Derkeethus slumped in the saddle clutching his shoulder. Wincing, I massaged my own, feeling the hot burn of his injury there. Many of the ingredients in my pack had been used up already, but I stopped and pressed what I could find into my friend's injury. During the skirmish, neither of us noticed the slash to his upper arm where the muscle draped over the joint to form the curve of his shoulder. The powder packed the wound, mixing with the blood until we both felt the pain ebb. Taking some snow into a thin square of cloth, I wrapped the site with the cold substance.
"Hold that there until the feeling comes back," I said, patting his arm and folding his tunic back into place.
With a nod, I led the way as we kept to the road while it skirted the base of the mountain. Eventually, we came to a fork where a small track of packed snow followed the mountain's sides, curving up onto a ridge. Ahead of us, the road continued on its course, ploughing the way across open tundra bright with ice and sunlight. Picking up the pace, I turned Nael onto the track, passing a strange tower with bronzed doors etched in designs that brought to mind the architecture of Markarth.
Burrs stumbled for the fifth time as he stepped into a snow-covered pothole. With a snort, he righted himself, pressing on with a grunt of determination. Nael did her best to pick the neatest path among the many rocks and tree roots, and as she worked, I heard her persistent wheeze worsen. As we climbed higher, she started to cough. I soothed her as best as I could, and was sorely tempted to use the White Phial; however, I suspected we would need its full potency to heal Hrefna.
The trees lining the path fizzled and diminished below us as a biting wind cut through our armor. Not even the fur cloaks wrapping our forms could completely shield us against those gusts. My horse coughed wetly, shaking her head as if to clear it. Derk's wound had stopped bleeding and the pain dulled to a faint twinge. Quite suddenly, the wind changed directions and the warm scent of smoke drifted over the rocks.
"A fire," Derkeethus muttered, eyeing the surrounding landscape.
Riding ahead, I spotted the pillar of smoke rising over a fold in the mountainside. "It's over there, I think," I called, pointing. We headed in the direction of the smoke, moving as fast as we dared through the treacherous terrain. Already the sun had fallen low in the sky, and night would be upon us soon.
"I hope it's an inn. With a big, roaring fire, red meat off the bone, big breasted--" he paused, hands poised over his chest, and glanced at me anxiously. "Chickens. Big breasted chickens," he finished lamely. I smirked, raising a brow at him delicately.
"That all sounds wonderful, Derk," I grinned, "Especially the chickens." Laughing, I quietly admitted to myself that the thought of a warm inn sheltering us from Skyrim's frigid winter until Hrollod arrived, or day broke, left me aching. Wringing my hands to ease the cold, stiff joints, I felt my face fall as we rounded a bend leading gently uphill.
At the end of the of the track, the shell of a building sat smoldering in the crook of two rocky arms extending out from the mountain. Low, dull flames guttered in the wind, and bodies lay strewn about on the frozen lawn. Air hissed into Derkeethus' nose as he smelled the smoke. Through the scent of charred bodies and wood wove a taint of something vaguely metallic. "Blood. There's someone alive in there!" my friend crowed, rushing forward and searching the area around the building. I dismounted Nael, my foot held at an odd angle as my boot twisted the wrong way in the stirrup. With a yank, I dislodged it and tumbled to the hard ground, the wind knocked out of me. When I glanced to my right, I muffled a scream.
Cruel, needle teeth coated in clotted blood and flesh grinned in an unending howl next to my head. Scrambling to my feet, I backed away from the horrific, dark creature, whose skin was not unlike a damp scab. The eye sockets glared hatefully up at me with eyes consisting of little more than globules of unnaturally glowing blood. Its body brought to mind the mutated offspring found in tainted bloodlines of dogs and wolves. Unsure as to whether or not the thing was truly dead, I backed away until I stood on the stoop of the smoking building.
