone. Some tight corridors led the Companions to a group of necromancers. Having heard the approach of the intruders, they were ready for battle. With protection spells in place, several reanimated corpses, and summoned atronachs of all kinds, the evil wizards ran into battle.
“I’ll rip your heart out,” Vilkas screamed, charging like a steel bull into battle.
Again the group fanned out, each choosing an enemy to battle. S’maash summoned a flame atronach of his own while casting ebony flesh. Fire bolts, icy spears, and chain lightning rained throughout the stone chamber. From the far end, sitting upon a throne of bone, a man fully clad in steel plate came to his feet. From the slit in his winged helmet, an ominous, red glow emerged. He drew an ebony sword, curved and wicked. In his other hand, he held a round, steel shield. He did not enter the fray, but observed.
S’maash covered the ground with wall of ice, freezing the reanimated men. He then drew his sword while firing icy spears. Necromages spouted insults as they unleashed their spells of destruction.
“Time to die, hero,” one called out.
Farkas squared off with a frost atronach; the frozen golem stood eight feet in height. It brought clubbed arms down with a stilted movement, too slow for the fast warrior. Farkas side stepped, hacked into the atronach’s right leg, brought his blade back overhead, and swung down with all his weight. The atronach stumbled back, and he ran it all the way through. It was banished back to Oblivion.
Fire bolts then crashed over the warrior’s back. He turned and charged at a flame atronach. Aela spotted it out of the corner of her eye. She fired arrows at the necromage, who had summoned it. His death ended the magickal summons, and the flame atronach was banished before Farkas reached it.
Grunts and war cries prevailed as the Companions dismantled the necromancers’ advances. “I’ll cleave you in twain,” Vilkas howled, felling another necromage.
His blade was red with blood. As he spun to strike another of the undead, the blood splattered onto nearby shelving. During Vilkas’s onslaught, S’maash ran to an enemy, grasped his robes with his left hand and thrust blade deep into the man’s neck. Removing his sword, he moved on to the next undead. He fired an icy spear, but the undead moved at angles. S’maash followed with a strike from his sword, yet the enemy moved again. He was shocked to see the opponent move so quickly. The others seemed to have some trouble as well.
While destruction spells crashed against walls, tables, and shelving, some struck the group of four. Effects of drain magicka and stamina slowed their assault. More necromancers and undead then flooded the room from sights unseen.
“Where are they coming from?” Aela yelled, unleashing more arrows into the fray.
“I can’t tell. Just keep cutting away,” Farkas yelled back.
The frozen spells were slowing down the Companions as they worked to fend off the attacks. S’maash, battling two, quick, undead nords, and defending against the pelting of dual, ice spikes, found himself against a wall. His only defense, with no more magicka reserves, was to block undead fists as he cut into the enemy. Things took a turn for the worse when the necromages summoned more atronachs.
The sudden shift in momentum startled the elf. He broke from the battle and ran alongside the wall behind him. Rummaging quickly through his pack, he removed a blue potion of magicka, and drank it while running over to Aela, who was getting swarmed.
“Aela!” he called to announce his help.
With healing hands, he kept her alive. With his other hand, he swung at a nearby necromancer, landing a strike to his face. His death ended the battle between Vilkas, a storm atronach, and a flame atronach. Freed from danger, Aela and Vilkas joined Farkas. Together, they cut through more necromages, returning the tide to their favor.
Magickal ice covered the floor and walls; a soft glow emanated from the remnants of spells. The three Companions split up once more, but the man in steel plate finally entered the fray. He stomped with purpose, beyond a few undead, to Farkas’s rear. With a mighty bash from his shield, he sent the powerful nord to the ground.
“Ugh, what the,” Farkas asked as he reached for his blade.
The man stepped down hard onto Farkas’s wrist, sending an excruciating pain up his arm. He screamed as he rolled onto his back. The attacker was bringing his blade down to finish Farkas when an arrow from Aela’s bow stopped him. The feathered shaft stuck out of his right shoulder. Faltering only for a second, he provided Farkas enough time to recover his sword.
“Durro,” Vilkas yelled after felling another necromage.
The plated warrior stopped his assault on Farkas. Vilkas ran over to his brother, who engaged Durro in battle. At that time, S’maash felt cold claws around his throat and froze.
“Eh heh heh. Khajiit has claimed this one,” a voice whispered. S’maash, while watching the three companions engage Durro, felt the soft fur and whiskers of the khajiit upon his ear. He brought an icy spear to the ready in hopes of defense. “This one feels your cold palm. You should not be so quick to act. J’zargo is helping.”
A flash of recognition assaulted S’maash. Isn’t that the instructor of conjuration at the College?
“Observe as your friends fight one of their own. Let J’zargo take you to Delyla,” J’zargo said, easing his claw away from S’maash’s throat.
“What’s happening? Why are you here,” S’maash asked, astonished.
As their conversation ensued, the Companions felled all the necromages and undead to give their full attention to Durro, who, with relative ease, dodged, blocked, and counter attac
ked. He was seemingly unstoppable. The Companions fought as one force, never stepping in each other’s way. Clamor of steel rang throughout the chamber.
