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By sunrise the caravan was already on the move, using the cover of relative darkness to make for the mountain pass. If any man or mer knew the trail, there was no sign of its use in recent times as far as Sirroc could see. It was too much to hope for that a caravan of more than a dozen Khajiit and a pair of Lykaios would be overlooked by even the most inept Thalmor scout, so all they could do was hope that by the time the trail was picked up, they would all be long gone. It was fortunate that both Lykaios and Khajiit possessed natural night-sight, an advantage that the Thalmor did not share, giving them the opportunity to move quickly through the early hours of the morning.
By the time the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, Sirroc had come to miss the feeling of two bare bodies snuggled against him, and found himself appreciating having bought thick cloaks for himself and Lobo before they'd left Bruma, as the biting cold was more than even a Lykaios could handle comfortably. Cold winters were not unknown to them, but few tribes made camp near the Jerall Mountains, keeping far from the frozen north of Skyrim. He looked over to Lobo, the younger wolf riding in one of the wagons with his bow held ready, looking both cold and alert. Every so often he would look back with, as if anticipating something ill on their tail.
"Holding up alright?"
Sirroc nearly jumped at the sound of Sylas' voice, but managed a smile. "Just a bit chilly, even for me. You?"
"I'm sure we'll get used to the cold soon enough," Sylas reasoned. The brown-furred Khajiit was dressed warmly, looking more comfortable than the rest of the caravan, most of whom were rubbing and blowing into their paws to keep them warm. He held up a bottle of wine to the wolf. "But for now, take a swig. I'm told it can help keep us warm. Wouldn't want you to lose the use of one of your more valuable 'extremities,'" Sylas teased, leaning over and nuzzling the wolf. The affection put a genuine smile on Sirroc. "Jesting aside, you again have my thanks for agreeing to accompany us."
"We were glad to accept � in exchange for the company," Sirroc reminded him with a grin before taking a drink from the bottle. "As long as it doesn't disrupt the travel, and your partners don't mind it."
"I expect one or two might want to join, in fact. Ri'saad sees no harm in it, at least, and that's as good as permission for the rest of the caravan."
"Hmm... well, let's hold off until we're past the Jerall Mountains," the wolf advised. "I'm sure we'll all breathe easier once we're in Skyrim proper."
He spared another glance toward Lobo, his brow furrowing slightly as the younger wolf's eyes stared into the forests behind them. There was no look of unease or alarm on his features, but it was easy to see the sadness in his eyes. His paw seemed to tighten around his cloak and he pulled it in a little tighter before turning away.
"I expect any talented hunter would miss the forests they were raised in," Sylas said softly. It seemed he did not miss the young wolf's expression.
Sirroc nodded, holding back as sigh. "He's one of the best hunters in our tribe. I think he's worried we'll never see home again. It's a big change." He swallowed. "And he knows I can't honestly say we'll ever come back. I'd like to � I hope to. But I can't say we will."
"As it is for many of us," Sylas said solemnly, looking around at the rest of the caravan. "Ri'saad likes to talk about how rich this venture will be, but I think he simply wanted to leave the chaos of Elsweyr behind with those he loves and trusts. Honestly... I doubt any of us will be returning home anytime soon, either."
"I suppose you miss your home too, then," Sirroc guessed.
"Ha, not at all," Sylas chuckled. "I'm Cyrodiil-born and raised, Elsweyr always seemed too dry for me. And I don't miss home either, not with the Imperial politics, war and what-have-you. I wanted to come to Skyrim just to learn magic."
"What would prevent you from learning here, then?" Sirroc asked, curious.
"There are only two organizations that teach magic in Cyrodiil; the Synod and the College of Whispers," Sylas explained. "Both of them are always competing for favor from the Imperial Council. The College still practices necromancy, so I'd prefer to stay well away from them. The Synod might teach you a handful of spells if you join, but only after a few years of monthly payments and doing menial tasks. And both of them have contacts with the Aldmeri Dominion."
"Which you're avoiding," Sirroc noted, handing the bottle back to him. "Why were they looking for you?"
"Partly because I'm a Khajiit with an inclination towards magic, so that makes me valuable to them. Someone they can exploit and turn against my own people." He snorted derisively. "Seems they don't like being told to go to hell. The other reason..." He hesitated, then shook his head. "It's private, and I'm not really in any mood to discuss it."
"Then you don't need to," Sirroc said. "It's enough to know that you've no love for the Thalmor."
"You'll be hard-pressed to find a Khajiit that does," Sylas shrugged.
"I thought--" The wolf stopped short, deciding it best to choose his words carefully. "I know there's a rebellion in Elsweyr, you said as much about it last night. But the rest of the country � how did it come to be annexed?"
Sylas didn't speak for a moment, instead glancing at the rest of the caravan. Most weren't paying attention, but a few of the closer guards had dark looks on their face. Sylas slowed his pace a bit and Sirroc followed, falling behind a way until they were near Lobo.
"Have you heard of the Void Nights?" Sylas asked in a low voice.
Sirroc nodded. "Our shaman used to tell us stories about the Silent Sky, where no wolf howled at the moons because there were none to howl to. Two years time without Masser and Secunda, with most of Cyrodiil living in constant fear."
"Indeed," Sylas said, nodding. "And it was worse in Elsweyr."
"How so?"
"Last night, I told you that Khajiit take many shapes and sizes, based on the phases of the moon when a Khajiit is born." He looked directly into the wolf's eyes, a pained look in his face. "In those two years, we learned what happened when the moons are no longer there. The lucky ones were stillbirths. The unlucky ones... I wish not to speak of it."
"You... don't have to elaborate," Sirroc said quietly.
"For two years Elsweyr was in a state of chaos. Records are sparse about what happened, but in the middle of the chaos many politically-aligned Khajiit families were targeted and killed. Some were clearly the work of crazed Khajiit turning on them, but others might well have been the work of Thalmor assassins." He shook his head. "In any case, two years went by before the moons finally returned, as if they'd never been gone. The Thalmor claimed that they were responsible for bringing them back, using 'dawn magick' that they had then recently rediscovered."
"Sounds like a convenient excuse," Sirroc said, frowning.
"Doesn't it, though," Sylas agreed. "It didn't matter to our people back then. They were happy enough to have peace restored, and gladly accepted the Aldmeri Dominion taking over. But over time, people have started seeing through Thalmor lies."
"Can't trust a thing they say, not when they're as skilled with magic as they are."
"I guess that's another reason I want to study at the College of Winterhold," Sylas added. "Maybe I can discover if the Thalmor were simply making it up, taking credit for the return of the moons when they might've been aware they would eventually come back anyway. And even if they did use this new magic � which nobody has seen from them before and have yet to see it since they claimed it � who is to say they didn't remove the moons first?"
Sirroc looked up to Lobo, the younger wolf clearly having overheard the story. They spent a half-second trading concerned looks before Lobo spoke. "Do you think they could be that powerful? If so, wouldn't they have won the Great War?"
"That's the funny thing about effective magic, lad," Sylas said with a half-smile. "It's not always about the big spells. It's often more about small spells with large impacts � the difference between a greataxe cutting off a finger, and an arrow piercing a heart." He looked between them both. "Anyway, I meant to ask. What are your plans once you reach Skyrim?"
Sirroc hesitated, shrugging. "We don't really know. Maybe we'll take up some odd jobs as hunters, find a parcel of land to buy or a cave to live out of. After that, we'll just keep our heads down and try to live in peace."
"I wish we could hunt down the damn Thalmor," Lobo growled grumpily.
"If I knew you could get away with it, you know I'd let you," Sirroc said, reaching on and ruffling his ears. "But I promised to keep you safe, little brother. Not cloistered or on a leash, just out of harm's way until this foolish war is done with. I imagine we'll have plenty of work on our plates just finding a home."
"Hold here!"
The trio looked up, spotting Ri'saad at the front of the caravan holding a hand up high before looking back at them. He gestured to the two wolves to approach and Sirroc nodded. "We're up, little brother."
Lobo nodded, looking determined. "I'm ready."
Sylas led the two to the head of the caravan, where half of the Khajiit traders we gathered near the mouth of a cave, muttering worried tones in their native tongue. Ri'saad broke from the group. "This is the Serpent's Path we were told of. Imperial Legion are said to patrol along this path, but we've seen no sign of them so far."
"That might be normal this time of year," Sirroc reasoned. "I expect the pass will be blocked in a few weeks time, when the heavy snowfall hits."
"Perhaps, but that is not our immediate concern," Ri'saad continued gravely, beckoning them forward and pointing to the ground.
It was clear enough that even a fool with no sense of tracking would have seen it � a set of enormous footprints that sank an inch deep into the snow. Each print bore five toes, but at a foot across they were far too large to belong to any man or mer. A shiver tore through Sirroc's spine, his fur standing on end as he identified the prints in a space of a heartbeat.
"Ogres."
The Khajiit began to mutter again, sounding more agitated. Ri'saad sighed. "How fresh?"
Lobo knelt next to the print while Sirroc peered into the cave, breathing in carefully. There was a foulness in the air he rarely detected in such caves, as if something had died within and was succumbing to the ravages of rot. Lobo was the first to answer. "A day at least, given the snowfall. But there's only one track as far as I can see, so it's alone." He paused, frowning as he looked between the prints carefully. "It looks like it was carrying something heavy on its left side, but there's no way to tell what."
"Why does that matter?" Ri'saad asked curiously.
"It'd be good to know if they were carrying food or a heavy weapon," Sirroc pointed out. "Ogre's prefer meat, yet there's no blood trail here. Either it took some produce instead, or it came back empty-handed and hungry. I didn't see any farms along the way so that narrows things down." He stepped back and looked the cave entrance over, finding no other clues. "Is this really the only way to get to Pale Pass?"
"There may be a footpath miles east from here, but nothing wide enough for a caravan. Otherwise, we'd have to go around through Morrowind." Ri'saad shook his head. "This is the quickest way, and this is why you and the guards are here."
The two wolf brothers traded significant looks and nodded. "Then keep a hand on your weapons and be ready to run at the first sign of trouble. Lobo and I will lead the way." He turned to Sylas. "Keep the guards evenly spaced, and if they have spears then make sure they're armed with them. Best way to deal with an ogre is with a polearm and the good sense to run."
For the next few minutes the caravan began to organize their gear. Those carrying backpacks set them into the carts to keep light on their feet, while the guards passed out iron spears to anyone capable of fighting. While Sirroc helped with securing the goods, Lobo poured a flask onto a rag and started helping the guards by rubbing the concoction onto their spearheads.
"What's he up to?" Sylas asked, as they tied down one of the carts.
"He's lacing the spearheads with poison," Sirroc told him. "Bigger beasties like bears and sabercats don't handle certain poisons well, and ogres are susceptible to them. It's one of the ways we keep the roads clear of ogres for the rest of Cyrodiil."
Sylas laughed. "If I had any doubts you two wouldn't be up to the task, they're gone now. I'll stick with you both, if you don't mind."
It didn't take much longer for preparations to be completed. Once everything was secured and the wagon wheels were checked, the wolf brothers led the way in with a pair of torches, with Sylas the first to follow them with an orb of magic light hovering above his shoulder. The path was just wide enough for their carts to enter, a pair of guards following in the gap between each, but the footing was hard and uneven, enough that the wooden wheels made more noise than they had in the soft earth outside. It made Sirroc's ears flick nervously each time one of the carts jostled loudly after hitting a stone.
The smell in the air was somewhat stale, thought Sirroc felt he could pick out the scent of dried blood among the aroma of cold moss and fungi. Ahead he could barely pick up the soft echo of water dripping from the ceiling, though it was mostly drowned out by the carts behind them. It didn't help that the cave air felt as cold as the air outside, enough that the older wolf lowered his torch a bit to benefit from its warmth while he blew warm air into his free paw. The carts slowed and after a few paces Sirroc heard the trickle of water clearly. "Could be a small pond ahead," he guessed.
"We've refilled our skins already," Ri'saad muttered quietly. "And I've been told cave water should be avoided."
"It's not fit for you or I, but ogres drink from it just fine. Keep close and quiet as you can. If there are any ahead, we'll hear them before they can get to us."
It was difficult to judge distance and time with darkness and tension marring any sense to measure either, for even with their ability to see in the dark there was no good way to discern one rock from another. With none of the travelers being familiar with the cave they ran into many dead ends. Had it not been for Sylas' magic orb of light and the wolf brothers torches, Sirroc supposed they would have gotten lost quickly. It was only due to the trio scouting up front that prevented any large delays they would have otherwise suffered, had they needed to back up the caravan and find a new route. Still, as they traveled deeper the signs of habitation became clearer, with bones littering the floor, collecting in small piles against the wall. Most were deer or goats, easy to identify for the wolf brothers, but a growing sense of dread set in as they noticed the unmistakable skulls of human and elven victims.
The sound of water flow had faded out for a time, but eventually it returned, much clearer than it had been before. Only a dozen steps later the cave widened into a larger chamber such that their torchlight only illuminated the floor, though it was clear from the sound that there was a large body of water only a few meters ahead. It was here that Sylas stepped ahead, holding up the light orb that floated a mere inch over his palm. The orb shot upwards and ahead, it's glow and size increasing until it struck the ceiling of the chamber and cast it into a dim light. The path meandered through a pair of deep water pools, still wide enough to allow their carts to pass with relative safety, but the footing looked slick and the path angled at some points. It led to the other side of the chamber, or as much of it as Sylas' orb could illuminate, where the pools ceased against a stone platform that looked man-made.
Ri'saad had stopped behind them, checking the path with a frown. "This is not an issue I anticipated. We will have to be slow in crossing, perhaps only one at a time." He turned to their nearest guard. "Kharjo, let everyone know to keep their boots dry and their steps sure. Break out the ropes just to be safe." The guard nodded and hurried to tell the rest of the caravan while Ri'saad looked to the trio. "There's little that you can do here that we can't handle, but we need to know the path ahead of us is safe. Leave us marks to follow while you scout ahead, but if you sense any danger then return to us as soon as you can."
