"Drop your weapon and put your hands where I can see them, Dragonborn!" A sword point pressed into my back. I made no move to obey. Instead, I allowed my blade to hang loosely at my side while magicka eddied, ready, into my palm.
"So good of you to join us," I muttered icily, remembering her willful refusal to aid us. Had she been cowering in terror, I would have understood. But she wanted to watch me--watch my friend and I--endure fire and flame until we were nothing but charred corpses. Either she knew we would probably succeed in fending off the dragon, or she was hoping we would fail. As I turned to face her, the steely hardness of her eyes told me everything I needed to know.
"I said drop your weapon!" she barked, shifting nervously when our eyes met. Somewhere behind me, Derkeethus soothed his burned skin in the icy water.
She doesn't have it in her, Derk thought, Intimidate her a bit, and she'll topple.
But I couldn't bring myself to frighten her further. "I'm not this 'Dragonborn'," I said flatly, my muscles tensing in case she attacked.
"Then what was that just now? You absorbed that dragon's power! You used the Voice!"
"It's not the same. We're...different," I replied haltingly, spitting the last word out like something foul.
"We?" The Thalmor soldier looked at Derkeethus; then at me; then back at Derkeethus. The look of horror donning her face was enough to make me sick with some unnamed shame.
"No, it's not like that. We're not--" I hastily sputtered, but the haunted echo in her eyes only deepened. My friend placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"We are going to rest for the night in that shack," he stated, "You can sleep in the dragon carcass for all I care." He stepped protectively in front of me, and shame was replaced by a surge of affection.
"I don't take orders from an uncouth lizard-freak!"
Her weapon flew out of her hand to land with a soft, grassy thump some yards away. Derk kept her arm pinned behind her back, having hooked his pickaxe around her fine gauntlet to twist it over her head. "Look, highborn. I don't care what you do. Just keep away from her," he hissed in her ear. After several tense moments, the Altmer yanked her arm away and stalked over to a scraggly tree. There she scowled at us before glaring intently at the dragon corpse.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I smiled weakly at the Argonian in thanks before focusing on the shack ahead. I took slow, deep breaths to calm my roiling blood, still hot from the battle and attempted arrest. Part of me still wanted to fight the Thalmor soldier--to remove her as one removes a tick from their skin: with a hot poker. Like cauterizing a festering wound. Still the dragon's chant resounded distantly in my mind.
Rising out of the last shallow pool like creatures from the Early Days, we approached the shack, relieved to see its upright walls and mud-caked grout between the boards. Dead shrubs rattled in the breeze, and deathbells waved their poisonous petals at us as we neared the door. A faint moan issued from somewhere near the shack, but I couldn't tell if it was the rising wind or something within. Chills raced up and down my spine like fish in a river. A reddish stain was smeared on the wood around the door, and to my dismay, there was a handprint in the muddle that streaked desperately towards the handle. Against my better judgement, my fingers closed upon the handle and I pulled.
Nothing happened. So, I pushed.
Nothing happened.
I heaved against the door. I tried picking the lock, which was incidentally filled with a fine cement made from clay and crushed shells. Forcing my sword into the gap between the post and the door itself, I tried lifting any bar that might lay across the doorway. Derkeethus attempted to rip the cursed thing down with his pickaxes. None of our attempts were successful. So desperate were we to escape the bitter cold that grew deeper with each passing moment that we began to dig under the door to tunnel our way into the house.
It was in the midst of this that I discovered a ring still attached to a finger. Aghast, I dropped it, watching it roll lopsidedly back down into the hole we were digging. The color drained from my face, and through the tiny opening under the door, I heard the distinct cry of someone in pain followed by a throaty chortle.
"What's wrong?" Derkeethus inquired, sensing my sudden outburst of revulsion.
"We should go," I replied quickly. "This isn't a good place."
"What do you mean? That shack is sitting out here in the middle of nowhere! Can't be anything wrong with it."
"Someone's in there, and whatever they're doing, I want no part in it."
