****
Exhausted from travel, Zolara went to sleep in the Hall of Attainment. S’maash went to the Arcaeneum to redouble his study efforts. It was late and Urag had gone to sleep, leaving the elaborate library eerily quiet and dark.
“S’maash,” the Wretched Abyss called.
Briefly startled, the wizard turned to engage Hermaeus Mora. “What is it? What am I supposed to do?”
“You are already aware. I will grant you a boon for the next portion of your journey. Behold, dragon soul trap,” The daedric prince granted S’maash the ability to cast soul trap on dragons. “Go, now. Find a dragon and take its soul.”
“Find a dragon? What?! That’s madness, but even if I must fight one; what do I do then? How can the soul fill the Heart of Lorkhan if it is not intact?”
The Wretched Abyss vanished, and there was only silence. S’maash felt slighted with an impossible task. Grinding his teeth, he tried to take solace in the fact that he had at least received a partial answer. The following morning, he called Tolfdir, Brelyna, and Zolara for a meeting in the courtyard.
“So, what do you think,” S’maash asked after providing the information.
“I believe you should do your best to carry out the task at hand. Find a dragon,” Tolfdir said.
“Where is he going to find a dragon,” Brelyna was incredulous.
They were pensive for a moment. “The Blades might know, but they are difficult to speak with,” Tolfdir said.
“The Blades…Farengar made a similar comment to me once.”
Faralda approached the group with a welcome interruption. “S’maash, you have a visitor.”
He turned to her, but there was no one with her. “Where?”
“At the inn, in Winterhold. Non-practitioners are not allowed in here,” she condescended.
“Who is this visitor?”
“Your brother.”
“Truly?” he grinned and almost leapt in the air. “You all keep thinking. I’ll be back later.”
S’maash ran into town and entered the inn. He spotted his brother immediately, the only, other, dark elf. He was covered in glass armor, had a glass, great sword across his broad back, and all the resilient malachite scintillated with a sparkling glow. Gold filigree held the glass-like metal in place.
“Brother!” S’maash called.
“Well met!”
“Truly, I am glad to see you here,” he said, holding S’maath’s elbows and looking him up and down. “How are the warriors of the Reyda Tong? How are you doing?”
“We are doing fine. Fara fell…sad news, but I was promoted to leader of our chapter in L’Thu Oad,” he replied.
“A bitter-sweet promotion then; I am both glad and sorry to hear that.”
“And yourself? The strange notes I received from you, expelled for necromancy, reinstated, running errands. Am I correct in understanding you’re court wizard to the Jarl of Whiterun?”
“On paper, yes, but I have not even been there for close to a month,” S’maash replied.
“Any advances in your studies?”
“To some extent, yes; I have learned dual enchanting, and I have acquired a special sort of soul gem, allowing better use of the souls from men, mer, and demon. Most recently, I have acquired the fragments of the Heart of Lorkhan,” S’maash told his brother.
“Truly remarkable,” S’maath replied. “The Heart of Lorkhan…I thought–”
“I know, I know; I’ll tell you all about it!”
After catching up for a bit, S’maash offered to enchant his brother’s equipment. They returned to the College even though Faralda said non-practitioners weren’t allowed. The others had retired to quarters unseen, anyway.
Utilizing the falmer soul from the daedric heart gem, and other gems from his reserves, S’maash crafted some excellent equipment for close quarter combat. Fortification of two-handed wielding, coupled with improved light armor handling, made S’maath the most potent warrior his brother had seen. The elder elf was grateful.
“So, what’s next for my brother,” S’maath asked as they spoke inside the Hall of Countenance.
“We’re trying to find a dragon and discern how to filter its soul into the fragments of the Heart of Lorkhan. I have a special spell for the task, but am unclear as to where to locate a dragon.”
“A dragon,” S’maath laughed.
“I am serious.”
“I know…your colleagues are unhelpful?”
“Never. We should go join them, in fact.” They ventured into the Aracaeneum, where S’maash met with Tolfdir. Introductions were made. “My brother is willing to lend his expertise in fighting a dragon, should we locate one,” S’maash said.