"We will," Sylas promised. "Don't start crossing until we're on the other side of the path. I'll re-cast my magelight so you'll have time to get across without planting torches."
"How long will we have?"
"I can cast it and leave it behind, it will linger for about thirty minutes."
Ri'saad nodded. "We should be able to cross within that time. Good luck and stay safe, young ones."
No sooner had Ri'saad turned around than Sirroc's ears twitched, as the whisper of a hint of sound tingled. His eyes flicked back towards the opposite shore where he felt he'd heard the sound of skin against stone, and his breath caught as he saw the ghostly image of movement in the pale, dim light. He started forward, hand going to the handle of his sword, but in the next instant the movement was gone. A shiver crept up his spine as he strained and concentrated, trying to focus on any sound; the surge in alarm seemed to have spiked his senses, honing them as if he were in the middle of a hunt. But seconds passed and he heard nothing else.
His reaction hadn't gone unnoticed. "Hey, are you alright?" Sylas asked, frowning.
"I thought..." He hesitated, then shook his head. "No, I'm fine. I thought I heard something ahead. But I may have imagined it."
"I doubt it," Lobo said uncertainly. "I didn't hear or see anything, but your hearing is too keen for you to make a mistake."
"I'm also under a bit of stress," Sirroc reasoned. "Come on, let's keep moving."
Sirroc took the lead with his torch held forward, Sylas and Lobo following and keeping a couple of meters of space between them as they carefully made their way across the curving path. There was barely a ripple on the surface of the underground pond, yet the surface of the stone was wet enough that some spots were slick. He could not imagine an ogre being agile enough to use the path for traversing the chamber, but without enough light it was impossible to say how deep the water was, or what lay beneath the surface. The only comfort came from neither hearing nor seeing anything within the pools. What little light could penetrate the surface did not reveal any silhouette of movement, beyond some barely visible ripples.
"The ogres might have eaten all the fish here, if there were ever any to begin with," he suggested.
"They might swim the pools instead of using the path," Sylas said. "It would explain why the stones here are a bit slick."
"Without the moons overhead, the tides of Nirn are low," Sirroc suggested. "It could be that instead. Either way, best to keep alert."
They reached the other side without incident, and by this point the caravan had started their crossing, using cords to keep themselves anchored to each other as they guided the carts over the slick path. Sylas raised his paw overhead and shot another orb of light at the ceiling, keeping the chamber lit while they worked their way across, before turning and rejoining the brothers. "That should keep long enough for them to get across, I hope. Should we wait, or scout ahead like Ri'saad asked?"
Sirroc mulled it over for a few moments, his thoughts on the sound he had heard. "We should take a look ahead," he finally decided. "I don't think the caravan will have too much trouble crossing the path, but it's what might be ahead that concerns me. Other than the print at the entrance and the bones scattered along the floor we haven't seen any sign of ogres." He paused. "I thought I saw movement here, but it didn't look like an ogre, either. It was short, almost man-sized."
"Goblins?" Lobo suggested. "They'd leave just as much mess in their holes, and they've been known to ally with some ogres."
"Whatever they are, we'll deal with them," Sylas said. "We're with you, Sirroc."
"One moment," Lobo said quickly, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a corked glass bottle. It's contents were pale white and luminescent, and as he dabbed some of the paste on his fingers they also glowed. He smeared a short line along the wall where it stuck and continued to glow. "I'll follow behind and leave a trail for the rest of the caravan, just in case we might get lost. It's glowfly larvae and glowing mushroom paste, and it'll linger for a few hours. No real medicinal benefits, but it's good for marking a path if you think you may lose your way."
They took just enough time to make sure the caravan was capable of crossing and informing them to wash away the marks Lobo left before they left to scout ahead, with Sirroc taking the lead once more. This time he had his blade in hand, moving slowly and remaining cautious of the shadows ahead. He was quickly grateful that his brother and friend possessed quiet footsteps, his ears ever alert for an unfamiliar sound of bare feet against the stone. Every few minutes the sound of a pebble or rock clattering against the floor echoed through the cavern, yet Sirroc could not tell if it had been a shift in the earth itself that dislodged it, or if some creature had disturbed it.
Before long a draft could be felt flowing from ahead, and with it he picked up the subtle smell of blood. It was unmistakable this time, easy to tell from the dust and fungus on the walls, and as they moved deeper into the cave the scent became stronger and fresher. He stopped, searching for any sign of blood on the floor or walls.
It was Sylas who broke the silence with a whisper. "That smell bodes ill. I see no sign of it, though."
Sirroc knelt and held the torch over the floor, his brow creasing slightly. On either side near the walls the stone was rough and dusty, with pebbles stuck in the crevices or shallow pits; yet the middle of the path was smooth, as if many feet over many years had worn the floor into a more traversable texture. "This is the right path. No way to tell how recently it was used, but the stone is clean even though the blood smells fresh." He looked up to Lobo, who was putting a fresh mark of glowing paint on the wall. "Think we should head back?"
"We're deep in as it is, and this is the path that will get us into Skyrim, if you're sure you're reading the trail right," Sylas said, glancing back. "We've spent too much time to backtrack now, and we risk the Thalmor catching up if we do."
"Then we press forward," Sirroc sighed, getting back up.
Just as he was about to start moving again a quiet hiss broke through the air, soft enough that Sirroc could not tell from where it came, yet clear enough that there was no mistaking it. He raised his torch, seeing part of the cavern ahead opening wider, and after giving his companions an uneasy glance he stepped forward, his blade held at the ready. The tunnel opened up into another chamber, much larger than the previous one and lacking the enormous pool, too large for their torchlight to illuminate. Even with their natural darkness-favored vision it was impossible to see more than a few meters, and so the trio stopped after a few feet.
"It's been about ten minutes since we left the others behind," Sylas pointed out. "I can't cast magelight here, or else the previous orb will vanish. Best not to leave them in the dark."
Sirroc nodded, checking the floor again. "I'm not keen on doing this... but we need to find the way forward from here. Spread out a bit and check for tunnels. Call out if you see anything, and keep your weapon in hand."
Lobo and Sylas nodded, going in opposite directions and leaving Sirroc to check the middle of the chamber. As before the floor seemed smooth in a straight line, trod upon by countless people in a time when the way through the mountains was known and there was need to pass through it. Some humanoid bones were littered in no real pattern along the floor, along with some strange teeth that he did not recognize, though none of them seemed fresh. It wasn't until his foot grazed upon a thin rod that he stopped in his tracks and backed up, crouching to see what he'd stepped on.
It was shattered arrow, or at least was appeared to be an arrow, as its construction was unlike any Sirroc had seen before. It was much lighter than any dart made by man, mer, or tribal, and the shaft itself was hollow, clearly not made from any kind of wood. He slid his finger along the shaft, his brow furrowing at how smooth it seemed, almost like chitin. The "arrowhead" itself was nothing short of bizarre, consisting of a narrow bulb with a pair of sharpened, pointed barbs. He brought his torch closer, noticing that the barbs themselves were hollowed out.
"Sirroc? I found something."
His ears perked up at his brother's voice and he made his way to the younger wolf. Almost immediately he could see what Lobo had found, standing above an enormous corpse. Though paler now than it would have been alive, there was no mistaking it's blue skin and huge musculature as anything other than an ogre. The body was pocked with several small holes, some of which were filled with arrows not unlike the one Sirroc was still holding. Lobo gave him a grave look and Sirroc could read it without a word, noticing what was wrong � the wounds were still fresh.
Sylas came jogging up from behind. "Dead?"
"Only a few hours," Lobo said, drawing one of the arrows out. "The body is still relatively warm, and the blood hasn't completely clotted. Something killed this beast."
Sirroc held up the arrow. "What do you make of it, little brother? I've never seen an arrow like this."
Lobo took it and looked it over for several seconds. "Very light. A calm breeze could throw this off course. And these barbs are hollow, probably for poison." He glanced back at the dead ogre. "It would take a full quiver of normal arrows to bring down these bastards, but I don't see any other kind of wounds. My guess is that whoever killed this one constructed their arrows to use poison. That'd be fine... except I have no idea that material this is." He raised an eyebrow. "Daedric, maybe?"
"No, it'd be heavier then," Sylas said. "Believe me, if you held a daedric weapon, you'd know it." He looked around, perking up as if noticing something. "Over there."
He nodded ahead at a crevice some few meters away, just large enough for two men to stand abreast. Lobo was the first to reach it, peering into the tunnel with a mix of mild interest and caution on his face. On the floor was a large amount of dirt and rocks, strewn about as if cast aside with haste, and an unmistakable streak of blood leading into the hole.
"The air smells foul that way," Lobo muttered. "And not just with blood. It's too fetid, like corpses and fungi are below. I don't think this is the way we need to go, it's a steep descent."
"The blood is also fresh," Sirroc noted. "I'd hazard a guess it was a goat or sheep. Whatever killed the ogre decided to make do with the livestock it brought." He frowned at the corpse. "Though they may come back later to take it piece by piece, if the meat strikes their fancy."
"Then we'd better hurry through here before they decide to come back," Sylas suggested. "I'm going to meet back up with the caravan to let them know what we've found, and help them along if they need it. Do you think you two will be fine here if I leave for a bit?"
"I think so," Sirroc said, nodding. "We'll wait by the mouth of his cavern, I'm pretty sure our path lies straight ahead."
It did not take long for the rest of the caravan to finally catch up with the brothers, but it certainly felt that way to Sirroc as they waited and watched the area. Perhaps once every few minutes his ear twitched, barely catching a distant sound that seemed to come from the hole leading deeper into the earth. At first it sounded like small rocks tumbling along a slope of soft dirt, and more to put his mind at ease he was close to asking his brother if they should perhaps scout ahead for a few minutes. But the more he heard it the more it seemed like clicking, as if a giant mudcrab were tapping its chitinous claws together, causing him to reconsider scouting ahead. The third time he heard it he nearly asked Lobo if he noticed it as well, but stopped short at the nervous look on his brother's face and realized there was no need.
When at last the caravan arrive with Sylas at the front, it came with a sense of relief to Sirroc, something that must have shown when Sylas gave him a concerned frown. "Are you okay?"
The wolf nodded. "Just anxious to be rid of this place," he sighed. "I can't help but feel there's something foul in that crevice. The sooner we leave, the better."
They continued without further discussion after that, Sirroc taking the lead once again and guiding them to the other end of the chamber. It took little time for them to find a path out, a wide crevice that allowed their carts to pass without issue, and to Sirroc's relief the flooring was much smoother and worn, as if part of an oft-used road from ages past.
Before much longer a slight breeze shifted through his fur, bringing with it the sting of cold, fresh air to his nose, yet for all the discomfort it brought it was like breaking the surface of a lake after being deprived too long of air. He breathed deep and rounded the corner, spotting natural light at the end of the tunnel. Upon reaching the end he stared outside into the open air, feeling the tension ebb away from his body. The sun was high overhead without a hint of cloud nearby, yet for all its intensity it could not displace the cold in the air nor the ice and snow on the ground. A light forest provided some shade and cover, and while much of the terrain was rocky there was a clear path they wove through the area. It was the subtle change in the air that brought the fresh surge of hope to Sirroc's chest, a scent that was unfamiliar to him; one that told him instinctively that he was no longer in Cyrodiil, yet one that seemed to speak of a promise of a new home. He took his first step out of the cave and into the new land, nearly swaying at the significance.
They were almost there.
For a few minutes more the caravan traveled through the path, spurred on by the success of having made it through the Serpent's Trail. Within that time they came upon the ruins of an ancient fort, which Sylas identified as Fort Pale Pass, and it was here that Ri'saad ordered the caravan to stop for a meal. The wolf brothers took a few minutes to check the area for habitation, but it quickly became clear that nobody had used the path for a long time. Little more than animal tracks marked the surrounding woods.
"I'm not surprised," Sylas told them when they finally rejoined and sat by the fire. "This fort stopped seeing use during the First Era, and this pass is rarely traveled. That might change in the future, though."
"Why do you think that?" Ri'saad asked, passing out dried rations.
"One way or another, war will come to Skyrim," he answered. "And this pass is the easiest way into Skyrim that isn't by boat. But at least that holds true for us, as well."
Ma'dran nodded, smiling. "Then perhaps this would be a good time to discuss how to seek more good fortune when we finally reach Skyrim." The caravan drew in close. "I've decided to keep our caravans divided into three, as I suggested when we first started this venture. We will put our focus into the five major holds of Skyrim � Windhelm, Whiterun, Solitude, Markarth, and Riften � while using the major roads to conduct trade with other traveling merchants. Should it become necessary, I've alotted gold into each group so that they may hire extra security, though I caution to only hire those who can be trusted."
He gestured to the other two caravan leaders while the rest ate and listened. "Ma'dran will run the route between Windhelm and Solitude, as much to make a profit as to gain information on the unrest in the region. He will send us messages if anything should come up." He gestured to the female khajiit. "Ahkari will travel between Riften and Dawnstar with Kharjo. They are said to be unsafe roads, so I am hoping Ahkari's knowledge of bandits will mesh well with Kharjo's fighting skill. If possible, she will get into contact with the Thieve's Guild in Riften and hopefully establish some means of smuggling our goods into the country." He paused, glancing at the wolves' direction.
Sirroc smiled. "Don't worry, we don't care. It's just... business."
That seemed enough of an answer to please Ri'saad and he continued. "I will run a route from Whiterun and Markarth, said to be where most trade and silver flows. If the business there seems to favor us, we may possibly be able to conduct trade with moonsugar and skooma � but not a moment before I give you all leave to do so, am I understood?" The caravan nodded and murmured in agreement. He looked to Sylas and the brothers. "As for our companions, I'm interested in hearing your opinions and destinations. Perhaps we may help you in some way."
