The Beginning - Volume IX: A Friendly Word

[Ancient Magister]

The Beginning - Volume IX: A Friendly Word

A golden sky with a touch of pink coloring the clouds shone on the backs of Hjalti and Byrzokka as they were sailing through the air. The sun was slowly creeping behind the mountains, and to where the dragon was guiding them, the sky was already becoming darker, covering the empty vastness of endless ice and rocks by the bittersweet sphere of Kynareth's breath as cold winds met their faces. Where were they going anyway?

"There are people here in the mountains. Daanlon. Cultists," the dragon answered with its mighty voice, and it started to tell those two the story it wanted to begin with, before it was interrupted by Prince Parren, who started the attack instead. The dragon explained that in these troubled times, it came to these lands looking for an ally. But it found enemies instead: "The Daanlon attacked me and I accepted their challenge. They were well prepared, but they couldn't match the power of my Thu'um, and so they ran. Dukaani Nikriinne. But shrouded in shadow, they proved to be near unkillable. Nust Kos Kendovvokun."

Byrzokka stroked his goatee while the beams in his dreadlocks danced in the freezing air: "Well, that sounds familiar… Luckily we are here now to save the day!"
"Nid, Tol Lost Ni Sahvot," the dragon invalidated the would-be-Khajiit's statement, "Your presence here is no coincidence. Yes, at first I was surprised to see this army of High Rock marching so deep into the mountains. But that was before I heard of the attack on the caravan."

"What are you trying to say, my friend?"
"When I couldn't defeat the Daanlon, I watched and waited. Zu'u Lost Mulhaan. And I learned of their plan," the dragon continued, "They wanted to kill me and use my bones to raise a shadow version of me. I would become an unstoppable force to do their bidding. Mutaade!"
"Well, that would certainly be a pain in the ass. We wouldn't want that," Byrzokka responded rather mildly, "But this one is still waiting for an explanation."
"The incantation was already cast. The only thing for them to succeed was my death. It didn't matter who killed me. Don't you see?"

Then, dear Hjalti, who was experiencing it all like a vision or a fever-dream, came in between the conversation. He remembered what the dragon had told him earlier, and asked: "You said that if I killed you, their plan would fail. Why is that?"
"Yes, you are an exception. A thorn in their eyes, because you are Dov. If you, or any of Dovahe would kill me or be near me when I die, my soul would be consumed, and my body would be rendered useless. Then they no longer could raise a shadow version of me."

Hjalti raised an eyebrow by the dragon's explanation: "Your soul would be… what?"
"Naako. Eaten. Consumed by you. But now is not the time to discuss this. Losei Tovit Fah Fin Kulaas," the dragon roared through the sky. It paused for a second while it flew through a cloud, and cold drops of water floating in the air splashed against Hjalti's face. The dragon continued: "The Daanlon failed in killing me, so they looked for other means to accomplish my death. All they needed to do was to give another power a cause to kill me."

Byrzokka grunted his low voice while nodding his head: "Ah, this one sees it now. So you're saying the cultists attacked the caravan of the princess, And they made it look like a dragon did it."
"So some cultists have the princess?!" Hjalti yelled in shock, "We have to save her!"
"What do you think I'm flying you to?" the dragon sighed, as if it was irritated by the boy's blaring, "Soon I will land you to where their hideout is."
"Will you help us fight them?" Hjalti asked.
"No. I am still not fully recovered from my previous fight. OUR previous fight. You won't find me of much help in an encounter with the Daanlon. And there is another reason, but I will explain that once we get there. It won't take long now."

And as the dragon said, they landed not long after, this time it was a much more comfortable touch down than the last time Hjalti was on the dragon's back. They were still in the middle of the Druadach Mountains with white everywhere. Hjalti had no idea how long they were in the sky, but it felt like an eternity and he was really blissful to set his feet on snowy soil again.
The dragon spoke: "Their camp is to the east. After a few minutes, you'll see the smoke from their fires."
"Wait, why couldn't you have dropped us a little bit closer?" Hjalti asked, as he saw in the corner of his eyes Byrzokka carrying sleeping Igor off the back of the dragon. The boy had almost forgotten that Igor was with them as well.
"I cannot go any further. They have a strong relic protecting their camp from me or any other dragons."