“Excellent. Truthfully I worried about you fighting a dragon on your own. Any dragon currently alive would have to be most powerful, intelligent, and evasive, and I believe we may have located one.
“While you were gone, I spoke to Urag. He believes he may have found texts regarding a formerly hidden dragon cult, not unlike the cult prevailing during Alduin’s reign. If he is correct, they may be worshipping a dragon in their vicinity.”
“Where do I go?”
S’maath was somewhat surprised to see his brother as a seasoned warrior and traveler. He had expected a bookworm, but the expulsion had not been kind to the young elf.
“Sigrid’s Plunge. Allow me to mark it on your map. Tread carefully,” Tolfdir advised.
“Perhaps, Zolara would like to come along.” S’maash suggested.
“He spoke of returning to Mzulft for reagents. I believe he and Brelyna have already left,” Tolfdir said.
S’maash nodded. “Then it is you and I, brother.”
The dunmer started a long walk towards Windhelm. Traveling took many hours, but they welcomed the time together. S’maath spoke of his ascension through the ranks of the Reyda Tong, and S’maash spoke of the trials and tribulations he had faced as well as his meeting Azura.
“She must have been a sight to behold,” S’maath remarked.
“More than you can imagine. There are no words to describe such beauty, her beauty. The beauty of her realm, it was nearly intolerable,” S’maash replied.
Winds howled and snow pelted their backs as they traversed perilous mountains. Once the snow softened, the stone walls of Windhelm came into view. There was no way to enter the fortified town from the north, so they circled until reaching the stables. A cart was already available.
“Let us not waste time then,” S’maash said. He purchased their ride then instructed the driver. “We need to reach Sigrid’s Plunge, please.”
“Certainly. A perilous area, you know? Some say there are dragons still roosting at its peak,” the driver replied.
“Let us hope so. We are hungry for adventure,” S’maath answered.
“Must be fools or heroes,” the driver said.
The cart master took them almost halfway up the mountain, but then the road grew too steep. He informed them it was time to move on foot.
“Aye. Safe return to you, nord,” S’maath said.
Rested from their ride, the brothers started a journey towards the top of the mountain. The wind was not quite as bitter as they had anticipated. The time of day, nearly noon, also helped to provide some warmth. The regional stone was a pleasant gray with patches of snow all over. A few trees grew scattered. As they pressed on, the road wound one way then another.
S’maath threw a hand upon his brother’s shoulder. They both spotted a trip wire. In search for danger, they also noticed a figure on a rocky overhang. Someone was watching. The brothers looked at each other.
“Hail,” S’maash yelled out.
“I suggest you turn back, lest you feel the wrath of the Dovah Brod,” a gruff nord replied.
“Excuse us, we’re not here to fight men,” S’maath answered.
“So be it, dunmer. I warned you.”
The sound of boots running over stone came from between the mountain’s hidden crags. The dark e
lves prepared themselves for a battle. S’maash casted ebony flesh then summoned a flame atronach. His brother drew his glass, great sword, and an onslaught of large nords in strange robes came from above them. Most of them wore pale, green robes with dragon scales and bones secured to the material. Others wore steel plate and various pieces of armor.
The flame atronach was first to strike by way of flaming projectiles. The mountain path was narrow with one side blocked by stone and the other by a dangerous drop. With nowhere to run but forwards, the first of the Dovah Brod took fire bolts to the body. Flames assaulted his robes, yet his brethren were calloused and shoved him aside to move beyond; they advanced.
“You made a mistake coming here,” one nord yelled.
While S’maash and the atronach fired their magick, S’maath stepped firmly and swung his blade from side-to-side. The nords’ armored robes were no match for his newly enchanted equipment. Limbs and heads rolled effortlessly.
“This is something, brother,” S’maath exclaimed.
S’maash smiled to himself. It was not long before a steel plated nord hacked the atronach to fiery pieces with a large, orcish, battle axe. The nord warrior, a blonde haired beast, grinned widely before shouting.
“Fus, Roh Da!”
To S’maath’s surprise, the thu’um blew his brother away with a wavering blast of vocal potency. S’maash struck the mountainside like a ragdoll. With wide eyes, S’maath charged at the nord, sword point at the ready. In defense, the enemy knocked the blade away with the haft of his axe. He then butted the dunmer with his head, dealing no damage.