"I'm sticking with what I decided," Sylas said with a resolute look. "The College of Winterhold is where I'm headed. If it so happens that my studies will give me opportunities to help you all out, however, I will lend my studies to you as a way of repayment."
"My brother and I will do our own traveling," Sirroc said, nodding to Lobo. "Both to stay ahead of the Thalmor and to search for a new home. It would be safer for all of us, I think."
"That may be," Ma'dran said, "but I believe you may count on us if you should require our help."
Ri'saad nodded. "Agreed. We are not to speak of the wolves presence in our caravan, though we may say that we've seen them once on the roads to allay suspicion. It would be better if we stayed well-away from the Thalmor altogether, so mind the roads as you travel." He looked back to Sirroc. "How much farther is it to Skyrim?"
"One of the guards told us it would be three days travel to the border, but I think we've made good time. We may get there by tomorrow evening if we decide to camp here," he guessed, watching as Lobo got up from his seat. "We can scout the area tonight before we turn in. Might be a good idea, we were told there'd be ogres in the pass, but we've only come across one corpse. What do you think, Lobo?"
He turned to the younger wolf, his next words trailing off as he watched Lobo scan the cliffs and mountain above them. There was a look of tension and unease in his eyes, and when his hands moved to his bow it was slowly, as if he were trying to stalk a deer. He nearly asked what was troubling him, until his ears caught the clatter of small, falling stones from overhead.
"Above," he said in a whisper. "We're not alone here."
The rest of the caravan went quiet, but Sirroc looked between them, trying to keep the noise up. "Well, no need to worry, we can do that later." He nodded to Ri'saad. "I'll give us the word as to when to move."
"Ah... er, yes!" the elder khajiit managed to say, clearing his throat and acting as if nothing as amiss. "We'll divide up the merchandise when we reach the border, so--"
The older wolf leaned in, certain now that at least Ri'saad was keeping up appearances to decieve whatever stalkers were nearby. "Easy now, little brother. How many, and where?"
Lobo turned away from the cliff, muttering in a low voice. "At least three, but there are definitely more. They weren't Thalmor. They almost looked like goblins, except... paler. At least I think so. I didn't get a good look at them."
Sirroc glanced up the cliff, frowning at the steep face. "There's no way a man or mer could scale those cliffs, not without special equipment."
"If they didn't, then they may have found a higher path," Lobo reasoned. "Either way, they have the advantage above us."
For a few moments the older wolf considered their options. "If they had more, they would have attacked us by now in an ambush. We're distracted, far from any cities, but we're also well-equipped. Whoever is up there, they don't want to tip their hand." He looked over the caravan, which seemed to be rested enough and close to finishing their quick meal � Ri'saad was speaking to them in their native tongue. "I don't like leaving a warm fire behind, but we might have to snack and run until we've reached a place where they don't have the high ground."
He stood and caught Ri'saad's eye, keeping his voice confident as he spoke to the khajiit. "I think we're good to keep going. We'll want to reach better terrain before we set camp, somewhere more open and away from the cliffs. Anything to keep us ahead of our high, elf friends." He flicked his eyes upward.
The merchant leader nodded and winked. "As you say. Douse the fire and let's continue, everybody."
They broke immediately, a pair of khajiit dousing the fire and stirring the ashes wet while everyone else checked the carts and equipment. Lobo took a few moments to lean in close to Ri'saad, relaying what he had seen while Sirroc took Sylas aside. "Lobo thinks he saw movement up on the cliffs," he muttered quietly. "Best to keep moving."
"Thalmor?" the khajiit pressed.
Sirroc shook his head. "Something else. He might have seen what I thought I saw earlier in the caves. I can cover the rear if you and Lobo take the lead."
Sylas nodded. "It might be-- look out!"
Sirroc had heard it happening behind him, a crackle in the air that did not sound like snow crunching beneath feet or a branch breaking under the weight of snow, yet had no time to react to it as Sylas pushed him aside and raised his hand. A brief ripple of magic appeared at his palm, shimmering for half a second before a bolt of flame struck against it. The shimmer shattered loudly if a stone had been tossed through a thin pane of glass and the flame-bolt flickered away, though Sylas drew his paw back with a pained hiss and dropped to one knee. The palm of his glove was singed and smoking, with slightly burned skin beneath it.
"Hold it right there!" a voice shouted.
Sirroc drew his sword and stepped in front of Sylas as all eyes turned to the source of the commotion; a lone, tall, hooded figure in robes of black trimmed with gold, a rapier in his right hand while a readied firebolt blazed in his left. His features were grim and pointed, yet the shade of his hood could not hide his pale yellow complexion and strands of white hair. The Thalmor inquisitor bore a sneer on his face as he locked eyes with the wolf, raising his rapier and pointing it directly at him. Behind Sirroc the caravan had gone deathly quiet, and there was no doubt in his mind they were just as alarmed by the inquisitor's sudden appearance.
"You and your kin are under arrest, dog!"
A thousand feelings prickled at Sirroc all at once � fear for his brother and allies; wonder for having been tracked so quickly despite traversing the Serpent's Path; anger from the memories of fire and blood, of death at the hands of the Thalmor. An urge to seek vengeance welled up within him and he bit back a growl, keeping his sword at the ready. "On what charge, elf?! On whose authority?!"
"Under authority of the Aldmeri Dominion! Our laws are to be obeyed, not questioned � and animals are to obey their masters!" he spat. "Should the caravan fail to comply I will have every last one of you hairballs immolated! Turn in the Lykaios now, and you will be treated with leniency!"
Sirroc took a step forward, raising his sword with every intention of meeting him in battle, but Sylas' paw grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. "Don't do it!" he hissed as quietly as he could. "Look behind him, in the snow."
The wolf frowned in confusion, turning back to the inquisitor and seeing nothing at first. Just as he was about to tear away from Sylas and charge the Thalmor, he spotted what the khajiit had seen before he had. Some several feet behind the inquisitor were foot-sized divots in the snow standing side-by-side in two lines. His eyes narrowed and he took a step back, understanding the situation better � the inquisitor had not come alone, nor unprepared. Whatever was concealing the rest was doing it well enough that only their footprints were giving them away. He stepped back, helping Sylas up while keeping his eyes fixed on the inquisitor and the snow around him, alert for any noises nearby � it was too risky to assume that they weren't surrounded.
It was this pause on the wolf's part that gave Ri'saad a moment to step forward with a well-armored khajiit by his side. "These wolves are our guides, honored inquisitor," he said politely, bowing low. "They have been with us for several weeks since we left southern Cyrodiil, and have broken no laws that we know of. We are simple merchants trying to find business in Skyrim."
"I've given you no leave to speak, cat!" the inquisitor snapped at him. "You risk execution for harboring criminals and fugitives in your caravan, so stay your tongue if you value your life! As for you," he continued, jabbing his rapier toward the wolf, "we know you were involved in the murder of several Thalmor agents as they were conducting business!"
"By 'conducting business' you mean 'committing genocide' against my people!" Sirroc snarled back. "Innocent tribes who had no quarrel with the Aldmeri Dominion!"
"So you admit it!"
"Well that doesn't really matter, does it?" he growled. "You have no intention of letting me live, much less letting me go. So instead of wasting our time and words, why don't you reveal yourselves and get this the hell over with? It's another three days to Skyrim and you're burning daylight."
Sylas' squeezed his wrist, speaking into his ear. "Don't do this, love. Please."
"They're going to keep chasing us until we're all dead," he muttered back. "We need a way to throw them off our trail."
"Come with me, mutt, and I'll ensure your caravan friends make it to Skyrim � once they've been fined for the illegal contraband they're no doubt carrying," the high elf added with a smirk. "Refuse, and I will execute every last one of them."
Sirroc had to bite back a curse, realizing the precarious situation they were in. It was possible the khajiit could outrun the Thalmor, but not while laden with merchandise and well-armed as they were, and not in a way that the Thalmor couldn't close the distance with magic. He was in no way convinced that the Thalmor would be true to their word in leaving the caravan alone. Charging into battle without knowing their true numbers would be suicidal, even if he could cut down the inquisitor before they revealed themselves. None of these elements factored in the movement in the cliffs overhead.
His chest flared with a mix of alarm and hope, having nearly forgotten the figures he and Lobo had seen. Much as he desired against looking away from the Thalmor, his eyes flicked upwards to the cliffs, spotting a pebble as it fell into the snow some several feet away. His gaze reached the edge of the rocks and he saw the movement once again, a pale humanoid figure that ducked behind the stones again. A mad idea borne of desperation flickered in his mind and he made his move, turning and shouting up at it.
"What are you all waiting for?!" he snarled. "Open fire!"
The inquisitor's face shifted into one of shock and alarm as he followed the wolf's gaze to the cliffs, seemingly spotting the figure as well. "Wha-- on the cliffs, shoot them down!" he shrieked, launching his firebolt at the rock's edge. The bolt disappeared behind them, followed by a burst of noise and a scream of pain. A second later a body fell from the cliffs and landed spread-eagle on the rocks below with a horrible crunch, a splatter of gore and blood spilling over the stones and painting the snow crimson.
Sirroc stared at the body for what seemed like a minute, taking in every detail of the horror he was processing. It was short, perhaps shorter than a wood elf, and humanoid in shape, but the similarity to any man or mer ended there. It's skin was pale and wrinkled, stretched over wiry muscle and sinew, without a hint of hair. It wore rags, a loincloth, some meager threads of leather binding that held small belts or else strapped chitinous leg-guards along its shins. It's face was the worst, noseless and bearing two long nostrils above a cruel, downturned mouth � and where its eyes must have been were only fused eyelids, framed against a vicious brow, beneath a bald head.
That one second was stretched into dozens, yet reality came back to him once that moment ended, to the sound of several howls and shrieks above them. A dozen more such creatures rushed to the cliffs, half of them scaling down the rocks like spiders on a wall and drew swords and picks that looked less like weapons and more like legs pulled from an enormous insect. Meanwhile the other half nocked their thick, chitinous bows and fired black arrows at all opposing sides, their darts whistling through the air and piercing the snow or bouncing off rocks.
The inquisitor took one such dart to the leg and all hell broke loose, as no fewer than a dozen Thalmor soldiers broke their spell of invisibility and began to return fire with bows or magic, while a few charged at Sirroc and Sylas. Behind him, the caravan had started to panic and run, the leaders crying out in dismay, though the wolf could clearly hear Ri'saad snarl some order to one of the guards. One of the Thalmor soldiers closed the gap and slashed at Sirroc, the wolf catching his blade in a block. Before either could beak away Sylas dipped in and slammed his palm into the Thalmor's side, causing a burst of fire to flare between his paw and the armor. The soldier screamed and fell over, clutching the melted metal in his side as he writhed around.
"No time, we need to go!" Sylas shouted, grabbing Sirroc's arm. The pair sprinted uphill towards the caravan as fast as their legs could carry them while arrows landed around them, sinking into the snow or lodging into the trunks of nearby trees. He ducked as one arrow whistled past his ear, but turned briefly at the sound of a sharp cry, just in time to see another soldier fall to the ground. It was then he spotted Lobo at the top of a hill with another khajiit guard by his side, both of them nocking arrows as they reached them.
"The caravan's on the move!" the younger wolf told them, firing one more time. "Ri'saad told Kharjo to help us keep them off their backs!"
"The Thalmor are bad enough, but what are these beasts?!" Kharjo growled, letting an arrow fly.
"Better to run and wonder than stay and die finding out," Sirroc suggested, spotting several more of the creatures appearing on the cliffs. "Come on, they're bringing more to the fight! Let the Thalmor deal with them!"
But even as they started to make a hasty retreat it quickly became clear that the elves had not forgotten about the caravan; nor were the newcomers going to ignore them. Two more soldiers broke off from the main group to pursue, slinging firebolts at the quartet as they backed away; Sylas returned fire expertly, forming a buffer with a ward spell while Lobo kept them pinned down. Ahead, some of the creatures attempted to block the path and swarm them, only for Kharjo to draw a mace from his belt and smash in one of their skulls, scattering them away. Sirroc joined him a second later, parrying a blow and carving his blade through their chest, leaping over the corpse and impaling another. It was enough to put space between themselves and the grotesque, eyeless beasts, but not enough to dissuade them completely, as they formed a loose, cruse circle around them. They took turns in attacking, darting in to jab and cut at the group and backpedaling each time Sirroc or Kharjo attempted to retaliate. All the while they hissed and snarled at the quartet in a guttural tongue Sirroc had never heard before, though the malice behind it was unmistakable.
Two of them pressed in to attack and Sirroc's blade swept to the side, catching one of them just under its ribs, but the moment left him just vulnerable enough for the second creature to land a shallow cut across his left arm. He cried out and kicked the beast away, drawing his sword back and preparing for the next one to move in, yet before he could take a step back a weight seemed to slow his feet and deaden his arm, though he felt a sharp burning sensation in his injury. With a groan he staggered back and parried another attacker, but tripped and landed on his back, his blade falling from his paw.
A chill that had nothing to do with the snow in his fur settled in, and when he heard his brother's cry of despair it sounded muffled, as if he were buried in the earth. A figure stooped over him, bringing its face close to his, and Sirroc shuddered at the sight, getting a clear look at its grotesque features, its hollowed out eyelids that looked warped and burned, and its drooling, sneering mouth. The beast raised his knife high, ready to plunge it into his heart, until a gout of flames engulfed its face and sent it away with a scream. Sirroc struggled to move, his limbs feeling as if tied to boulders, but a pair of hands slipped under his arms and began to drag him up the hill.
He heard the rest of them shouting, Sylas' voice coming the clearest. "What's wrong with him?!"
"They paralyzed him!" Lobo shouted back. "Keep them back, I can tend to him!"
"We've no time!" Kharjo snarled, sounding as if he were holding back the rest of the creatures by himself.
