Chapter Twenty-Seven
A cart ride from Winterhold left S’maash on the outskirts of Falkreath. By foot, he proceeded north, looking for Karthspire, the entrance to Sky Haven temple. Falkreath’s hold was rather ominous.
The scent of death hung heavily in the humid air. Most of the soil underfoot was an awfully dark in color, almost black. Several, dead trees stuck out from the ground. They looked as though it had been agonizing to crack through the soil and into daylight.
Taking a breath of woody air, S’maash gazed overhead at a gray sky with rolling clouds, it was obvious rain was coming. Hours of slow and steady travel persisted. The far off boom and echo of thunder rumbled before it drizzled.
Once in the Reach, S’maash saw structures of wood built over lakes. Behind the structures was a mountain, and atop it was Sky Haven temple, an ancient and magnificent, stone bastion, partially ensconced by the mountain into which it was built.
As he drew closer, he saw the wooden structures were roughly hewn bridges supported by ropes. A great, many, stone steps led into the Karthspire. Sudden movement drew the elf’s attention.
“Bad place for you to get lost, friend,” a man yelled.
He peered to his left. A platform had been erected as a makeshift, guard tower, or redoubt. The man wore strange, leather equipment full of bones and feathers; a deer head mask obscured his face. War paint covered his body. In his hands were two, bony swords.
“Forsworn,” S’maash muttered.
He casted an ebony flesh spell then switched to wall of ice and drew his blade. As the man came running down the steps of Karthspire, he shouted, thus bringing out many more Forsworn. A flurry of ice spikes and arrows sailed through the sky, so S’maash ground his teeth, summoned a flame atronach, and tried his best to dodge the assault.
His atronach belted out fiery damage, drawing the attention of enemies. The bridge swayed a bit when two, filthy warriors stormed across. Still, spells and arrows zipped through the rain. A Forsworn lass then shoved her comrade away, spun beyond the atronach, and made to bash S’maash with the haft of her stony axe.
The blow brushed off his collarbone, and protected by his enchanted armor, he took no damage. In reply, the elf held his palm out, freezing her over; more arrows came flying, so he quickly slashed low at her knee, and as she buckled, he brought the blade back towards his body for a cross slash at her head. She went down hard before rolling off into the water below.
With the bridge partially clear, the male, Forsworn warrior twirled and brought both his blades at S’maash chest. The dark elf stepped back in time to avoid the brunt of the blow, and while he covered his attacker in frozen spikes of magicka, the atronach continued dancing, firing off another volley of flaming reprisal.
“Time to die, hero,” the Forsworn spat.
The nord pressed the attack, thrusting one blade then the other. S’maash parried easily enough, but the man fought hard, pushing forwards. With magicka running a bit low, the dunmer side stepped into the rope, rolled his belly over it then took his assailant from behind. By reaching over the man’s shoulder, he was able to sink the blade deep into his chest.
The short-lived victory gave way when more Forsworn finally reached S’maash’s position. The dark elf then ran past the first bridge and hopped onto an adjoining section on his right; he was trying to gain some height. Unfortunately, the position he coveted was home to more enemies with bows and magick. S’maash ducked under a sword swing, spun around to his left, slashed across a man’s bare chest then shoved him into another member of the Forsworn.
“You ready to die today? Huh?” a lady spat.
With the atronach banished, and numerous attackers in the open, S’maash ran down the wooden bridge, vaulted himself over a rope, and landed on a wooden platform housing a ragged tent. While standing behind it, only partially covered from battle, he recasted ebony flesh, took a breath, and rejoined the fray.
A female Forsworn—feathers in her matted hair—was happy to greet him. “I’ll paint my face with your blood, elf,” she said with a yellow grin.
Undaunted, S’maash kicked her in the stomach then ran her through. After shoving her corpse off his blade, he darted off to his right again, where he finally gained a height advantage by fighting from a platform at the base of stairs. At the top steps of the Karthspire, he saw six, Forsworn warriors, and two people clad in what appeared to be blue, steel, armor; the Forsworn were battling them as well.
Must be the Blades, he thought. There was little time to waste though; the wizard had to reach the archers and spell casters, so he summoned a new atronach, and with a fistful of fire balls the two set the nords aflame. The enemies screamed and ran about before diving into the lake.
Freed from battle, the elf bolted up the steps. Upon reaching the stone platform before Karthspire, S’maash dove back into battle. He swung his sword across the exposed back of a Forsworn mage. The woman screamed in agony as she fell over sideways. S’maash plunged his blade into her abdomen, and she writhed about bit before bleeding to death. With the help of the Blades, the Forsworn remnants were easily defeated; the bandits were brave, but severely underequiped.
“Th-thank you,” S’maash huffed.
“You bring battle to our doorstep then thank us,” the female Blade asked.
It was difficult to tell, as her armor and helmet covered most of her features, but strands of long, chestnut hair, and effeminate voice, gave her away. S’maash shrugged apologetically.
“Don’t mind Perseya. I’m Colville. We lead what’s left of the Blades here in Skyrim. Come inside to safety,” the other knight said.
He was a tall man and broad. S’maash was certain they were both imperials. Everyone was covered in Forsworn blood. The elf looked around, awkwardly, for a second then Colville motioned his head to follow. The wizard was thankful for respite when they stepped into a cave, leading inside the Karthspire.