"But you said I'm Dragonborn," Hjalti stated, "Does this relic also protect them against me?"
"Zu'u Dreh Ni Mindok. You are still mortal," the dragon thought out loud, "Do you feel any resistance in the atmosphere as we speak?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Then you can enter. Krif Voth Ahrkin. May your enemies never see the light again," the dragon said as it turned around.
"You're leaving?!"
"Yes, I am. But first I have a gift for you," the dragon then turned its head and suddenly spewed fire into the snow. Hjalti flinched and in a reflex reached for his sword. The dragon was suddenly turning on them!

At least, that's what he thought. Given their first encounter, that wasn't such a strange conclusion to draw, but soon he realized the fire came nowhere near any of them. The dragon stopped and told Hjalti to approach where it had shouted the flames. In full confusion and still thinking the dragon was taking its revenge, the boy was reluctant to do so, but he was also curious nonetheless. So, he did what was asked, and when the fire stopped and he approached, he saw strange signs burnt into the ground.

When he looked at these symbols, it was as if they were alive. The lines, as of which the signs were formed out, danced around, and it illuminated energy in beautiful colors. It was almost as hypnotizing as Byrzokka's attack before their dragon flight.
"The word is calling to you. Go to it," the dragon encouraged Hjalti, and he obeyed. Like enchanted, he stared into the letters, and suddenly he could read what it said: Yol. It was the dragon language. It meant fire.
"You have learned your first Word. But learning is only the first step," the dragon then said, "Approach me, and I will let you tap into my understanding of Yol. Understand fire as the Dov do."

That was when all of a sudden the next consecutive miracle happened in such a short time, making Hjalti feel like he was still dreaming up to this point. Just like with the word, energy came now flowing towards him, gushing through the wind. This time they originated from the dragon itself. It was different. Hjalti could hardly describe the sensation. It was as if the energy overtook him, but in a positive way. He felt incredibly powerful, as if the world was laid to his feet. It made him hungry, a craving no meal could ever satisfy.

He could see the word Yol in his mind from a very different perspective now. It became all colorful, and vigorous too. It needed to get out, too, and the dragon helped with that: "Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as a Breton, but as Dovah," it insisted Hjalti to speak the word to him, "Do not be afraid. Faasnu. Let me feel the power of your Thu'um."
Hjalti put his thoughts aside and let the power flew through him: "Yol!" he yelled, and a burst of flames left his throat, heating the air around it and turning the snow on the ground into a puddle or vapor and water before it hit the red scales of the dragon.

"You truly are Dovahkiin," the dragon said as it spread its wings and became airborne.
"Wait! You can't leave yet!" Hjalti protested, ordering for the dragon to land again, "There is so much more you need to tell me!"
"There are others willing to teach you. Wundun Wah Fin Jer. Go to the east. They are waiting for you," the dragon flapped its wings, "Learn what you can, and when you are ready, call for me. We will meet again."
"How do I that? I don't even know your name!"
"I am Nahfahlaar! Pruzah Wundunne!" the dragon shouted through the air as he set off into the clouds. Hjalti looked after the dragon until it was gone completely, disappearing into the sky as if eaten by the clouds. Silence came next.

After the constant rustle of the wind while on the back of Nahfahlaar, this tranquility was almost deafening. But then noise was made as the knight laying on the ground awoke: "Wha-? Where am I? Hjalti? Is that you?"
"Igor!" Hjalti said excitedly as he rushed in to hug his old friend. Igor was still very much confused, Hjalti noticed, but time to explain all that happened while he was unconscious was scarce. So they were going to explain it to him on the way, Hjalti said.
"On the way to where?!" Igor threw his hands into the air, and Hjalti pointed towards the east, where the barrier between sky and land had now completely blurred away in the darkness of the coming night. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains and it was hard to tell where the east was actually.
"We are going to kill some cultists and save the princess. What do you say?"
"Er… What about the dragon? And what happened to Parren?"
Hjalti grinned: "I'll explain that too."

Just as the dragon told them, they were able to see dark clouds of smoke ascending into the air after a few minutes of walking. And after another few minutes, they could see a small dot of light rising above the mountains. A dot that became bigger and bigger with each step they took, until the dot could be separated into multiple little sources of light and the contours of the camp became visible. Although Hjalti still found it hard to figure out how big the camp was, Byrzokka somehow was already able thus far to tell how many people there were: "Well, what a bummer. This is going to be too easy. And here Byrzokka thought he would finally be facing a real challenge. But alas, just another Tirdas. It… it is Tirdas, no?"