"I'm not leaving him behind!" the younger man snarled back at him. Sirroc tried to roll his head around to look, spotting the melee; Kharjo had brought out his shield and was swinging at any of the beasts that approached, while Sylas sprayed flames from his palm, creating space and scorching any that got too near. Above him, Lobo was digging into his satchel, pulling out a thick oil and wincing. "Imp gall... I'm sorry about this," he whined, opening the older wolf's muzzle and pouring the oil down his throat.
The taste was nothing short of foul, a bitter ooze that felt as if the depths of his stomach had vomited gall of its own and was burning through his tongue, throat, and chest. His eyes went wide and he coughed, jerking upright as he nearly spat the vile oil out, but it was too late � he'd swallowed enough of it that its effect was immediate, reinvigorating his limbs and making his body feel as if his blood were on fire. The urge to vomit caused his midsection to seize up for a second before it relaxed, leaving the sensation of exhaustion in his muscles. Lobo got to his side, about to help him up, but just as Sirroc took his paw he noticed another eyeless beast charging in.
Without a moment to think about it he grabbed his knife and flung it at its head, landing the blade right where its left eye would have been and sending it flailing and screaming into the snow.
"Gotcha, little brother," Sirroc groaned as he got back to his feet. "My sword, where--"
"No time for it!" Lobo told him, pulling him back and giving him his own hunting knife. "Those things are bringing more, we have to move!"
The creatures were quickly outnumbering both the caravan and the Thalmor, but the caravan seemed to have suffered no casualties; and while most of the focus was on the inquisitors, they had shifted off the back foot and were hacking their way through the swarm, though only half their number remained. The sounds of screams and magical explosions echoed against the stone walls and snowy slopes of the mountains, now mixed with a low howl from the wind blowing through the range. Now Lobo and Sylas were taking the rear, lining up shots on any creature that dared come close, though Sirroc noticed Lobo's quiver was nearly spent, and the khajiit looked as if he were swaying with each step. Ahead, Kharjo was knocking around any beast that dove in with the same vigor he had started with, yet the constant puffs of frost and heavy breathing were enough to tell the wolf he was struggling to push ahead. Sirroc helped where he could, following up each staggered attacker by sinking his borrowed knife into the neck or beneath their ribs, yet the stiffness brought on by the poison was still present, and the exhaustion still lingered.
"Ahead!" Kharjo called out, pointing to the caravan. "They've found the path!" A tall, wide stone arch led into a wider valley, sheltered by the stone face of the mountain. The caravan had made some decent distance ahead, enough that the eyeless ones had given up pursuit; or perhaps even without eyes they could feel the sun, if their snarling and hiding of their faces were hints enough. Yet it also meant those that had pulled back were now heading towards the four of them, ready to jump into the fray. Despite his legs screaming for rest, Sirroc pushed on, pouring what strength he had left into escape.
An explosion behind them sent Lobo and Sylas flying, mixed in with the same sharp shattering sound the khjajiit's ward had made when it broke. Sirroc whipped around, spotting both of them with minor burns and cuts, but before he could reach them the Thalmor inquisitor and what remained of his men broke through the line of eyeless skirmishers, another fireball rolling in the inquisitor's palm as he aimed at the two stunned men. Sirroc growled and pushed his body hard, ignoring the agony in his limbs and lunging at the inquisitor with a tackle, the fireball flicking into nothing. Before he could bring his knife up to sink into the elf's chest the inquisitor kicked him back and jumped back up to his feet, drawing his rapier and jabbing the point into the wolf's upper arm. Sirroc cried out in pain, the knife falling out of his hand, but backpedaled enough to avoid the follow-up cut. Unarmed and vulnerable he looked around quickly for anything he could use to defend himself, spotting one of the smooth, hollowed-out arrows the eyeless ones had been using. With barely a moment to consider his options he snatched up the dart and rushed the inquisitor, grabbing his thin blade with one paw and bringing the arrow down, aiming for his head.
It was only the elf's reflexes that saved him, as he relinquished the rapier and grabbed the wolf's wrist, the arrowhead slicing a shallow cut across his cheek. He left out a snarl or rage and brought his free fist around, catching Sirroc right in the jaw, the wolf letting out a yelp and a whine as he fell into the snow. He rolled onto his back with a tired groan, his eyes wide as the inquisitor formed another fireball in his hand, aiming it directly at the wolf and preparing to unleash it.
Only to sway backwards.
There was a look of shock and hatred on the elf's face, a desperate struggle to master his own paralyzed body as he swayed backwards, trying to release the fireball while it was still aimed at the prone wolf. All he could do was let out a muffled gurgle of rage as he released the spell, but by then he was falling, his arm aimed up at the snowdrifts at the side of the mountain. The spell sailed through the air some few hundred feet or so, before colliding against the side of the mountain and exploding.
Almost at once, the eyeless ones went completely silent, turning their heads to where the fireball had landed. Seconds later they began to shriek in unmistakable tones of fear, breaking off from the fight and retreating to whatever nearby holes they had sprang from. The Thalmor soldiers seemed surprised by the sudden withdrawal, but by the time they realized what was going on, Sirroc was back on his feet and running as fast as he could back to Lobo and Sylas. The younger wolf seemed mostly fine bar a bit of burn fur, but Sylas had clearly taken the worst of the attack, his arms looking singed and his nose bleeding. His little brother was first on his feet, shaking snow out of his fur as Kharjo helped him up.
"What-- where did they--"
"No time!" Sirroc barked, helping Sylas back on to his feet. "We have to run!"
He'd only seen an avalanche once in his life, when he was a pup, but it was the memory of the sound that haunted him more than the sight. He didn't have to witness the droves of snowdrifts rushing down the slopes � the eerie sound of hissing and crackling, and a horrible rumble that seemed to emanate from mountain itself, as if it had become hungry and had unleashed destruction to consume those that had caused it. Lobo didn't seem to care enough to watch and witness it happen, for it was all too apparent that they were in its path, and without a word of argument he started racing towards the caravan, while Kharjo got to Sylas' other side and helped carry the injured feline. Though his arms and legs burned with pain at the exertion they suffered, Sirroc forced the pain into the back of his head, carried forward by adrenaline and survival instinct. Ahead, hidden behind the arch and safe from the cascading snowdrifts, the caravan were shouting at them to hurry.
Thirty feet left � the rumble built in volume, such that Sirroc was certain it should have swept over them by now, or would at any second. Twenty feet � the first ball of snow hit his face and he understood how little time they had left, and with a howl he lunged forward with Kharjo and Sylas. Fifteen feet � his right leg nearly gave way, stumbling him for a half-second, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might burst from his chest or crush itself in the attempt. Now he could sense the motion of death in the corner of his eye, ready to drown him in ice.
Ten feet. Lobo had made it. It was just the three of them left.
"Jump!" Ri'saad roared.
He bent his legs and sprang forward with Kharjo, the trio sprawling on the ground just behind the arch. He rolled onto his back and a pair of strong paws grabbed his shoulders, dragging him as he watched the tide of icy white crash past them. The very ground trembling as it continued to race down the slope like a shattered dam unleashing its reservoir. He gasped for air, writhing in the grip of his caravan companions until Ri'saad stood before him, grabbing his arms.
"Peace, Sirroc!" he hissed, his eyes fearful and compassionate. "Peace! You're safe now! You must be still!"
"Deep breath, Sirroc!" Lobo said, appearing beside him. "I'm here! Sylas and Kharjo are here!"
The sight of his younger brother was like a salve on frayed nerves, a shudder passing through his body as he eased into a pained sigh and ceased moving. The paws holding him in place relaxed and lifted him upright, while one offered a flask to his lips. He leaned his head back slowly, whining softly as a sweet elixir slipped into his muzzle and trickled down his throat. The burning in his chest and limbs cooled down until there was a glow of warmth, the pain and strength in his arms and legs fading away.
"Much better," one of the khajiit sighed. "Whatever hurt you have taken, this potion will heal."
"Their weapons paralyzed him," Lobo said. "I didn't anticipate this, so I had to give him raw imp gall. I'm sorry, Sirroc."
But the older wolf shook his head, giving him a proud smile. "No apologies, pup. I'd be dead if you hadn't acted quickly. You did great." He tried to turn in place, groaning as he struggled to lift even an arm. "Sylas, though... is he...?"
"I'm... I'm here," the khajiit said in a weak voice, and though he could not see the feline, the feeling of his trembling paw in his own was enough to calm his fears. "Sorry, I took a hit I wasn't prepared for. That... inquisitor... was more skilled than I figured."
"Will you be alright?"
"He'll be fine," Ri'saad assured him, squeezing his shoulder. "I've no qualms offering our own stock just to see him recover. He'll be healed by tonight." He stood and nodded to the other khajiit. "Form a nest in one of the carts so he may rest while he heals; put the extra stock on another cart. I'm afraid we can't offer you the same comfort, friend Sirroc, but we will make camp as soon as we find cover."
"I can get him up if you give me a few minutes and some garlic," Lobo said, smiling down at him. "I've a classic potion recipe get you stamina back."
"Take what time you need, lad," Ri'saad said, nodding and looking out at the shifting snowdrifts. "We could all use some time to rest."
The caravan settled into mutters and sighs of relief as they chat, while Lobo worked his skill in alchemy towards a restorative potion. It gave the others enough time to set Sirroc against the wall, allowing him to watch as they lifted Sylas onto one of the carts. The khajiit managed a smile, wincing slightly as he waved; a wince Sirroc shared when he waved back. By the time Lobo finished and poured his concoction into a vial, the avalanche had slowed to a mere trickle of ice and powder.
"This'll taste better than imp gall, I put a bit of mint to help," the younger wolf told him.
Sirroc nodded, bringing it to his lips. The moment it touched his tongue he coughed, looking up at him with an arched eyebrow. "This is... have I had this stamina potion before?" The wolf looked away and gave no answer, and he grinned. "I have. You almost regretted giving it to me that night," he teased, before gulping it down.
"No I didn't!" he blurted out, before he flinched and cleared his throat, a bright flush appearing on his cheeks. "I... was hoping you wouldn't notice," he admitted, as several nearby khajiit chuckled.
"Well, be prepared to make a few more," he groaned, slowly getting to his feet. There was a pleasant stirring in his limbs and lungs, a lightness in his movement that was a sharp and delightful contrast to the weight and pain they'd suffered only minutes earlier. "We may need them to keep ahead of the Thalmor."
"I don't think we shall need to worry overmuch about them," Ri'saad said, gesturing to the settling snowdrifts. The path they had used was now buried beneath perhaps a dozen feet of dirt and ice, and the top of the nearby fort tower barely peeked from above it. "Even if they could traverse it, it would take days to forge a path through the ice. For now, let us continue the journey � we will make camp when we have found shelter from the cold."
He signaled to the rest of the caravaneers and they dispersed, rousing the pack mules and guiding the carts through the archway. The wolf brothers followed, though Lobo watched Sirroc carefully for a few moments. "Are you sure you're okay to walk?"
Sirroc nodded. "I'll be fine for a a few hours, thanks to you. I'll cover the rear and keep an eye on Sylas." He nodded to the injured khajiit, who smiled and nodded back. "Help out Ri'saad and the others for now, they need a healthy scout."
"If you're sure, then alright," Lobo said.
"Don't worry about the path behind," Sirroc said, glancing back at the ruined path. "Terrible as that fight was, I doubt the Thalmor will be able to follow our trail now."
"How long, Agent?"
The younger high-elf aide peered at the corpse. "... No more than a day."
Thramire looked up at the mountain, spotting the edges of what might have been cliffs nearby. Ahead, the very top of Fort Pale Pass was barely visible. But if there had been a path before, there was no way to tell where it was now. The scouts had been fortunate enough to come across a few of the bodies of the inquisitor's squad as they traversed the caves, dug out by the wretched falmer and carried nearly halfway to their emergence hole before the justiciar's men cut them down. A brief show of the superior might of high-elf magic and dueling was enough to send the rest of the foul hive running back into the depths of Tyria, giving Thramire and his aide enough time to investigate the bodies. One of them had been nearly dug halfway out before being abandoned, but while the first two bore cuts and arrows matching those of the falmer's chitinous weapons, the most recent find had a more traditional arrow stuck in her throat.
The aide drew the arrow out, peering at it. "We'll need better light to identify it. Clearly not falmer-make, of course."
"Lykaios?"
"Maybe," she said with some uncertainty. "But it could also be khajiit."
"Perhaps," Thramire muttered, rubbing his pointed chin. "Khajiit are excellent scouts, but they are unused to the northern parts of Tamriel. They may have needed guides." The agent nodded, saying nothing, yet he saw her silence as a moment of discontent. "Speak freely, Lyris."
The agent stood and regarded the corpse with some interest for a moment longer. "Assuming that there are lykaios ahead, and that they are in league with a khajiit caravan, what does it matter if they are not even the ones spoken of in the prophecy? It could be any one of the dogs, yet we're reaching out blindly for every one that we can. And now we have no clear way forward." She gazed directly at him, a slight furrow in her brow. "So who are we really hunting?"
"Only those going to Skyrim," the justiciar countered. "It is there they might learn to howl. But I will concede that without more knowledge and a path to follow our current quarry, we will need to withdraw." He gestured to the aftermath of the avalanche. "It may be they were consumed by the mountain as well; or they may be in Skyrim already. But either way, we must travel there ourselves and begin a new hunt."
She nodded. "What are my orders, sir?"
He turned away, walking back into the cave. "Tell the men to withdraw to the embassy. And contact First Emissary Elenwen."
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By sunrise the caravan was already on the move, using the cover of relative darkness to make for the mountain pass. If any man or mer knew the trail, there was no sign of its use in recent times as far as Sirroc could see. It was too much to hope for that a caravan of more than a dozen Khajiit and a pair of Lykaios would be overlooked by even the most inept Thalmor scout, so all they could do was hope that by the time the trail was picked up, they would all be long gone. It was fortunate that both Lykaios and Khajiit possessed natural night-sight, an advantage that the Thalmor did not share, giving them the opportunity to move quickly through the early hours of the morning.