Still curious, my friend strode up to the hole and peered under the door. He crouched for what felt like a long time before he got to his feet, the raw skin on his face flushed brightly while the scales burned dark. Staring out over the water for a moment, he glanced sidelong at me and cleared his throat. "There's a...uh... There's a boat over there. We could haul it ashore and sleep under it to keep warm."
"Derk, are you all right? What did you see in there?"
"Nothing you'd enjoy seeing," he said. When I made to have a look for myself, his hand clutched my arm tightly and he led me away to the boat. I kept glancing back at the door, wondering what had roused my friend so, but a cold gust of wind bit through my armor and I focused on moving the vessel.
With a heave, we turned it over and pressed down until the curled decorative ends of the boat sank into the mud and sand. It was tilted so the hull of the vessel acted as a breaker to the wind. Shoving the bedroll into the low opening, I crawled in. There was barely enough room to lie down, but even as I occupied that space, the air around me warmed several degrees. Peering out, I looked at Derk questioningly.
"There's enough room for both of us," I said. In the darkness, only his snout was visible against the evening sky. I saw it shake emphatically.
"I'll take the first watch."
"All right," I replied, somewhat dismayed. It would have been nice to have a second body to increase the warmth under the boat.
"Someone has to keep an eye on that crazed Altmer," he grinned, lightening the mood. With a nod I huddled under the furs of the bedroll, trying to keep warm. Outside, the wind howled fiercely as it mingled with distant crashing waves. I shivered uncomfortably until somewhere late in the evening, my mind went dark.
Sleep was fitful and elusive as I spent what few hours were granted to me chasing evanescent rest and evading strange, conjured half-dreams. Eventually Derkeethus woke me, and I crawled out into still air. The night felt like very early morning, and overhead the sky was a riot of blues and greens. Here near the coast, the aurora seemed stronger than anywhere else I had been.
Not for the first time did I wonder what caused it. Was it magicka flowing the atmosphere? Could it be harnessed? Was this what it looked like in the Dawn of Nirn? Crouching, hugging my knees, I tried to remember the stories my grandmother told me about the Early Days. The tales had been passed down through song for generations through my clan, beginning with the first Bosmer to separate into our family tree. They told of strange forms that walked Nirn, like our kin but not. Of wars that rent the sky and earth. Of magicka that whipped wild and free through the air before it settled into the flowing stream with which I was familiar. Of songs that could do anything and create anything.
Though, this was all sung in the warbling voice of my grandmother, who was ancient even by our standards at four hundred and seventy-two. Half the words had been replaced by relatives' names. And Amragor did smite the devious Fillin, and Fillin's heart was shot into the sea. Blessed by the three. I would laugh at the image of my uncle and his brother filling the roles of Trinimac and Lorkhan.
So caught up in my memories was I that the calling of morning birds stirred me at last, and I lifted my head from where it had lain against my knees. My eyes were dry and brain muzzy. I must have fallen asleep. Scooting over to my pack, not quite ready to embrace the cold day, I ate a little of the salted venison from the day before. It wasn't long before Derkeethus emerged, looking equally bleary-eyed, and I handed him his ration for the morning.
When we at last made ready to leave, the sky had lightened significantly. We found the Thalmor soldier curled against the tree. She hadn't moved at all since we left her, and her face betrayed a deep sorrow that made me feel somehow guilty. Kneeling, I offered her a little of the venison, which she glared at suspiciously. Then seeing the expression on my face, she growled, "I don't need your pity. I have my own rations."
"It wasn't pity," I retorted. "We're going to try to find the camp today, so you'll be rid of us soon enough."
"I dream of that moment with great joy."
"Listen, I'm sorry you got sent out here. I didn't want anyone to follow me into this muck!"
"Sorry doesn't do anyone any good. I am a soldier and my orders were--and are--to follow you and ensure you didn't escape. Why you didnt take the road is beyond me." Her head was held high as she stalked off towards the foothills, some spell coiled in her upraised palm pointing the way. For once, we followed the Altmer out into the marsh.
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