Evidence of a life inside the brown, stone walls of the cave remained. Some tables and chairs were neatly stacked. Whoever had lived there previously had obviously moved.
“Why do the Forsworn camp outside the Karthspire,” S’maash broke the silence.
They continued walking passed lighted braziers. “You come here uninvited then ask questions of us?” Perseya barked.
Colville chuckled. “Come now, our new friend is weary from battle. What is your name, friend?”
“S’maash, I am from the College of Winterhold.”
“More mages,” Perseya remarked.
They traversed into an area of gray stone with beautiful depictions of symbols S’maash did not recognize. “Tell me what brings you here, and I will tell you of the Forsworn,” Colville replied, jovially.
“It is a long tale, but in short, I hear the Blades may be the only organization in possession of a book I need to read. I’m looking for a way into Oblivion, to recover a greater sigil stone,” S’maash said
They all came to a halt on the middle of a stone platform, or bridge, leading higher into Karthspire. “Oblivion? Are you daft,” Colville asked.
S’maash and the imperial met eyes. “I’m quite serious. I need the greater sigil stone to carry out a task given to me by Hermaeus Mora.”
“Tsh, nothing but trouble, letting outsiders in here,” Persaye snipped.
“Quiet, Lieutenant,” Colville warned.
S’maash realized Colville was in charge, so he directed all his attention to him. “I understand your sentiments. I was unaware the Forsworn were so…prevalent. Tolfdir had mentioned them but I,” S’maash trailed off.
“It’s fine, really. They’ve been trying to take back Karthspire for twenty years,” Colville replied. “Truthfully, you helped us as much as we helped you. That’ll be one, less group of Forsworn to run off and sack Karthwasten, the nearby town.”
They continued walking and finally reached a large room. A strange, circular design was carved into the stone floor. The two burning braziers revealed a swirling pattern
, almost like concentric circles. Beyond it was the entry into Skyhaven Temple. A massive, stone head was carved into the ceiling of the entryway. The odd manner in which it was positioned made the elf squint, but Colville spoke again.
“Come inside and rest for a bit. Perhaps, after some food and drink, we may discuss this book you seek.”
“Thank you,” S’maash answered.
Skyhaven Temple was a large structure built from gray stone. Ancient, Akiviri architecture prevailed throughout. There were few rooms, from what S’maash saw, but the large spaces were utilized quite well. Very few members of the Blades resided within. Torchlight revealed a great wall at the far end of the first chamber.
He eyed it. Before he had a chance to study it, Colville pulled him into another room to their left. There, some tables and chairs beckoned. They took seats as another Blade brought forth refreshments from the adjacent kitchen.
“So, what is this book you think we possess,” Colville asked.
“The Blades were once the protectors of the emperors of Cyrodiil. I have been told they fought beside Martin Septim during the Oblivion crisis,” S’maash started. Colville nodded, attentively. He brought his palms together before his face and looked past his fingers at S’maash. Wavering fires cast plenty of light for them to see. “I understand Mehrunes Dagon forced his way into Tamriel, but before that, someone had to enter the Mythic Dawn’s new plane of existence. If I have my story correct, several items were needed to do so, including the greater sigil stone, and again, if I am correct, one can only be obtained from Oblivion.”
“That is the story, but I’m not quite sure how you think the Blades can help, nor do I understand what you want with some mysterious book.”
S’maash looked around uncomfortably as he ate roasted goat leg. He was unsure as to whether Colville was being discreet, or if perhaps, he had no knowledge on the matter. From the meager accommodations, S’maash deduced the Blades were not faring too well.
“Would it help to gain your trust if I told you my brother and I defeated KrifAhrkDir on Sigrid’s Plunge?”
Colville removed his helmet and gingerly placed it on the ground next to him. Thick, dark hair was combed back away from his face.
“Perhaps, now, if you’ll indulge me, what is this quest for the Daedric Prince of Knowledge?”
S’maash heaved a sigh then erupted into the entirety of the story. After almost two hours, and two pints of ale, the story came to reside in Skyhaven Temple.
“Truly? The Heart of Lorkhan,” Colville asked.
“Yes.”
The Blade stirred. “Perhaps we should not deny you this knowledge of Oblivion. Then again, by your own admission, you could very well be threatening Tamriel just as Mankar Cameron did during the Oblivion crisis,” Colville added.
He was right. S’maash looked away.
“At least, I have been honest with you.”
“Yes, there is no question. I do not believe you wish ill will upon Tamriel, but…. No, I cannot give you this book,” Colville said.
“But,” S’maash started.
Colville stood then turned away. “The Blades have suffered greatly,” he announced in a haggard tone. “We were once mighty dragon slayers then protectors of a seat of power. After the Aldmeri Dominion forced the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, we fell to the wayside, and worse yet, we were hunted to near extinction. You know the Dragonborn brought us back together…but he, too, is gone, and so are my former masters.
“I lead what’s left of the Blades now. It would be unwise for me to give you the power to destroy Tamriel. I’m sorry,” Colville finished and walked away.
S’maash sat in silence for a moment. Persaye walked by him, her boots clanking upon the stone floor. She took a seat on the wooden bench beside him. For a moment, neither spoke a word. Then, she turned her attention to him. Her gorgeous, long hair bounced a bit when she did so.
“What is it,” S’maash asked.