By the time the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, Sirroc had come to miss the feeling of two bare bodies snuggled against him, and found himself appreciating having bought thick cloaks for himself and Lobo before they'd left Bruma, as the biting cold was more than even a Lykaios could handle comfortably. Cold winters were not unknown to them, but few tribes made camp near the Jerall Mountains, keeping far from the frozen north of Skyrim. He looked over to Lobo, the younger wolf riding in one of the wagons with his bow held ready, looking both cold and alert. Every so often he would look back with, as if anticipating something ill on their tail.
"Holding up alright?"
Sirroc nearly jumped at the sound of Sylas' voice, but managed a smile. "Just a bit chilly, even for me. You?"
"I'm sure we'll get used to the cold soon enough," Sylas reasoned. The brown-furred Khajiit was dressed warmly, looking more comfortable than the rest of the caravan, most of whom were rubbing and blowing into their paws to keep them warm. He held up a bottle of wine to the wolf. "But for now, take a swig. I'm told it can help keep us warm. Wouldn't want you to lose the use of one of your more valuable 'extremities,'" Sylas teased, leaning over and nuzzling the wolf. The affection put a genuine smile on Sirroc. "Jesting aside, you again have my thanks for agreeing to accompany us."
"We were glad to accept � in exchange for the company," Sirroc reminded him with a grin before taking a drink from the bottle. "As long as it doesn't disrupt the travel, and your partners don't mind it."
"I expect one or two might want to join, in fact. Ri'saad sees no harm in it, at least, and that's as good as permission for the rest of the caravan."
"Hmm... well, let's hold off until we're past the Jerall Mountains," the wolf advised. "I'm sure we'll all breathe easier once we're in Skyrim proper."
He spared another glance toward Lobo, his brow furrowing slightly as the younger wolf's eyes stared into the forests behind them. There was no look of unease or alarm on his features, but it was easy to see the sadness in his eyes. His paw seemed to tighten around his cloak and he pulled it in a little tighter before turning away.
"I expect any talented hunter would miss the forests they were raised in," Sylas said softly. It seemed he did not miss the young wolf's expression.
Sirroc nodded, holding back as sigh. "He's one of the best hunters in our tribe. I think he's worried we'll never see home again. It's a big change." He swallowed. "And he knows I can't honestly say we'll ever come back. I'd like to � I hope to. But I can't say we will."
"As it is for many of us," Sylas said solemnly, looking around at the rest of the caravan. "Ri'saad likes to talk about how rich this venture will be, but I think he simply wanted to leave the chaos of Elsweyr behind with those he loves and trusts. Honestly... I doubt any of us will be returning home anytime soon, either."
"I suppose you miss your home too, then," Sirroc guessed.
"Ha, not at all," Sylas chuckled. "I'm Cyrodiil-born and raised, Elsweyr always seemed too dry for me. And I don't miss home either, not with the Imperial politics, war and what-have-you. I wanted to come to Skyrim just to learn magic."
"What would prevent you from learning here, then?" Sirroc asked, curious.
"There are only two organizations that teach magic in Cyrodiil; the Synod and the College of Whispers," Sylas explained. "Both of them are always competing for favor from the Imperial Council. The College still practices necromancy, so I'd prefer to stay well away from them. The Synod might teach you a handful of spells if you join, but only after a few years of monthly payments and doing menial tasks. And both of them have contacts with the Aldmeri Dominion."
"Which you're avoiding," Sirroc noted, handing the bottle back to him. "Why were they looking for you?"
"Partly because I'm a Khajiit with an inclination towards magic, so that makes me valuable to them. Someone they can exploit and turn against my own people." He snorted derisively. "Seems they don't like being told to go to hell. The other reason..." He hesitated, then shook his head. "It's private, and I'm not really in any mood to discuss it."
"Then you don't need to," Sirroc said. "It's enough to know that you've no love for the Thalmor."
"You'll be hard-pressed to find a Khajiit that does," Sylas shrugged.
"I thought--" The wolf stopped short, deciding it best to choose his words carefully. "I know there's a rebellion in Elsweyr, you said as much about it last night. But the rest of the country � how did it come to be annexed?"
Sylas didn't speak for a moment, instead glancing at the rest of the caravan. Most weren't paying attention, but a few of the closer guards had dark looks on their face. Sylas slowed his pace a bit and Sirroc followed, falling behind a way until they were near Lobo.
"Have you heard of the Void Nights?" Sylas asked in a low voice.
Sirroc nodded. "Our shaman used to tell us stories about the Silent Sky, where no wolf howled at the moons because there were none to howl to. Two years time without Masser and Secunda, with most of Cyrodiil living in constant fear."
"Indeed," Sylas said, nodding. "And it was worse in Elsweyr."
"How so?"
"Last night, I told you that Khajiit take many shapes and sizes, based on the phases of the moon when a Khajiit is born." He looked directly into the wolf's eyes, a pained look in his face. "In those two years, we learned what happened when the moons are no longer there. The lucky ones were stillbirths. The unlucky ones... I wish not to speak of it."
"You... don't have to elaborate," Sirroc said quietly.
"For two years Elsweyr was in a state of chaos. Records are sparse about what happened, but in the middle of the chaos many politically-aligned Khajiit families were targeted and killed. Some were clearly the work of crazed Khajiit turning on them, but others might well have been the work of Thalmor assassins." He shook his head. "In any case, two years went by before the moons finally returned, as if they'd never been gone. The Thalmor claimed that they were responsible for bringing them back, using 'dawn magick' that they had then recently rediscovered."
"Sounds like a convenient excuse," Sirroc said, frowning.
"Doesn't it, though," Sylas agreed. "It didn't matter to our people back then. They were happy enough to have peace restored, and gladly accepted the Aldmeri Dominion taking over. But over time, people have started seeing through Thalmor lies."
"Can't trust a thing they say, not when they're as skilled with magic as they are."
"I guess that's another reason I want to study at the College of Winterhold," Sylas added. "Maybe I can discover if the Thalmor were simply making it up, taking credit for the return of the moons when they might've been aware they would eventually come back anyway. And even if they did use this new magic � which nobody has seen from them before and have yet to see it since they claimed it � who is to say they didn't remove the moons first?"
Sirroc looked up to Lobo, the younger wolf clearly having overheard the story. They spent a half-second trading concerned looks before Lobo spoke. "Do you think they could be that powerful? If so, wouldn't they have won the Great War?"
"That's the funny thing about effective magic, lad," Sylas said with a half-smile. "It's not always about the big spells. It's often more about small spells with large impacts � the difference between a greataxe cutting off a finger, and an arrow piercing a heart." He looked between them both. "Anyway, I meant to ask. What are your plans once you reach Skyrim?"
Sirroc hesitated, shrugging. "We don't really know. Maybe we'll take up some odd jobs as hunters, find a parcel of land to buy or a cave to live out of. After that, we'll just keep our heads down and try to live in peace."
"I wish we could hunt down the damn Thalmor," Lobo growled grumpily.
"If I knew you could get away with it, you know I'd let you," Sirroc said, reaching on and ruffling his ears. "But I promised to keep you safe, little brother. Not cloistered or on a leash, just out of harm's way until this foolish war is done with. I imagine we'll have plenty of work on our plates just finding a home."
"Hold here!"
The trio looked up, spotting Ri'saad at the front of the caravan holding a hand up high before looking back at them. He gestured to the two wolves to approach and Sirroc nodded. "We're up, little brother."
Lobo nodded, looking determined. "I'm ready."
Sylas led the two to the head of the caravan, where half of the Khajiit traders we gathered near the mouth of a cave, muttering worried tones in their native tongue. Ri'saad broke from the group. "This is the Serpent's Path we were told of. Imperial Legion are said to patrol along this path, but we've seen no sign of them so far."
"That might be normal this time of year," Sirroc reasoned. "I expect the pass will be blocked in a few weeks time, when the heavy snowfall hits."
"Perhaps, but that is not our immediate concern," Ri'saad continued gravely, beckoning them forward and pointing to the ground.
It was clear enough that even a fool with no sense of tracking would have seen it � a set of enormous footprints that sank an inch deep into the snow. Each print bore five toes, but at a foot across they were far too large to belong to any man or mer. A shiver tore through Sirroc's spine, his fur standing on end as he identified the prints in a space of a heartbeat.
"Ogres."
The Khajiit began to mutter again, sounding more agitated. Ri'saad sighed. "How fresh?"
Lobo knelt next to the print while Sirroc peered into the cave, breathing in carefully. There was a foulness in the air he rarely detected in such caves, as if something had died within and was succumbing to the ravages of rot. Lobo was the first to answer. "A day at least, given the snowfall. But there's only one track as far as I can see, so it's alone." He paused, frowning as he looked between the prints carefully. "It looks like it was carrying something heavy on its left side, but there's no way to tell what."
"Why does that matter?" Ri'saad asked curiously.
"It'd be good to know if they were carrying food or a heavy weapon," Sirroc pointed out. "Ogre's prefer meat, yet there's no blood trail here. Either it took some produce instead, or it came back empty-handed and hungry. I didn't see any farms along the way so that narrows things down." He stepped back and looked the cave entrance over, finding no other clues. "Is this really the only way to get to Pale Pass?"
"There may be a footpath miles east from here, but nothing wide enough for a caravan. Otherwise, we'd have to go around through Morrowind." Ri'saad shook his head. "This is the quickest way, and this is why you and the guards are here."
The two wolf brothers traded significant looks and nodded. "Then keep a hand on your weapons and be ready to run at the first sign of trouble. Lobo and I will lead the way." He turned to Sylas. "Keep the guards evenly spaced, and if they have spears then make sure they're armed with them. Best way to deal with an ogre is with a polearm and the good sense to run."
For the next few minutes the caravan began to organize their gear. Those carrying backpacks set them into the carts to keep light on their feet, while the guards passed out iron spears to anyone capable of fighting. While Sirroc helped with securing the goods, Lobo poured a flask onto a rag and started helping the guards by rubbing the concoction onto their spearheads.
"What's he up to?" Sylas asked, as they tied down one of the carts.
"He's lacing the spearheads with poison," Sirroc told him. "Bigger beasties like bears and sabercats don't handle certain poisons well, and ogres are susceptible to them. It's one of the ways we keep the roads clear of ogres for the rest of Cyrodiil."
Sylas laughed. "If I had any doubts you two wouldn't be up to the task, they're gone now. I'll stick with you both, if you don't mind."
It didn't take much longer for preparations to be completed. Once everything was secured and the wagon wheels were checked, the wolf brothers led the way in with a pair of torches, with Sylas the first to follow them with an orb of magic light hovering above his shoulder. The path was just wide enough for their carts to enter, a pair of guards following in the gap between each, but the footing was hard and uneven, enough that the wooden wheels made more noise than they had in the soft earth outside. It made Sirroc's ears flick nervously each time one of the carts jostled loudly after hitting a stone.
The smell in the air was somewhat stale, thought Sirroc felt he could pick out the scent of dried blood among the aroma of cold moss and fungi. Ahead he could barely pick up the soft echo of water dripping from the ceiling, though it was mostly drowned out by the carts behind them. It didn't help that the cave air felt as cold as the air outside, enough that the older wolf lowered his torch a bit to benefit from its warmth while he blew warm air into his free paw. The carts slowed and after a few paces Sirroc heard the trickle of water clearly. "Could be a small pond ahead," he guessed.
"We've refilled our skins already," Ri'saad muttered quietly. "And I've been told cave water should be avoided."
"It's not fit for you or I, but ogres drink from it just fine. Keep close and quiet as you can. If there are any ahead, we'll hear them before they can get to us."
It was difficult to judge distance and time with darkness and tension marring any sense to measure either, for even with their ability to see in the dark there was no good way to discern one rock from another. With none of the travelers being familiar with the cave they ran into many dead ends. Had it not been for Sylas' magic orb of light and the wolf brothers torches, Sirroc supposed they would have gotten lost quickly. It was only due to the trio scouting up front that prevented any large delays they would have otherwise suffered, had they needed to back up the caravan and find a new route. Still, as they traveled deeper the signs of habitation became clearer, with bones littering the floor, collecting in small piles against the wall. Most were deer or goats, easy to identify for the wolf brothers, but a growing sense of dread set in as they noticed the unmistakable skulls of human and elven victims.
The sound of water flow had faded out for a time, but eventually it returned, much clearer than it had been before. Only a dozen steps later the cave widened into a larger chamber such that their torchlight only illuminated the floor, though it was clear from the sound that there was a large body of water only a few meters ahead. It was here that Sylas stepped ahead, holding up the light orb that floated a mere inch over his palm. The orb shot upwards and ahead, it's glow and size increasing until it struck the ceiling of the chamber and cast it into a dim light. The path meandered through a pair of deep water pools, still wide enough to allow their carts to pass with relative safety, but the footing looked slick and the path angled at some points. It led to the other side of the chamber, or as much of it as Sylas' orb could illuminate, where the pools ceased against a stone platform that looked man-made.
Ri'saad had stopped behind them, checking the path with a frown. "This is not an issue I anticipated. We will have to be slow in crossing, perhaps only one at a time." He turned to their nearest guard. "Kharjo, let everyone know to keep their boots dry and their steps sure. Break out the ropes just to be safe." The guard nodded and hurried to tell the rest of the caravan while Ri'saad looked to the trio. "There's little that you can do here that we can't handle, but we need to know the path ahead of us is safe. Leave us marks to follow while you scout ahead, but if you sense any danger then return to us as soon as you can."
"We will," Sylas promised. "Don't start crossing until we're on the other side of the path. I'll re-cast my magelight so you'll have time to get across without planting torches."
"How long will we have?"