When I turned, dry heat blasted my face and I squinted into the smoky gloom. There can't be anyone left alive in here, I thought. More bodies littered the floor, some of the monstrous canine breed outside, others mostly man-shaped. The people were burned beyond recognition, though a few sported ghostly smiles ringed by over-long fangs. Near at hand, a man with such a smile lay sprawled under a cave-in from the roof, his face partially crumbled away in a gray dust. As the smoke filled my lungs, I coughed heavily, drawing the hem of my cloak across my nose. Seeing no true signs of life, I turned to leave that charnel house. Then, near the back of what must have been a hall, came a groan of pain and sorrow.
There was a table littered with debris and fallen candlesticks. Here the building was in its most preserved state. An Imperial lay nailed to the table, his arms and legs spread-eagled under a layer of ash and charred debris. A sheen of sweat stood out on his face, and as his head thrashed, I noted a festering bite mark on the side of his neck. I reached out to try and wake him, perhaps remove the nails from his hands and feet, but his eyes shot open, wide and bloody, at my touch.
From his frothing mouth streamed a litany of hissed, strangled curses that left spittle flecking his lips. Then, he grimaced with teeth that rotted even as I stared, sharpened like pikes, gums an aggravated red. When his expression cleared, he gazed up at me in agony.
"What happened here?" I asked gently. The berobed man's eyes rolled in his head, and against my better judgement, I tipped a little of the White Phial's contents into his mouth. He screamed an unearthly wail before gnashing his teeth and uttering a string of hateful sounds that sounded something like a language. When he stopped, his breath was ragged.
"He sent them... Not paying... ...tribute... They--we...couldn't stop them," he panted. Thin tears ran from his eyes down the sides of his face into his ears before pattering to the floor, leaving dark marks on the ash-dusted wood.
"Who sent sent them? A vampire?" For a long while, the man was silent, and had he not been breathing so rapidly, I would have thought he had perished.
"Please... Kill me..." he managed, eyes closing shut in pain. "It burns. Like fire. Stendarr, forgive me."
I choked to see this man so far beyond aid. My stomach knotted and I felt sick to look at him.
"Please..." he pleaded. His fingers made vague gestures to a dagger that lay nearby.
"All right," I whispered, my tongue sticking to the back of my throat. I swallowed with a click. It took every effort of my will to close down the connection between Derkeethus and I. I didn't want him to see this. I had never killed anyone in cold blood, not even in mercy. Picking up the dagger, I felt fiery warmth seep into my fingertips as my heart thudded wildly in my throat. With shaking hands, I placed the blade against the man's throat. Faintly, he shook his head, and mouthed, "heart".
I tried to imagine him as a deer, panting with a poorly shot arrow sticking out of its side. That made it easier. With a sharp thrust, I drove the dagger up under his sternum, the enchantment on the blade setting his flesh on fire. As he screamed and writhed, wailing blasphemies in all the languages of mer and men, I sobbed and twisted my hand. Then he was still, though his body continued to burn, the flames turning a strange, greenish hue. Distraught and horrified, I left that place.
When we resumed our journey, I kept my head down and my eyes away from my friend. Periodically, I caught him looking at me in concern, and I could feel his questions probing against the barrier I set up in my mind. After I had left the building, Derkeethus found me vomiting into the snow as nerves and the acrid smoke finally overwhelmed me. He hadn't asked what I saw or what had happened. Only sat me on my horse and led her down into a valley towards an escarpment.
The sun was at last sinking towards the horizon, rapidly crashing into the ground where it would disappear until morning. With such little light left, I scrambled onto the rocks, hearing the faint sounds of hammers at a forge and shouted conversations. There, sitting right before us in a snow-coated glen was a fort. It sat on the road that must have twisted down from the northern coast. An inn of sorts squatted between barricades meant to slow traffic, and even as I watched, a band of merchants traded gold with swarthy men who could only be described as bandits. The merchants were allowed to pass through, and after several minutes, disappeared on the other side of the fort.
By this observation alone, I knew we had finally come to Fort Dunstad.
