Valindor and I crouched at the opening of the tent, keeping our forms as far into the shadows as possible. At my command, Meeko trotted in a wide circle around the fire until he melted into the variegated stone blocks. We waited until we saw his thin silhouette slinking atop a rocky outcropping near the falls. Moonlight shone dimly on his fur, and his faintly glowing eyes turned toward me as he awaited a signal.
When the dancing and chanting reached a fevered pitch, and several Forsworn had crept out of the circle and up the hill, no doubt to retrieve the clan leader or Great Mother, I blinked pointedly slowly. Quite suddenly, several things happened all at once. Meeko unleashed an unearthly howl, as if summoning the last vestiges of his wild heritage, that rang like a coarse bell across the valley. The Forsworn continued their dance, though several looked toward the source of the sound, praising the moon and some unknown spirit in their strange language.
In that same instant, Valindor threw the vial of powdered mammoth tusk into the fire. A yellow, gouty plume of flame erupted into the circle, lingering with blazing fingers on the furs of the men, singeing the hairs until the air stank. Just as the vial shattered with a high-pitched tinkle, a spriggan appeared as if dressed in a cloak of fire, coming in a blaze of light. It was then, the Forsworn abandoned all rational thought, their minds sent to some other place, thanks in part to the copious amounts of imbibed spirits and fungi. They screamed, fleeing in terror as nature turned on them at last.
Only the few who brought us into the camp seemed unfazed by the turn of events, drawing their weapons and bombarding the creature in a savage beating. For a moment, the spriggan peered at me, urgent, almost nudging me along with her will. With a bright flash, she disappeared into a swarm of glowing bees, coating the nearest Breton's face. His hysterical screams finally broke the spell holding me in place.
"Come on," I grunted. Valindor and I slipped around the side of the tent, keeping to the shadows as we made for the mountainous wall cupping the citadel in its fold. Clicking nails and heavy panting somewhere to my left told me Meeko was following at his own pace.
We descended a set of stairs, nearly crashing into a Breton woman with wide, uncomprehending eyes. She stared right at us and muttered something I couldn't understand. With a shake of her head, she covered her face with her hands and passed upward, as if trying to will herself into believing the ritual hadn't crumbled into consummate disaster. Startled, we rushed by her, clinging to the wall like lizards. All about us the camp erupted into chaos, the Forsworn spreading out to look for something--most likely us. The spriggan had returned to Y'ffre's realm.
Digging our fingers into the rock, we scrambled up the wall, slipping and tripping as we went. No amount of advice from Derkeethus had made me into a better rock climber. When I made it to the top, I leaned over on my stomach, hauling Valindor up onto the stone, our faces disconcertingly close for a moment. I watched a grey blur streak through the darkness toward the water, and followed it.
Our feet scratched quietly on the shelf as we followed the shape of the mountainside. Moist gusts threatened to push us into the cliffs. Behind us, the campfires and activity in the camp receded into the mists, until they were, at last, obscured.
"I never would have thought travelling with you would mean consistently looking death in the face," Valindor whispered, not daring to let his voice carry.
"I don't mean for that to happen, you know."
"I know. It was only an observation."
Gingerly, I crawled on my hands and knees as I felt for the edge of the shelf, knowing by sound that we'd reached the river. We could follow it until we found a road out of this maze of passes and ravines. Carefully, we clambered down the face of the rock, sighing with exertion when we reached the bottom. Water rippled merrily nearby, and here the air was cooler, though stiller.
For several moments we sat, motionless in the dark as the stones themselves. Rough panting and sniffing had us tensing like bowstrings. It was only Meeko as he splashed noisily through the chilly creek to meet us. Absently, I rubbed the top of his head, waiting for any other sounds to rise out of the shadows. When all remained silent, I risked pouring a small amount of fat into depression in the rock and setting it alight. In the guttering glow, I saw Val's expression coalesce into one of restrained relief.
"I suppose we're going to follow them," he said.
"Yes. We need to get that Elder Scroll away from them, and I want my sword back."
"You could always make another one."
I blanched at the thought. I made that sword for Jorin. Poor Jorin, who died in my arms. "It was just a suggestion," Valindor stuttered hastily.
"After we get the scroll, we need to go see Runil. He'll know a thing or two about reading one, I'm sure."
"How do you know?"
"He sees things," I replied after a pause, "And he's seen things. He was in the War at one time."
Silence reigned for a several moments, blinkering into tension as the makeshift candle flickered out. The three of us used our ears to follow the water uphill until we came to a waterfall. This time, I risked more light in igniting the lantern that remained unspoiled in my pack. Holding it aloft, I spotted a narrow path twisting up the side of the falls. This we climbed, carefully and cautiously, ever attuned to sounds of ambush or the sharp smells of unwashed men.
At the top, we stood next to a spring burbling up through the ground, behind which lay a weed-choked gully. Following this, perhaps a bit blindly, we fought our way through thorny shrubs that scratched at our faces and tore at our clothes. I constantly gazed at the ground, looking for signs of passage. Had the Dawnguard gone this way? How did they find the road? Did they find and use our horses?
The latter thought alone left my blood boiling as I imagined Durak sitting astride the temperamental Brelye. As if Orcs ever rode horses. When was the last time I actually saw one on a horse?
"Hey, there's something over here!"
Val's voice jarred me from my black ruminations. I approached the spot where he and Meeko were standing, the dog sniffing a carcass excitedly. At his feet lay an enormous sabre cat, its lung punctured by a well-placed bolt. This was not the work of a hunter, for the pelt was perfectly intact and forgotten. The bolt belonged either to Imperial soldiers or the Dawnguard. Around the body, stamped deeply into the moist soil, were heavy bootprints. Two pair by the looks of things. They, and the kill, were recent enough--the body was still very warm.
"They came this way," I mused, "At least we don't have to worry about having a hard time following them." My friend grinned in response to my own sardonic expression.
"There's no chance of following them in the dark, though."
I frowned. "They'll gain too much ground."
"Henny. We're talking about an Orc and a Nord. How can they possibly get very far on the roads?"
"They could walk across the countryside."
"Not a chance. Those clumsy oafs are no match for the woods in Falkreath. But us, we're made for the woodlands just as they were made for us. We'll catch up to them in no time."
Valindor's confidence was contagious, and relenting, I set up the well-worn tent, which now sported a number of new holes and tears. I even risked lighting a fire, whose warmth was deeply comforting in the cool of the night. Meeko lolled on his side immediately and drifted off into a lazy, but watchful, sleep. We soon did the same, forcing our sore lips and jaws to chew on a little food before falling into a similar light sleep.
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