"I can cast it and leave it behind, it will linger for about thirty minutes."
Ri'saad nodded. "We should be able to cross within that time. Good luck and stay safe, young ones."
No sooner had Ri'saad turned around than Sirroc's ears twitched, as the whisper of a hint of sound tingled. His eyes flicked back towards the opposite shore where he felt he'd heard the sound of skin against stone, and his breath caught as he saw the ghostly image of movement in the pale, dim light. He started forward, hand going to the handle of his sword, but in the next instant the movement was gone. A shiver crept up his spine as he strained and concentrated, trying to focus on any sound; the surge in alarm seemed to have spiked his senses, honing them as if he were in the middle of a hunt. But seconds passed and he heard nothing else.
His reaction hadn't gone unnoticed. "Hey, are you alright?" Sylas asked, frowning.
"I thought..." He hesitated, then shook his head. "No, I'm fine. I thought I heard something ahead. But I may have imagined it."
"I doubt it," Lobo said uncertainly. "I didn't hear or see anything, but your hearing is too keen for you to make a mistake."
"I'm also under a bit of stress," Sirroc reasoned. "Come on, let's keep moving."
Sirroc took the lead with his torch held forward, Sylas and Lobo following and keeping a couple of meters of space between them as they carefully made their way across the curving path. There was barely a ripple on the surface of the underground pond, yet the surface of the stone was wet enough that some spots were slick. He could not imagine an ogre being agile enough to use the path for traversing the chamber, but without enough light it was impossible to say how deep the water was, or what lay beneath the surface. The only comfort came from neither hearing nor seeing anything within the pools. What little light could penetrate the surface did not reveal any silhouette of movement, beyond some barely visible ripples.
"The ogres might have eaten all the fish here, if there were ever any to begin with," he suggested.
"They might swim the pools instead of using the path," Sylas said. "It would explain why the stones here are a bit slick."
"Without the moons overhead, the tides of Nirn are low," Sirroc suggested. "It could be that instead. Either way, best to keep alert."
They reached the other side without incident, and by this point the caravan had started their crossing, using cords to keep themselves anchored to each other as they guided the carts over the slick path. Sylas raised his paw overhead and shot another orb of light at the ceiling, keeping the chamber lit while they worked their way across, before turning and rejoining the brothers. "That should keep long enough for them to get across, I hope. Should we wait, or scout ahead like Ri'saad asked?"
Sirroc mulled it over for a few moments, his thoughts on the sound he had heard. "We should take a look ahead," he finally decided. "I don't think the caravan will have too much trouble crossing the path, but it's what might be ahead that concerns me. Other than the print at the entrance and the bones scattered along the floor we haven't seen any sign of ogres." He paused. "I thought I saw movement here, but it didn't look like an ogre, either. It was short, almost man-sized."
"Goblins?" Lobo suggested. "They'd leave just as much mess in their holes, and they've been known to ally with some ogres."
"Whatever they are, we'll deal with them," Sylas said. "We're with you, Sirroc."
"One moment," Lobo said quickly, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a corked glass bottle. It's contents were pale white and luminescent, and as he dabbed some of the paste on his fingers they also glowed. He smeared a short line along the wall where it stuck and continued to glow. "I'll follow behind and leave a trail for the rest of the caravan, just in case we might get lost. It's glowfly larvae and glowing mushroom paste, and it'll linger for a few hours. No real medicinal benefits, but it's good for marking a path if you think you may lose your way."
They took just enough time to make sure the caravan was capable of crossing and informing them to wash away the marks Lobo left before they left to scout ahead, with Sirroc taking the lead once more. This time he had his blade in hand, moving slowly and remaining cautious of the shadows ahead. He was quickly grateful that his brother and friend possessed quiet footsteps, his ears ever alert for an unfamiliar sound of bare feet against the stone. Every few minutes the sound of a pebble or rock clattering against the floor echoed through the cavern, yet Sirroc could not tell if it had been a shift in the earth itself that dislodged it, or if some creature had disturbed it.
Before long a draft could be felt flowing from ahead, and with it he picked up the subtle smell of blood. It was unmistakable this time, easy to tell from the dust and fungus on the walls, and as they moved deeper into the cave the scent became stronger and fresher. He stopped, searching for any sign of blood on the floor or walls.
It was Sylas who broke the silence with a whisper. "That smell bodes ill. I see no sign of it, though."
Sirroc knelt and held the torch over the floor, his brow creasing slightly. On either side near the walls the stone was rough and dusty, with pebbles stuck in the crevices or shallow pits; yet the middle of the path was smooth, as if many feet over many years had worn the floor into a more traversable texture. "This is the right path. No way to tell how recently it was used, but the stone is clean even though the blood smells fresh." He looked up to Lobo, who was putting a fresh mark of glowing paint on the wall. "Think we should head back?"
"We're deep in as it is, and this is the path that will get us into Skyrim, if you're sure you're reading the trail right," Sylas said, glancing back. "We've spent too much time to backtrack now, and we risk the Thalmor catching up if we do."
"Then we press forward," Sirroc sighed, getting back up.
Just as he was about to start moving again a quiet hiss broke through the air, soft enough that Sirroc could not tell from where it came, yet clear enough that there was no mistaking it. He raised his torch, seeing part of the cavern ahead opening wider, and after giving his companions an uneasy glance he stepped forward, his blade held at the ready. The tunnel opened up into another chamber, much larger than the previous one and lacking the enormous pool, too large for their torchlight to illuminate. Even with their natural darkness-favored vision it was impossible to see more than a few meters, and so the trio stopped after a few feet.
"It's been about ten minutes since we left the others behind," Sylas pointed out. "I can't cast magelight here, or else the previous orb will vanish. Best not to leave them in the dark."
Sirroc nodded, checking the floor again. "I'm not keen on doing this... but we need to find the way forward from here. Spread out a bit and check for tunnels. Call out if you see anything, and keep your weapon in hand."
Lobo and Sylas nodded, going in opposite directions and leaving Sirroc to check the middle of the chamber. As before the floor seemed smooth in a straight line, trod upon by countless people in a time when the way through the mountains was known and there was need to pass through it. Some humanoid bones were littered in no real pattern along the floor, along with some strange teeth that he did not recognize, though none of them seemed fresh. It wasn't until his foot grazed upon a thin rod that he stopped in his tracks and backed up, crouching to see what he'd stepped on.
It was shattered arrow, or at least was appeared to be an arrow, as its construction was unlike any Sirroc had seen before. It was much lighter than any dart made by man, mer, or tribal, and the shaft itself was hollow, clearly not made from any kind of wood. He slid his finger along the shaft, his brow furrowing at how smooth it seemed, almost like chitin. The "arrowhead" itself was nothing short of bizarre, consisting of a narrow bulb with a pair of sharpened, pointed barbs. He brought his torch closer, noticing that the barbs themselves were hollowed out.
"Sirroc? I found something."
His ears perked up at his brother's voice and he made his way to the younger wolf. Almost immediately he could see what Lobo had found, standing above an enormous corpse. Though paler now than it would have been alive, there was no mistaking it's blue skin and huge musculature as anything other than an ogre. The body was pocked with several small holes, some of which were filled with arrows not unlike the one Sirroc was still holding. Lobo gave him a grave look and Sirroc could read it without a word, noticing what was wrong � the wounds were still fresh.
Sylas came jogging up from behind. "Dead?"
"Only a few hours," Lobo said, drawing one of the arrows out. "The body is still relatively warm, and the blood hasn't completely clotted. Something killed this beast."
Sirroc held up the arrow. "What do you make of it, little brother? I've never seen an arrow like this."
Lobo took it and looked it over for several seconds. "Very light. A calm breeze could throw this off course. And these barbs are hollow, probably for poison." He glanced back at the dead ogre. "It would take a full quiver of normal arrows to bring down these bastards, but I don't see any other kind of wounds. My guess is that whoever killed this one constructed their arrows to use poison. That'd be fine... except I have no idea that material this is." He raised an eyebrow. "Daedric, maybe?"
"No, it'd be heavier then," Sylas said. "Believe me, if you held a daedric weapon, you'd know it." He looked around, perking up as if noticing something. "Over there."
He nodded ahead at a crevice some few meters away, just large enough for two men to stand abreast. Lobo was the first to reach it, peering into the tunnel with a mix of mild interest and caution on his face. On the floor was a large amount of dirt and rocks, strewn about as if cast aside with haste, and an unmistakable streak of blood leading into the hole.
"The air smells foul that way," Lobo muttered. "And not just with blood. It's too fetid, like corpses and fungi are below. I don't think this is the way we need to go, it's a steep descent."
"The blood is also fresh," Sirroc noted. "I'd hazard a guess it was a goat or sheep. Whatever killed the ogre decided to make do with the livestock it brought." He frowned at the corpse. "Though they may come back later to take it piece by piece, if the meat strikes their fancy."
"Then we'd better hurry through here before they decide to come back," Sylas suggested. "I'm going to meet back up with the caravan to let them know what we've found, and help them along if they need it. Do you think you two will be fine here if I leave for a bit?"
"I think so," Sirroc said, nodding. "We'll wait by the mouth of his cavern, I'm pretty sure our path lies straight ahead."
It did not take long for the rest of the caravan to finally catch up with the brothers, but it certainly felt that way to Sirroc as they waited and watched the area. Perhaps once every few minutes his ear twitched, barely catching a distant sound that seemed to come from the hole leading deeper into the earth. At first it sounded like small rocks tumbling along a slope of soft dirt, and more to put his mind at ease he was close to asking his brother if they should perhaps scout ahead for a few minutes. But the more he heard it the more it seemed like clicking, as if a giant mudcrab were tapping its chitinous claws together, causing him to reconsider scouting ahead. The third time he heard it he nearly asked Lobo if he noticed it as well, but stopped short at the nervous look on his brother's face and realized there was no need.
When at last the caravan arrive with Sylas at the front, it came with a sense of relief to Sirroc, something that must have shown when Sylas gave him a concerned frown. "Are you okay?"
The wolf nodded. "Just anxious to be rid of this place," he sighed. "I can't help but feel there's something foul in that crevice. The sooner we leave, the better."
They continued without further discussion after that, Sirroc taking the lead once again and guiding them to the other end of the chamber. It took little time for them to find a path out, a wide crevice that allowed their carts to pass without issue, and to Sirroc's relief the flooring was much smoother and worn, as if part of an oft-used road from ages past.
Before much longer a slight breeze shifted through his fur, bringing with it the sting of cold, fresh air to his nose, yet for all the discomfort it brought it was like breaking the surface of a lake after being deprived too long of air. He breathed deep and rounded the corner, spotting natural light at the end of the tunnel. Upon reaching the end he stared outside into the open air, feeling the tension ebb away from his body. The sun was high overhead without a hint of cloud nearby, yet for all its intensity it could not displace the cold in the air nor the ice and snow on the ground. A light forest provided some shade and cover, and while much of the terrain was rocky there was a clear path they wove through the area. It was the subtle change in the air that brought the fresh surge of hope to Sirroc's chest, a scent that was unfamiliar to him; one that told him instinctively that he was no longer in Cyrodiil, yet one that seemed to speak of a promise of a new home. He took his first step out of the cave and into the new land, nearly swaying at the significance.
They were almost there.
For a few minutes more the caravan traveled through the path, spurred on by the success of having made it through the Serpent's Trail. Within that time they came upon the ruins of an ancient fort, which Sylas identified as Fort Pale Pass, and it was here that Ri'saad ordered the caravan to stop for a meal. The wolf brothers took a few minutes to check the area for habitation, but it quickly became clear that nobody had used the path for a long time. Little more than animal tracks marked the surrounding woods.
"I'm not surprised," Sylas told them when they finally rejoined and sat by the fire. "This fort stopped seeing use during the First Era, and this pass is rarely traveled. That might change in the future, though."
"Why do you think that?" Ri'saad asked, passing out dried rations.
"One way or another, war will come to Skyrim," he answered. "And this pass is the easiest way into Skyrim that isn't by boat. But at least that holds true for us, as well."
Ma'dran nodded, smiling. "Then perhaps this would be a good time to discuss how to seek more good fortune when we finally reach Skyrim." The caravan drew in close. "I've decided to keep our caravans divided into three, as I suggested when we first started this venture. We will put our focus into the five major holds of Skyrim � Windhelm, Whiterun, Solitude, Markarth, and Riften � while using the major roads to conduct trade with other traveling merchants. Should it become necessary, I've alotted gold into each group so that they may hire extra security, though I caution to only hire those who can be trusted."
He gestured to the other two caravan leaders while the rest ate and listened. "Ma'dran will run the route between Windhelm and Solitude, as much to make a profit as to gain information on the unrest in the region. He will send us messages if anything should come up." He gestured to the female khajiit. "Ahkari will travel between Riften and Dawnstar with Kharjo. They are said to be unsafe roads, so I am hoping Ahkari's knowledge of bandits will mesh well with Kharjo's fighting skill. If possible, she will get into contact with the Thieve's Guild in Riften and hopefully establish some means of smuggling our goods into the country." He paused, glancing at the wolves' direction.
Sirroc smiled. "Don't worry, we don't care. It's just... business."
That seemed enough of an answer to please Ri'saad and he continued. "I will run a route from Whiterun and Markarth, said to be where most trade and silver flows. If the business there seems to favor us, we may possibly be able to conduct trade with moonsugar and skooma � but not a moment before I give you all leave to do so, am I understood?" The caravan nodded and murmured in agreement. He looked to Sylas and the brothers. "As for our companions, I'm interested in hearing your opinions and destinations. Perhaps we may help you in some way."
"I'm sticking with what I decided," Sylas said with a resolute look. "The College of Winterhold is where I'm headed. If it so happens that my studies will give me opportunities to help you all out, however, I will lend my studies to you as a way of repayment."
