Skyrim is the property of Bethesda Softworks. It had been a long, long while since I posted a new chapter. The free time I have to write has changed tremendously in the last several months for reasons both good and less so. That being said, I still love Skyrim. Legitimately love it. I plan to pick away at my fanfiction when the fancy strikes me, and when I am happy with it, I will be glad to post more. Thank you for reading and without further delay, chapter 15.

The rest of the morning was spent doing our best to recuperate. I walked among my party, using my Healing Hands spell as well as I could until Nuala was able to get up and offer her more potent restoration skills. Achenar and Ghent bled from a number of puncture wounds from the Reachmen's toothed brands. The rend in Ghent's shoulder looked horrible from the glimpses I got of it between Morgan's attempts to clean and bandage it. There was a tearing quality to the wound that made me think the Forsworn that delivered the blow tried to saw the weapon out of Ghent's skin. Nuala and Morgan were magically spent by their efforts through the night. I saw the Thalmor Justiciar weeping with exhaustion between attempts at her mending spells. Beneath the shell of burned, red skin, my back ached like the worst frostbite. With her supernatural endurance, Aela was the only one among us unscathed and able to walk without their head spinning.

"Are they still out there?" Ghent asked after a time. He was still laying on his stomach while Morgan picked threads of his cloak from the wound on his shoulder and back.

I got up from my place on the floor by Aela and pulled the temple door open a few inches. I saw a heartless century staring back at me. He drew his bow in warning. I heaved the door shut again and leaned against it as an arrow slammed into the old wood behind me.

"Still there," I relayed the obvious.

"Then there's nothing for it. After we take some time to rest, we must explore the city," Achenar pronounced.

Eyebrows shot up throughout the battered party. "Are you out of your mind?" I yelled at him. "You really think we're in any condition to enter this ruin?"

"And what would you have us do?" He shouted back. "You heard the Brairhearts keening out there. Do you want to fight ten of them like this?" With a sweeping gesture and a mocking bow, he motioned me to the door, "We'll be right behind you. It's slightly safer than being next to you. If you're very lucky, they'll kill you before making drumheads from your skin!" He pointed toward the doors leading deeper into Ragnvald. "If we go in we're certain to find grave-goods we could use: Healing supplies and potions, fresh arrows for the Companion, water, another exit!"

"And a dragon-priest!" I yelled louder than ever.

He rolled his eyes in the most infuriating manner, "I've subdued five! How potent are they really?"

The leather of my gloves creaked as I clenched my fists tight. "I've seen the leftovers of your battles. I counted a dozen corpses at Skuldafn and watched the priest at Volskygge turn four strong, healthy men into red jelly! Now you want to throw five exhausted, beaten people at one?"

The frown on his face turned uglier, "Yes, damn you yes! I was hired to retrieve those masks! And if I have to throw a criminal like you on the sword to do it, so be it!" He screamed in my face.

I usually don't try to punch people on the jaw—it can break your hand—but I knew it would feel good. My fist sailed right past his jaw, however. He'd already sidestepped my punch and was bringing his arm along the top of mine. The back of his elbow connecting with my throat squeezed my tongue and made me gag as he wrapped his arm around my neck and pushed me into arching my back. Gorge rose to my choked off throat as his free fist slammed into my stretched stomach. My body collapsed to the floor. I was barely sitting up when a familiar machete parked underneath my throat.

"After having his throat cut in a failed assassination attempt, Talos Stormcrown led armies with a whisper. How will you fare?" Achenar asked from above me.

The air rasped in my tight throat. I didn't dare look up at Achenar. "When you fall flat on your ass, we will meet in Oblivion and I will say I told you so," I said in a last act of defiance. He dragged his steel machete across my throat as he drew it away and let me up.

"Get yourselves mended as well as you can. We move in an hour," He ordered.

By the standards of his colleagues, Otar's burial chamber was modest.

"Two hero-hearts," I read aloud from the word-wall dominating the blocked-off space behind his coffin, "Two hidden keys. One fallen priest who lies beneath."