“Who is Delyla,” S’maash asked, facing the khajiit in necromancer’s robes.
“She is the leader of these necromages.”
“And you?”
“This one has infiltrated. Your friends have their hands full, but J’zargo will take you to Delyla. To help your friends assure victory, you must slay her.”
He took S’maash by the wrist and led him into the shadows where a hidden passage awaited. The khajiit tugged a previously ensconced pull chain. A hidden door was revealed after sliding stone gave way.
“What’s going, here,” S’maash asked as he followed.
The clamor of battle ebbed away as the two progressed down a pitch-black corridor. The khajiit had no trouble seeing due to his night eye ability, one all of the cat people possessed.
“Delyla is a vampire from ancient times. She has changed names over the many years, but not her strategy,” J’zargo said.
S’maash kept a hand upon the khajiit’s shoulder as he followed. He saw nothing beyond blackness.
“Are you working with the College?”
“Yes, J’zargo is always trying to achieve success. Heh heh heh, he has many tricks up his sleeves, but J’zargo alone cannot defeat this vampire…she has control of many minds,” he hissed, ominously.
S’maash grew confused as he continued walking. “Tell me everything,” he demanded.
“Not long ago, the Dawnguard arrived to slay an emerging, vampire threat.”
“Dawnguard?” S’maash interrupted.
“A legion of so-called vampire slayers, but they were imbeciles compared to J’zargo. They unwittingly unleashed the daughter of the vampire lord. It was her blood the wicked ones needed to bring about the prophecy. Had the Dawnguard left her entombed, no threat would have manifested. Worse, they aided this woman—this vampire—by bringing her to her father, the vampire lord. This one thinks they might have killed her on the spot. J’zargo still does not understand why they did not.
“After helping her, the Dawnguard did manage to keep the vampire lord from his plans, but their arrogance led them to believe Skyrim was safe. J’zargo prefers the warm sands of Elswyer, but Skyrim is home now. Uncovering a new threat, khajiit took his information before the Archmage. Tolfdir told this one to infiltrate the necromages as they revered Delyla,” J’zargo clarified.
“The Dawnguard sound ridiculous; vampire slayers who help vampires…but how is all this related?”
“Yes, J’zargo will explain. Delyla is not simply a vampire, but an elder vampire. She is like the vampire lord the Dawnguard fought, but she is much wiser, from a different clan, and much older. While Harkon wanted to blot the sun from the sky of Tamriel, Delyla knew it was a stupid plan. No sun means no food for the living. No food means no living, which means no food for the vampires, hehe heh.
“Delyla planned, instead, to subjugate the minds of conjurors, instill a need for them to revere her. As she doles out potent spells of conjuration to some, she feeds on others. They have been tricked into believing she will give them unlife and limitless potential, but she only feeds to bolster her own powers. Because she is immortal, you and J’zargo cannot slay her, only slow her progression, but this one has found a way.”
“What way? How far are we going?”
They had been walking quite a ways. S’maash felt the ground slowly descend as they continued.
“Not much farther to go. Listen to J’zargo, for he is wise,” he ordered. S’maash did listen, but wondered about the Companions. Surely, they had noticed his absence. “J’zargo has been to the Soul Cairn, a go between of worlds for those souls who have been filtered. It is an awful place of death and lost souls. Gray skies and lightning rains upon strange spires of black stone. In the Soul Cairn, khajiit located a soul for Delyla. It must be infused to make her mortal.”
“Restore a soul to a vampire? Is that possible?” S’maash interjected.
“Very much so. As J’zargo has stated innumerable times, he is very clever. A reaper gem, a sort of soul gem, can be used to restore a soul. J’zargo has this reaper gem. You will force her to take it. Merely touching it, will reinstate the soul,” J’zargo said.
“Wait, I’m doing this? What about the College, why are they absent from this task?”
“A stupid question. J’zargo knows the presence of many College mages will start a battle of epic proportions. Fearing an attack, Delyla would surely have taken necessary precautions to battle the mages. Many would die. J’zargo does not want this upon his conscience…nor his records with the College.
“You and your Companions have arrived with impeccable timing. Together, you and J’zargo will defeat Delyla. As one of her most trusted, this one is privy to her chamber room, unlockable only by a spell granted from Delyla. J’zargo has seemingly captured you as an offering to her. When she goes to feast upon you, you will strike her with this,” J’zargo said as he crammed a cold and rough edged object into S’maash’s hand. They stopped walking, then. “The door is right here. J’zargo will open.”
S’maash took his hand off the khajiit’s shoulder. He then saw a violet glow around J’zargo’s claw. He touched what looked like a stone door. An effervescent light took hold of the door, enveloping it with the same glow. It shimmered then opened inwards.
The room beyond was lighted by torchlight along the far walls. The fires revealed clean bones strewn about the floor. At the end of the room, only dozens of paces away, the elder vampire, Delyla, sat upon a throne of skulls.