Hjalti and Igor didn't respond. They just kept walking, until the mercenary leader brought them to a halt, just as they were nearing the edge of a mountain. The camp should be just at the other side: "Wait here," he whispered, "Leave them to Byrzokka. This one will be done for the day in just a moment."
"But I want to help! I can use my Thu'um to…"
"Yeah, no. This one will not have you breathing fire any near close to me, or you will regret it," Byrzokka interrupted him before heading off. Hjalti wanted to respond still, but the captain just disappeared into thin air, as if he was never here.

Not long after, the sound of metal piercing through flesh and a muffled grunt reached Hjalti's ears. He could no longer contain his curiosity: "I'm taking a look," he said and he crawled closer up the mountain to have a good look on what was happening in the camp. Immediately he was greeted by dead eyes staring at him, belonging to the lifeless body of Byrzokka's first victim. He was dressed in black robes and was lying in the snow, but there was a complete lack of blood by the body. Hjalti didn't search for too much behind it and moved past it to see the camp crawling with men er mer. They were all dressed the same way as the body he just met. They seemed way too many for any man to kill them all, but just as Hjalti wanted to become involved, Igor, who had followed Hjalti, grabbed him by the shoulder and pointed his finger towards a specific point in the camp.

There, one cultist falled down seemingly by nothing. But as the man did so, Hjalti and Igor saw Byrzokka for a glimpse of a second, before he disappeared again. Hjalti looked at it in awe. He saw the same fate overcame the next cultist, and then the one thereafter. The executions were so quick and with such perfect timing that the others couldn't be alerted, and were therefore ignorant of the killer in their camp. Until it was already too little, too late.

"Incredible. Remind me to never make your captain angry with me," Igor whispered to Hjalti, but the Breton boy was barely listening. He just kept looking at the growing pile of bodies in front of his eyes, forming a gruesome yet in some way beautiful scene. The skills of Byrzokka wasn't all he was thinking about, however. He was also thinking about the robes of these cultists. They seemed somehow familiar.

"Intruders!" a voice suddenly yelled behind the back of Hjalti. The Dragonborn turned around only to see a blade coming towards him. He was too late to do anything, but at the last moment Igor ran this attacker through with his sword. The Breton then followed his example and attacked the companion of the cultist. "We need to move," Igor urged as in the camp the alarm was sounded, and he saw the others spotted them as well. The knight of the Flame didn't wait for Hjalti's approval before he slid down the hill towards the camp to meet the cultist on smoother terrain.

Hjalti did the same, but before he could reach the camp, a bolt of lightning came flying towards him, shot by one of the cultists. He tried to break down by putting his heels into the snow, but he was a bit too late, and the ball of lightning struck the mountain below him with enough impact to make him blow away. He grunted as the ground met with his face while he rolled down the camp. His hip was next, which crashed into the rocky ground beneath the snow and finally he came to a halt laying on his stomach in the middle of the camp.

Immediately after, he had to get up as he saw several cultists charging towards him with drawn blades. He dodged the first one by casting down his blade and tackled him, then he took the blade while the attacker was falling down and buried it inside his chest of the man falling down. Then Hjalti rolled over the body while at the same time waving his blade to block the attack of another one. Then in an almost fluid movement he slashed the blade across the body of a third, turning around and killing the second one before he could strike again. This gave Hjalti a brief moment to catch some air, but he saw other cultists running towards him.

They were all close to each other, so Hjalti knew what he should do and what he could do. "Yol!" he shouted fire to his hapless opponents. The flames overtook them, and Hjalti smiled as they were running around like living torches, screaming and trying to quench the flames by rolling in the snow. Before they could that, however, Hjalti rushed in and killed them. Everything seemed to work out perfectly, until a voice called out his name from behind: "Hjalti!" The voice of a woman sounded somewhat recognizable, but he couldn't place it just yet. Not until he turned around and saw a Dunmeri with a bunch of other cultists standing behind her. The Dark Elf had a knife in her hands, and before her was Igor, brought down on his knees. As lightning struck, Hjalti remembered who she was: The leader of Mephala's cult he met years ago.

"You…! How are you still alive?" Hjalti asked. His eyes showed terror and anger as he looked at Igor with the knife at his throat.
"Foolish boy! You couldn't begin to comprehend the power I wield! All hail to Mephala!" the Dunmer screamed fanatically, "Surrender now or I will kill this Nord!"
"If I do that, what's stopping you from killing us thereafter?"
"Nothing! You are already dead, you just don't know it yet!"
"If you're so sure about it, then why call for my surrender?" Hjalti responded boastfully, "Why not face me and see what I can do."