"My brother and I will do our own traveling," Sirroc said, nodding to Lobo. "Both to stay ahead of the Thalmor and to search for a new home. It would be safer for all of us, I think."
"That may be," Ma'dran said, "but I believe you may count on us if you should require our help."
Ri'saad nodded. "Agreed. We are not to speak of the wolves presence in our caravan, though we may say that we've seen them once on the roads to allay suspicion. It would be better if we stayed well-away from the Thalmor altogether, so mind the roads as you travel." He looked back to Sirroc. "How much farther is it to Skyrim?"
"One of the guards told us it would be three days travel to the border, but I think we've made good time. We may get there by tomorrow evening if we decide to camp here," he guessed, watching as Lobo got up from his seat. "We can scout the area tonight before we turn in. Might be a good idea, we were told there'd be ogres in the pass, but we've only come across one corpse. What do you think, Lobo?"
He turned to the younger wolf, his next words trailing off as he watched Lobo scan the cliffs and mountain above them. There was a look of tension and unease in his eyes, and when his hands moved to his bow it was slowly, as if he were trying to stalk a deer. He nearly asked what was troubling him, until his ears caught the clatter of small, falling stones from overhead.
"Above," he said in a whisper. "We're not alone here."
The rest of the caravan went quiet, but Sirroc looked between them, trying to keep the noise up. "Well, no need to worry, we can do that later." He nodded to Ri'saad. "I'll give us the word as to when to move."
"Ah... er, yes!" the elder khajiit managed to say, clearing his throat and acting as if nothing as amiss. "We'll divide up the merchandise when we reach the border, so--"
The older wolf leaned in, certain now that at least Ri'saad was keeping up appearances to decieve whatever stalkers were nearby. "Easy now, little brother. How many, and where?"
Lobo turned away from the cliff, muttering in a low voice. "At least three, but there are definitely more. They weren't Thalmor. They almost looked like goblins, except... paler. At least I think so. I didn't get a good look at them."
Sirroc glanced up the cliff, frowning at the steep face. "There's no way a man or mer could scale those cliffs, not without special equipment."
"If they didn't, then they may have found a higher path," Lobo reasoned. "Either way, they have the advantage above us."
For a few moments the older wolf considered their options. "If they had more, they would have attacked us by now in an ambush. We're distracted, far from any cities, but we're also well-equipped. Whoever is up there, they don't want to tip their hand." He looked over the caravan, which seemed to be rested enough and close to finishing their quick meal � Ri'saad was speaking to them in their native tongue. "I don't like leaving a warm fire behind, but we might have to snack and run until we've reached a place where they don't have the high ground."
He stood and caught Ri'saad's eye, keeping his voice confident as he spoke to the khajiit. "I think we're good to keep going. We'll want to reach better terrain before we set camp, somewhere more open and away from the cliffs. Anything to keep us ahead of our high, elf friends." He flicked his eyes upward.
The merchant leader nodded and winked. "As you say. Douse the fire and let's continue, everybody."
They broke immediately, a pair of khajiit dousing the fire and stirring the ashes wet while everyone else checked the carts and equipment. Lobo took a few moments to lean in close to Ri'saad, relaying what he had seen while Sirroc took Sylas aside. "Lobo thinks he saw movement up on the cliffs," he muttered quietly. "Best to keep moving."
"Thalmor?" the khajiit pressed.
Sirroc shook his head. "Something else. He might have seen what I thought I saw earlier in the caves. I can cover the rear if you and Lobo take the lead."
Sylas nodded. "It might be-- look out!"
Sirroc had heard it happening behind him, a crackle in the air that did not sound like snow crunching beneath feet or a branch breaking under the weight of snow, yet had no time to react to it as Sylas pushed him aside and raised his hand. A brief ripple of magic appeared at his palm, shimmering for half a second before a bolt of flame struck against it. The shimmer shattered loudly if a stone had been tossed through a thin pane of glass and the flame-bolt flickered away, though Sylas drew his paw back with a pained hiss and dropped to one knee. The palm of his glove was singed and smoking, with slightly burned skin beneath it.
"Hold it right there!" a voice shouted.
Sirroc drew his sword and stepped in front of Sylas as all eyes turned to the source of the commotion; a lone, tall, hooded figure in robes of black trimmed with gold, a rapier in his right hand while a readied firebolt blazed in his left. His features were grim and pointed, yet the shade of his hood could not hide his pale yellow complexion and strands of white hair. The Thalmor inquisitor bore a sneer on his face as he locked eyes with the wolf, raising his rapier and pointing it directly at him. Behind Sirroc the caravan had gone deathly quiet, and there was no doubt in his mind they were just as alarmed by the inquisitor's sudden appearance.
"You and your kin are under arrest, dog!"
A thousand feelings prickled at Sirroc all at once � fear for his brother and allies; wonder for having been tracked so quickly despite traversing the Serpent's Path; anger from the memories of fire and blood, of death at the hands of the Thalmor. An urge to seek vengeance welled up within him and he bit back a growl, keeping his sword at the ready. "On what charge, elf?! On whose authority?!"
"Under authority of the Aldmeri Dominion! Our laws are to be obeyed, not questioned � and animals are to obey their masters!" he spat. "Should the caravan fail to comply I will have every last one of you hairballs immolated! Turn in the Lykaios now, and you will be treated with leniency!"
Sirroc took a step forward, raising his sword with every intention of meeting him in battle, but Sylas' paw grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. "Don't do it!" he hissed as quietly as he could. "Look behind him, in the snow."
The wolf frowned in confusion, turning back to the inquisitor and seeing nothing at first. Just as he was about to tear away from Sylas and charge the Thalmor, he spotted what the khajiit had seen before he had. Some several feet behind the inquisitor were foot-sized divots in the snow standing side-by-side in two lines. His eyes narrowed and he took a step back, understanding the situation better � the inquisitor had not come alone, nor unprepared. Whatever was concealing the rest was doing it well enough that only their footprints were giving them away. He stepped back, helping Sylas up while keeping his eyes fixed on the inquisitor and the snow around him, alert for any noises nearby � it was too risky to assume that they weren't surrounded.
It was this pause on the wolf's part that gave Ri'saad a moment to step forward with a well-armored khajiit by his side. "These wolves are our guides, honored inquisitor," he said politely, bowing low. "They have been with us for several weeks since we left southern Cyrodiil, and have broken no laws that we know of. We are simple merchants trying to find business in Skyrim."
"I've given you no leave to speak, cat!" the inquisitor snapped at him. "You risk execution for harboring criminals and fugitives in your caravan, so stay your tongue if you value your life! As for you," he continued, jabbing his rapier toward the wolf, "we know you were involved in the murder of several Thalmor agents as they were conducting business!"
"By 'conducting business' you mean 'committing genocide' against my people!" Sirroc snarled back. "Innocent tribes who had no quarrel with the Aldmeri Dominion!"
"So you admit it!"
"Well that doesn't really matter, does it?" he growled. "You have no intention of letting me live, much less letting me go. So instead of wasting our time and words, why don't you reveal yourselves and get this the hell over with? It's another three days to Skyrim and you're burning daylight."
Sylas' squeezed his wrist, speaking into his ear. "Don't do this, love. Please."
"They're going to keep chasing us until we're all dead," he muttered back. "We need a way to throw them off our trail."
"Come with me, mutt, and I'll ensure your caravan friends make it to Skyrim � once they've been fined for the illegal contraband they're no doubt carrying," the high elf added with a smirk. "Refuse, and I will execute every last one of them."
Sirroc had to bite back a curse, realizing the precarious situation they were in. It was possible the khajiit could outrun the Thalmor, but not while laden with merchandise and well-armed as they were, and not in a way that the Thalmor couldn't close the distance with magic. He was in no way convinced that the Thalmor would be true to their word in leaving the caravan alone. Charging into battle without knowing their true numbers would be suicidal, even if he could cut down the inquisitor before they revealed themselves. None of these elements factored in the movement in the cliffs overhead.
His chest flared with a mix of alarm and hope, having nearly forgotten the figures he and Lobo had seen. Much as he desired against looking away from the Thalmor, his eyes flicked upwards to the cliffs, spotting a pebble as it fell into the snow some several feet away. His gaze reached the edge of the rocks and he saw the movement once again, a pale humanoid figure that ducked behind the stones again. A mad idea borne of desperation flickered in his mind and he made his move, turning and shouting up at it.
"What are you all waiting for?!" he snarled. "Open fire!"
The inquisitor's face shifted into one of shock and alarm as he followed the wolf's gaze to the cliffs, seemingly spotting the figure as well. "Wha-- on the cliffs, shoot them down!" he shrieked, launching his firebolt at the rock's edge. The bolt disappeared behind them, followed by a burst of noise and a scream of pain. A second later a body fell from the cliffs and landed spread-eagle on the rocks below with a horrible crunch, a splatter of gore and blood spilling over the stones and painting the snow crimson.
Sirroc stared at the body for what seemed like a minute, taking in every detail of the horror he was processing. It was short, perhaps shorter than a wood elf, and humanoid in shape, but the similarity to any man or mer ended there. It's skin was pale and wrinkled, stretched over wiry muscle and sinew, without a hint of hair. It wore rags, a loincloth, some meager threads of leather binding that held small belts or else strapped chitinous leg-guards along its shins. It's face was the worst, noseless and bearing two long nostrils above a cruel, downturned mouth � and where its eyes must have been were only fused eyelids, framed against a vicious brow, beneath a bald head.
That one second was stretched into dozens, yet reality came back to him once that moment ended, to the sound of several howls and shrieks above them. A dozen more such creatures rushed to the cliffs, half of them scaling down the rocks like spiders on a wall and drew swords and picks that looked less like weapons and more like legs pulled from an enormous insect. Meanwhile the other half nocked their thick, chitinous bows and fired black arrows at all opposing sides, their darts whistling through the air and piercing the snow or bouncing off rocks.
The inquisitor took one such dart to the leg and all hell broke loose, as no fewer than a dozen Thalmor soldiers broke their spell of invisibility and began to return fire with bows or magic, while a few charged at Sirroc and Sylas. Behind him, the caravan had started to panic and run, the leaders crying out in dismay, though the wolf could clearly hear Ri'saad snarl some order to one of the guards. One of the Thalmor soldiers closed the gap and slashed at Sirroc, the wolf catching his blade in a block. Before either could beak away Sylas dipped in and slammed his palm into the Thalmor's side, causing a burst of fire to flare between his paw and the armor. The soldier screamed and fell over, clutching the melted metal in his side as he writhed around.
"No time, we need to go!" Sylas shouted, grabbing Sirroc's arm. The pair sprinted uphill towards the caravan as fast as their legs could carry them while arrows landed around them, sinking into the snow or lodging into the trunks of nearby trees. He ducked as one arrow whistled past his ear, but turned briefly at the sound of a sharp cry, just in time to see another soldier fall to the ground. It was then he spotted Lobo at the top of a hill with another khajiit guard by his side, both of them nocking arrows as they reached them.
"The caravan's on the move!" the younger wolf told them, firing one more time. "Ri'saad told Kharjo to help us keep them off their backs!"
"The Thalmor are bad enough, but what are these beasts?!" Kharjo growled, letting an arrow fly.
"Better to run and wonder than stay and die finding out," Sirroc suggested, spotting several more of the creatures appearing on the cliffs. "Come on, they're bringing more to the fight! Let the Thalmor deal with them!"
But even as they started to make a hasty retreat it quickly became clear that the elves had not forgotten about the caravan; nor were the newcomers going to ignore them. Two more soldiers broke off from the main group to pursue, slinging firebolts at the quartet as they backed away; Sylas returned fire expertly, forming a buffer with a ward spell while Lobo kept them pinned down. Ahead, some of the creatures attempted to block the path and swarm them, only for Kharjo to draw a mace from his belt and smash in one of their skulls, scattering them away. Sirroc joined him a second later, parrying a blow and carving his blade through their chest, leaping over the corpse and impaling another. It was enough to put space between themselves and the grotesque, eyeless beasts, but not enough to dissuade them completely, as they formed a loose, cruse circle around them. They took turns in attacking, darting in to jab and cut at the group and backpedaling each time Sirroc or Kharjo attempted to retaliate. All the while they hissed and snarled at the quartet in a guttural tongue Sirroc had never heard before, though the malice behind it was unmistakable.
Two of them pressed in to attack and Sirroc's blade swept to the side, catching one of them just under its ribs, but the moment left him just vulnerable enough for the second creature to land a shallow cut across his left arm. He cried out and kicked the beast away, drawing his sword back and preparing for the next one to move in, yet before he could take a step back a weight seemed to slow his feet and deaden his arm, though he felt a sharp burning sensation in his injury. With a groan he staggered back and parried another attacker, but tripped and landed on his back, his blade falling from his paw.
A chill that had nothing to do with the snow in his fur settled in, and when he heard his brother's cry of despair it sounded muffled, as if he were buried in the earth. A figure stooped over him, bringing its face close to his, and Sirroc shuddered at the sight, getting a clear look at its grotesque features, its hollowed out eyelids that looked warped and burned, and its drooling, sneering mouth. The beast raised his knife high, ready to plunge it into his heart, until a gout of flames engulfed its face and sent it away with a scream. Sirroc struggled to move, his limbs feeling as if tied to boulders, but a pair of hands slipped under his arms and began to drag him up the hill.
He heard the rest of them shouting, Sylas' voice coming the clearest. "What's wrong with him?!"
"They paralyzed him!" Lobo shouted back. "Keep them back, I can tend to him!"
"We've no time!" Kharjo snarled, sounding as if he were holding back the rest of the creatures by himself.
"I'm not leaving him behind!" the younger man snarled back at him. Sirroc tried to roll his head around to look, spotting the melee; Kharjo had brought out his shield and was swinging at any of the beasts that approached, while Sylas sprayed flames from his palm, creating space and scorching any that got too near. Above him, Lobo was digging into his satchel, pulling out a thick oil and wincing. "Imp gall... I'm sorry about this," he whined, opening the older wolf's muzzle and pouring the oil down his throat.