"Beneath two bands of iron eight inches thick," Achenar grumbled from his place in front of the sarcophagus. "These holes though, they look like the slots for the keys the wall mentions."

"What will try to kill us this time? The ghosts of everyone we ever slew? A pair of vampires who dedicated themselves to guarding the tombs? Maybe an animated dragon skeleton that vomits acid?" Nuala asked in a sarcastic voice.

Ghent and Morgan exchanged a worried look.

The old Nords were certainly creative when it came to buying their dirtier secrets," Achenar replied.

"If you two are finished we can move on," Aela growled, less than thrilled at the unflattering discussion of her heritage.

Vigilance is hard to maintain over a long period of time, particularly when you're exhausted. People get bored in the absence of an immediate threat. Minds wander and arms relax. Despite the word of power used by the Forsworn witch, Ragnvald remained steadfastly asleep. The canal north of the main temple area provided ample water to slake our thirst, clean our lingering wounds, and lull us into an almost happy complacency. We might have been exploring the cellars of Battlehorn Castle back home.

The canal's access bridges and walkways led us past many locked doors until it deposited us in a large, airy room featuring a word-wall and a draugr standing upright in an open stone coffin. Instead of the usual ancient armor, he was clad in the remnants of a mage's robe with ebony boots and gauntlets. His hands clutched an ornately decorated stone skull against his chest. His epitaph was carved into the wall behind him. My companions looked expectantly at me.

"It's more of the city's history. It says: Here stands Torsten of the fair folk of Ragnvald: all Good Nords and true. Broken by Beinhah's will, our city was eaten alive." I informed them.

"Beinhah?" Aela asked.

"It was probably the name King Otar took when he joined the priests," Achenar replied while leaning in close to inspect the skull and its owner.

"It works out to 'rot-mind'," I put in.

"So who's going to trigger the trap this time?" Nuala asked.

"I have yet to see you reach for an artifact, Justiciar," I observed.

"Not my job. I'm here to bring you to justice once Achenar is done with you," she sniffed.

"Well stalling gets us nothing," Aela snapped. With that she walked over to the upright draugr, took the skull from his hands, and stepped away before anyone could stop her.

I lit Revenant and dropped into a fighting stance before the dead man. The familiar blue light came into his eyes as if it had been masked by his long-rotted eyelids. Torsten stepped fourth from his coffin and reached into a fold in his robe. He drew a long metal cylinder. He cast an armoring spell similar to mine with his free hand before gripping the hilt. His weapon came to life with a familiar hiss and an excited hum.

"I must confess Dragonborn, this is exquisite," Achenar said while we gazed on the wight menacing me with a ruby-red magicka saber. My shoulders tightened at the sight while I thought on the fight to come.

I was not fond of being on the receiving end of such a formidable weapon. In hindsight, the gods might have been coaxing me into thinking how I treated my enemies; or just reminding me of my favored weapon's limitations. There were many that I was glad to exploit in my duel against Witchblade Torsten. First, the blade looks thicker than it is: armor penetration happens when the reed-thin cutting surface slips between plates or the tip stabs through the rings of chainmail. Only prolonged, forceful contact will allow the blade to cut or melt away metal or stone. My dragon-stamped steel bracers became improvised shields. The blade's weightlessness is also a limitation. Its lack of mass makes it a marginal tool for blocking heavier metal weapons. The saber's wielder must parry attacks or dodge altogether. Over and over again I was able to swat the crimson blade away and hit Torsten on the back cut.

For all that the magicka saber is a challenging weapon to fight against. The blade is searing hot. Each time I blocked with my bracers, the metal plates became hotter and cooled slowly. Its light weight allowed Torsten to recover and switch stances as easily as I could breathe. He chained his attacks together in endless series of stabs and cuts. Before too long the floor at our feet was covered in gouges and glowing slashes as Torsten and I pressed our attacks or jockeyed for position. Lastly, it is an ideal mage's weapon. The compact size and light weight allowed the draugr to use his off hand for a multitude of healing and defensive spells. In the end it was a losing proposition for me.