“Hah! Like the bite of a flea,” S’maath said.
He stepped in low and rose, gripping his sword firmly. The malachite blade slid into the man’s midsection with relative ease.
“You cannot win,” the enemy claimed.
While the nord writhed in agony, S’maash recovered. He saw more, green robed, dragon clan members approaching. Some fired arrows from a distance, but the wind made it difficult to aim. Others flung magick, but the spells had little effect. S’maash was very proud of his enchantments as he and his brother had an improved ability to resist magicka. The young dunmer drew sword and shield before joining his brother.
Standing together, the dark elves blocked the nords from gaining more ground. The Dovah Brod had been routed against the side of the cliff, both at their rear and their right. The only path left was a fall.
“Careful brother,” S’maash yelled as he kept his shield against the blade of a nord. “Another thu’um might send us below!”
“Aye, not if I reduce them to cabbage!” S’maath replied.
Glowing ice spikes sank deep into their armor and flames licked their noses, but the magickal damage was ineffective. The only danger came from the clan’s numbers. Four of them had fallen to blade and spell already, but more came rushing down from the paths above.
An arrow struck S’maash in the shoulder. He let out a cry of pain, yet remained resolved.
“Fight on, brother!” S’maath said, striking another to the ground.
Quickly, he stepped a foot forwards and slashed low. His opponent took blade to the knee. Before he hit the ground, the blade struck his head. S’maath pressed on, slid his blade into another, and lifted him clean off the ground.
“Death is highly overrated,” the nord yelled.
S’maash ducked beneath the swing of an oncoming axe, stepped left with shield raised to block another axe, and then bashed a nord wearing thick, steel armor. As the enemy recoiled, S’maash plunged his blade into the enemy’s throat. Blood poured from the mortal wound.
S’maash clenched his teeth, grunting, “S’wit!”
More arrows rained from above. The brothers had to dodge, block, and backpeddle. Small stones fell from the precarious path upon which they stood.
“Summon an atronach! I need to reach the archers,” S’maath ordered.
“Of course.”
With no time to waste, he dropped his shield in the snow and summoned. Once the demon spawned, he recovered his shield. The atronach provided long ranged castigation, and S’maath cut down a spell caster, who fell a long way towards the base of Sigrid’s Plunge. While in mid run, the fighter was vaulted up the stony path by a thu’um from his rear. Worried about his brother’s safety, S’maash charged up beyond a woman with two maces in her grip.
“I’ll have your head,” she yelled and gave chase.
Finding his brother already recovered and fighting enemies from the other end, S’maash engaged the mighty lass. She spat upon the ground before charging, long, red hair wavered in the breeze.
Though she was nearly completely covered in iron plating, she moved like lightning. The left mace came first. S’maash blocked it easily enough. The right mace came next, knocking his shield from his grip. With an icy spear launching from his left hand, and two quick slashes from his blade, he bested her; only a handful of archers remained.
“Damn you, dark elves,” an archer howled. “KrifAhrkDir take you!”
With no shield in hand, S’maash received a second arrow high on the left of his chest. “Brother,” he gasped.
The fighter heard his pleas, turned, and spotted the archer drawing another arrow. He charged at a full run, down hill, and crashed into the assailant. They tumbled off the cliff, twenty feet below. A metallic thud resounded with the impact of two bodies striking the rocks. S’maath writhed about for a second. A terrible pain was at his back, but the nord on his chest was motionless, and his brother easily slayed the remainder.
S’maash, with two arrows in his body, marched down to S’maath and pulled the deceased off him. The glass, great sword had pierced the enemy; a pool of blood collected in malachite grooves.
“A fine pair we make, eh,” S’maath smiled, panting.
His glass helmet slid off after the impact and his hair was a bloody mess. He rolled over to his knees and rested against the stone onto which he had fallen. S’maash knelt beside him and casted healing hands. Once the magickal, healing light helped S’maath to recover, he let his brother remove the arrows protruding from his body. Finally, the wizard healed himself.
“Now, all we must do is fight a dragon?” S’maath grinned, shaking his head.
“So it would seem.”
Chapter Twenty