"Yes, I see you have learned a new trick. Certainly interesting, but negligible in the grander scheme of things. Your power fades away by the might my Lady has bestowed upon me. Behold!" she said and raised her free arm. Suddenly, a shadow wrapped around the fallen men behind Hjalti and their eyes started to glow. The men who were dead just a second ago were raised up in their new hollow form!
"Surrender now and your death will be quick and painless! And your friend here will be killed by Mephala directly!" she shouted, but Hjalti found it hard to believe while the shadowlings charged towards him with drawn blades. With their harrowing faces reflecting their deaths not long ago, and with glowing blue eyes, they clashed with Hjalti. They were still on the same level of skill as they were before they became shadowlings, so Hjalti wasn't very impressed. He slit the throat of the first one with relative ease, expecting to have the undead warrior fall down so he could move on the next. But that didn't happen. It only staggered the thrall and then it surprised Hjalti with a powerful punch in the face.

"Do you still think you can win, arrogant little boy?" the cultist said as the shadowlings disarmed Hjalti and brought him to his knees, "Your feats against my Lady were impressive the first time we met, but utterly meaningless! And you showing here probably means you have thwarted her plans again, but don't be proud of yourself. You have only delayed the inevitable. Soon, the world will bow before her. Soon she will return. Soon she will not only be the Queen of Oblivion, but also the Queen of all of Nirn!"

Hjalti barely listened to her. His head was spinning too much for that, and he was trying hard to think of an escape plan while he was sitting there. But he could find none. His only hope now was Byrzokka. He hadn't seen him yet, but was he even still alive? Or was he also overtaken by the shadowlings? Just as the boy was thinking about him, the mercenary leader showed up: "Greetings!" he said while waving his hand gracefully in the air.
"Who are you?" the Dunmer asked demandingly.

"Byrzokka the Furless, at your service," the man bowed with a staff in his hand.
The Dunmer asked if he was here to try his luck against them as well. But Byrzokka shook his head: "Nah, there are too many of you for me to try my luck. Let's play it safe," he said, and after that, a dark and low growl left his lungs, echoing through the dark sky as his skin turned dark. An unnerving display of blood spatting all around him formed an eerie scene to witness, until he was transformed into a grey-skinned, horned monster with magical bats summoned and swirling all around him. It all happened so fast, and not only for Hjalti. Before he could even blink, the giant creature lashed forward through the air and the cultists fell down like domino pieces.

Those who weren't killed by the direct attacks of Byrzokka were hurt by the swirling bats, the bats who came closer to Hjalti as the monster made his way to the shadowlings now. Hjalti closed his eyes, expecting the circle of the small winged creatures were going to clash with him as well. But nothing happened. He opened his eyes and saw that he was in the middle of the swarm. He also saw that the shadowlings fell just as easy for Byrzokka as the cultists did.

Then it all ended and the monster transformed back into the neatly dressed mercenary captain again. "That was all of them, no? They are all dead now?" Byrzokka said before he bended over to grab a sword of the cultists, "Let's make sure they stay that way."
Then he walked over to the cultist's leader and cut off her head, throwing it in one of the fires of the camp. Hjalti wanted to respond on seeing his captain turn into a vampire lord, but his attention got divided when a moment later a group of survivors came walking down to the scenery. They weren't cultists, but it took Hjalti a second to realize who they were. These were the escorts of the princess!

Just as he asked them where the princess was, she stepped forward from behind the few people. Even though dirt was all over her face, her clothes were ruined and her hairs hadn't been properly brushed for days, she was still as beautiful as Hjalti could remember her. At that moment, he forgot everything around him. He forgot he was in the mountains, that his clothes were soaked by the snow and that he had almost lost feeling in his knuckles. He didn't feel the pain on his head and hip from when he fell down. Everything melted away when he saw the beautiful eyes of Juelli.

Juelli answered his smile with an astonished look. and it took her a while before she was able to recognize adolescent Hjalti. They only had a brief moment together before their paths got separated for three years. And now they were reunited again. It didn't matter what would come after. Only this moment counted, when they flew each other in the arms and Hjalti tightened his arms around her body, pushing her against himself in a firm but comfortable embrace.