The taste was nothing short of foul, a bitter ooze that felt as if the depths of his stomach had vomited gall of its own and was burning through his tongue, throat, and chest. His eyes went wide and he coughed, jerking upright as he nearly spat the vile oil out, but it was too late � he'd swallowed enough of it that its effect was immediate, reinvigorating his limbs and making his body feel as if his blood were on fire. The urge to vomit caused his midsection to seize up for a second before it relaxed, leaving the sensation of exhaustion in his muscles. Lobo got to his side, about to help him up, but just as Sirroc took his paw he noticed another eyeless beast charging in.
Without a moment to think about it he grabbed his knife and flung it at its head, landing the blade right where its left eye would have been and sending it flailing and screaming into the snow.
"Gotcha, little brother," Sirroc groaned as he got back to his feet. "My sword, where--"
"No time for it!" Lobo told him, pulling him back and giving him his own hunting knife. "Those things are bringing more, we have to move!"
The creatures were quickly outnumbering both the caravan and the Thalmor, but the caravan seemed to have suffered no casualties; and while most of the focus was on the inquisitors, they had shifted off the back foot and were hacking their way through the swarm, though only half their number remained. The sounds of screams and magical explosions echoed against the stone walls and snowy slopes of the mountains, now mixed with a low howl from the wind blowing through the range. Now Lobo and Sylas were taking the rear, lining up shots on any creature that dared come close, though Sirroc noticed Lobo's quiver was nearly spent, and the khajiit looked as if he were swaying with each step. Ahead, Kharjo was knocking around any beast that dove in with the same vigor he had started with, yet the constant puffs of frost and heavy breathing were enough to tell the wolf he was struggling to push ahead. Sirroc helped where he could, following up each staggered attacker by sinking his borrowed knife into the neck or beneath their ribs, yet the stiffness brought on by the poison was still present, and the exhaustion still lingered.
"Ahead!" Kharjo called out, pointing to the caravan. "They've found the path!" A tall, wide stone arch led into a wider valley, sheltered by the stone face of the mountain. The caravan had made some decent distance ahead, enough that the eyeless ones had given up pursuit; or perhaps even without eyes they could feel the sun, if their snarling and hiding of their faces were hints enough. Yet it also meant those that had pulled back were now heading towards the four of them, ready to jump into the fray. Despite his legs screaming for rest, Sirroc pushed on, pouring what strength he had left into escape.
An explosion behind them sent Lobo and Sylas flying, mixed in with the same sharp shattering sound the khjajiit's ward had made when it broke. Sirroc whipped around, spotting both of them with minor burns and cuts, but before he could reach them the Thalmor inquisitor and what remained of his men broke through the line of eyeless skirmishers, another fireball rolling in the inquisitor's palm as he aimed at the two stunned men. Sirroc growled and pushed his body hard, ignoring the agony in his limbs and lunging at the inquisitor with a tackle, the fireball flicking into nothing. Before he could bring his knife up to sink into the elf's chest the inquisitor kicked him back and jumped back up to his feet, drawing his rapier and jabbing the point into the wolf's upper arm. Sirroc cried out in pain, the knife falling out of his hand, but backpedaled enough to avoid the follow-up cut. Unarmed and vulnerable he looked around quickly for anything he could use to defend himself, spotting one of the smooth, hollowed-out arrows the eyeless ones had been using. With barely a moment to consider his options he snatched up the dart and rushed the inquisitor, grabbing his thin blade with one paw and bringing the arrow down, aiming for his head.
It was only the elf's reflexes that saved him, as he relinquished the rapier and grabbed the wolf's wrist, the arrowhead slicing a shallow cut across his cheek. He left out a snarl or rage and brought his free fist around, catching Sirroc right in the jaw, the wolf letting out a yelp and a whine as he fell into the snow. He rolled onto his back with a tired groan, his eyes wide as the inquisitor formed another fireball in his hand, aiming it directly at the wolf and preparing to unleash it.
Only to sway backwards.
There was a look of shock and hatred on the elf's face, a desperate struggle to master his own paralyzed body as he swayed backwards, trying to release the fireball while it was still aimed at the prone wolf. All he could do was let out a muffled gurgle of rage as he released the spell, but by then he was falling, his arm aimed up at the snowdrifts at the side of the mountain. The spell sailed through the air some few hundred feet or so, before colliding against the side of the mountain and exploding.
Almost at once, the eyeless ones went completely silent, turning their heads to where the fireball had landed. Seconds later they began to shriek in unmistakable tones of fear, breaking off from the fight and retreating to whatever nearby holes they had sprang from. The Thalmor soldiers seemed surprised by the sudden withdrawal, but by the time they realized what was going on, Sirroc was back on his feet and running as fast as he could back to Lobo and Sylas. The younger wolf seemed mostly fine bar a bit of burn fur, but Sylas had clearly taken the worst of the attack, his arms looking singed and his nose bleeding. His little brother was first on his feet, shaking snow out of his fur as Kharjo helped him up.
"What-- where did they--"
"No time!" Sirroc barked, helping Sylas back on to his feet. "We have to run!"
He'd only seen an avalanche once in his life, when he was a pup, but it was the memory of the sound that haunted him more than the sight. He didn't have to witness the droves of snowdrifts rushing down the slopes � the eerie sound of hissing and crackling, and a horrible rumble that seemed to emanate from mountain itself, as if it had become hungry and had unleashed destruction to consume those that had caused it. Lobo didn't seem to care enough to watch and witness it happen, for it was all too apparent that they were in its path, and without a word of argument he started racing towards the caravan, while Kharjo got to Sylas' other side and helped carry the injured feline. Though his arms and legs burned with pain at the exertion they suffered, Sirroc forced the pain into the back of his head, carried forward by adrenaline and survival instinct. Ahead, hidden behind the arch and safe from the cascading snowdrifts, the caravan were shouting at them to hurry.
Thirty feet left � the rumble built in volume, such that Sirroc was certain it should have swept over them by now, or would at any second. Twenty feet � the first ball of snow hit his face and he understood how little time they had left, and with a howl he lunged forward with Kharjo and Sylas. Fifteen feet � his right leg nearly gave way, stumbling him for a half-second, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might burst from his chest or crush itself in the attempt. Now he could sense the motion of death in the corner of his eye, ready to drown him in ice.
Ten feet. Lobo had made it. It was just the three of them left.
"Jump!" Ri'saad roared.
He bent his legs and sprang forward with Kharjo, the trio sprawling on the ground just behind the arch. He rolled onto his back and a pair of strong paws grabbed his shoulders, dragging him as he watched the tide of icy white crash past them. The very ground trembling as it continued to race down the slope like a shattered dam unleashing its reservoir. He gasped for air, writhing in the grip of his caravan companions until Ri'saad stood before him, grabbing his arms.
"Peace, Sirroc!" he hissed, his eyes fearful and compassionate. "Peace! You're safe now! You must be still!"
"Deep breath, Sirroc!" Lobo said, appearing beside him. "I'm here! Sylas and Kharjo are here!"
The sight of his younger brother was like a salve on frayed nerves, a shudder passing through his body as he eased into a pained sigh and ceased moving. The paws holding him in place relaxed and lifted him upright, while one offered a flask to his lips. He leaned his head back slowly, whining softly as a sweet elixir slipped into his muzzle and trickled down his throat. The burning in his chest and limbs cooled down until there was a glow of warmth, the pain and strength in his arms and legs fading away.
"Much better," one of the khajiit sighed. "Whatever hurt you have taken, this potion will heal."
"Their weapons paralyzed him," Lobo said. "I didn't anticipate this, so I had to give him raw imp gall. I'm sorry, Sirroc."
But the older wolf shook his head, giving him a proud smile. "No apologies, pup. I'd be dead if you hadn't acted quickly. You did great." He tried to turn in place, groaning as he struggled to lift even an arm. "Sylas, though... is he...?"
"I'm... I'm here," the khajiit said in a weak voice, and though he could not see the feline, the feeling of his trembling paw in his own was enough to calm his fears. "Sorry, I took a hit I wasn't prepared for. That... inquisitor... was more skilled than I figured."
"Will you be alright?"
"He'll be fine," Ri'saad assured him, squeezing his shoulder. "I've no qualms offering our own stock just to see him recover. He'll be healed by tonight." He stood and nodded to the other khajiit. "Form a nest in one of the carts so he may rest while he heals; put the extra stock on another cart. I'm afraid we can't offer you the same comfort, friend Sirroc, but we will make camp as soon as we find cover."
"I can get him up if you give me a few minutes and some garlic," Lobo said, smiling down at him. "I've a classic potion recipe get you stamina back."
"Take what time you need, lad," Ri'saad said, nodding and looking out at the shifting snowdrifts. "We could all use some time to rest."
The caravan settled into mutters and sighs of relief as they chat, while Lobo worked his skill in alchemy towards a restorative potion. It gave the others enough time to set Sirroc against the wall, allowing him to watch as they lifted Sylas onto one of the carts. The khajiit managed a smile, wincing slightly as he waved; a wince Sirroc shared when he waved back. By the time Lobo finished and poured his concoction into a vial, the avalanche had slowed to a mere trickle of ice and powder.
"This'll taste better than imp gall, I put a bit of mint to help," the younger wolf told him.
Sirroc nodded, bringing it to his lips. The moment it touched his tongue he coughed, looking up at him with an arched eyebrow. "This is... have I had this stamina potion before?" The wolf looked away and gave no answer, and he grinned. "I have. You almost regretted giving it to me that night," he teased, before gulping it down.
"No I didn't!" he blurted out, before he flinched and cleared his throat, a bright flush appearing on his cheeks. "I... was hoping you wouldn't notice," he admitted, as several nearby khajiit chuckled.
"Well, be prepared to make a few more," he groaned, slowly getting to his feet. There was a pleasant stirring in his limbs and lungs, a lightness in his movement that was a sharp and delightful contrast to the weight and pain they'd suffered only minutes earlier. "We may need them to keep ahead of the Thalmor."
"I don't think we shall need to worry overmuch about them," Ri'saad said, gesturing to the settling snowdrifts. The path they had used was now buried beneath perhaps a dozen feet of dirt and ice, and the top of the nearby fort tower barely peeked from above it. "Even if they could traverse it, it would take days to forge a path through the ice. For now, let us continue the journey � we will make camp when we have found shelter from the cold."
He signaled to the rest of the caravaneers and they dispersed, rousing the pack mules and guiding the carts through the archway. The wolf brothers followed, though Lobo watched Sirroc carefully for a few moments. "Are you sure you're okay to walk?"
Sirroc nodded. "I'll be fine for a a few hours, thanks to you. I'll cover the rear and keep an eye on Sylas." He nodded to the injured khajiit, who smiled and nodded back. "Help out Ri'saad and the others for now, they need a healthy scout."
"If you're sure, then alright," Lobo said.
"Don't worry about the path behind," Sirroc said, glancing back at the ruined path. "Terrible as that fight was, I doubt the Thalmor will be able to follow our trail now."
"How long, Agent?"
The younger high-elf aide peered at the corpse. "... No more than a day."
Thramire looked up at the mountain, spotting the edges of what might have been cliffs nearby. Ahead, the very top of Fort Pale Pass was barely visible. But if there had been a path before, there was no way to tell where it was now. The scouts had been fortunate enough to come across a few of the bodies of the inquisitor's squad as they traversed the caves, dug out by the wretched falmer and carried nearly halfway to their emergence hole before the justiciar's men cut them down. A brief show of the superior might of high-elf magic and dueling was enough to send the rest of the foul hive running back into the depths of Tyria, giving Thramire and his aide enough time to investigate the bodies. One of them had been nearly dug halfway out before being abandoned, but while the first two bore cuts and arrows matching those of the falmer's chitinous weapons, the most recent find had a more traditional arrow stuck in her throat.
The aide drew the arrow out, peering at it. "We'll need better light to identify it. Clearly not falmer-make, of course."
"Lykaios?"
"Maybe," she said with some uncertainty. "But it could also be khajiit."
"Perhaps," Thramire muttered, rubbing his pointed chin. "Khajiit are excellent scouts, but they are unused to the northern parts of Tamriel. They may have needed guides." The agent nodded, saying nothing, yet he saw her silence as a moment of discontent. "Speak freely, Lyris."
The agent stood and regarded the corpse with some interest for a moment longer. "Assuming that there are lykaios ahead, and that they are in league with a khajiit caravan, what does it matter if they are not even the ones spoken of in the prophecy? It could be any one of the dogs, yet we're reaching out blindly for every one that we can. And now we have no clear way forward." She gazed directly at him, a slight furrow in her brow. "So who are we really hunting?"
"Only those going to Skyrim," the justiciar countered. "It is there they might learn to howl. But I will concede that without more knowledge and a path to follow our current quarry, we will need to withdraw." He gestured to the aftermath of the avalanche. "It may be they were consumed by the mountain as well; or they may be in Skyrim already. But either way, we must travel there ourselves and begin a new hunt."
She nodded. "What are my orders, sir?"
He turned away, walking back into the cave. "Tell the men to withdraw to the embassy. And contact First Emissary Elenwen."
The fourth chapter of my Skyrim-based series, commissioned by Loboron!
The wolf brothers Sirroc and Lobo have accepted a deal with the khajiit caravan -- scout ahead and protect them as they all make their way into Skyrim. It's a dangerous task, with the Thalmor tracking them behind, and an unknown malice hidden in the darkest depths of Tamriel's mountains...
The wolf brothers Sirroc and Lobo have accepted a deal with the khajiit caravan -- scout ahead and protect them as they all make their way into Skyrim. It's a dangerous task, with the Thalmor tracking them behind, and an unknown malice hidden in the darkest depths of Tamriel's mountains...
Category Story / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Any
Size 50 x 50px
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