"Fus-ro-dah!" My Thu'um belted out in the confined space. Torsten was slammed back into his coffin so had the whole assembly—hundreds of pounds of stone—fell back. I leapt up onto the coffin and stabbed down before he could recover.

I switched Revenant off and hopped down from the coffin, panting for a few seconds.

"Let's get out of here," Aela ordered and turned to leave once I'd recovered.

I moved to follow when I heard a croaking sound come from Torsten's coffin. All six of our heads snapped back as one to see Torsten climbing out of his coffin again.

"Out! Now!" I yelled at my team and shut the door behind us, "Ghent, can you seal this door?" He nodded silently and began casting a large circle of runes over the old wood as Aela and I pushed hard on the door. The whole thing shuddered hard from Torsten's blow on the other side.

"They can get up?" Nuala exclaimed in shock.

"Yes! They can!" I shouted over my shoulder. My arms and shoulders jolted as Torsten struck the door again. "Blue, how long will your marks last?" Mute in his distress and fright, Ghent shook his head and shrugged with palms open. "Fuck," I swore, "Achenar, you and Aela are on point. Get us back to the main chamber. Blue, place more of those seals wherever looks promising. Red, you and the Justiciar are rearguard with me."

Morgan nodded her understanding, but Nuala was not used to working with me, "And who put you in command?" she demanded hotly.

I bared my teeth in aggravation, "I've run from Cyrodiil, dragons, Thalmor, armies of 10,000 men, I'm the expert here," I bit out, already following Aela and the two other men toward the city canals.

"Let us argue later," Achenar called from ahead, "The Dragonborn's advice sounds prudent."

Before I turned onto the catwalk above the canal, I looked back down the hall. There was a red blade sticking out of the door to Torsten's chamber. The draugr's cut was already cut halfway through Ghent's seal.

We were not far along in our flight when we heard Ghent's magical seals fail with a chain of splintering sounds and what sounded like angry profanity for Torsten's mouth. Looking back, I saw the guardian walking around the corner. His glowing blade was swinging casually as he strode before us, giving no appearance of haste to engage us. I lit Revenant and began backing away from him, thinking it better to delay contact with such a potent enemy.

"Morgan, Justiciar, we're going to burn him," I said to the two women behind me.

"We'll be ready Ieago," Morgan replied.

Torsten was a paces from coming to blows with me when I Shouted, "Yol-tor!" The line of fire erupted from my mouth and was joined by smaller blazes from Morgan and Nuala.

Streams of magical fire stuck to Torsten's desiccated flesh like glue. He flailed on the catwalk and tumbled into the canals below with a splash. We hurried on after the other half of our team.

"Do you think he's down for good?" Nuala asked while Ghent cast a seal on the door to the canals.

The Nords and I all shook our heads. "They all revive after a while, but it's usually years, not minutes," Aela explained.

"All the more reason to hurry," Achenar said.

Saerek's wing was closer to the usual interior of an old Nordic temple. A maze of shrines and crypts were linked by long corridors, too narrow for us to walk abreast. Instead I led the way while Achenar directed our turns from just behind me. More than once, Achenar or I asked one to the mages to cast a light so we could point out a camouflaged pressure plate on the dark ground or a set of swinging blades waiting for an ill-considered footstep.

After an hour of silence in the temple's crypts, Achenar brought us into a large, open hall with a suspended walkway flying half the length of the room from the door behind us. Many closed doors let into the room via the walkway above and the floor below. We were on the middle level, looking on a stone skull resting on a circular platform in the exact center of the hall. The walkway above ringed the walls and sent a symmetric down to the skull's platform. A broad flight of stairs behind led to the floor below.

A high-backed throne rested there facing a word wall. All we could see yet of its occupant was the pair of sinister horns of his helm jutting above the chair.

"Hail Saerek! Hail Torsten!

Raise them in your songs

Who tricked mad-king Otar

And rescured Ragnvald for all!"

I read aloud for the benefit of my party. I took a deep breath, grabbed the last key, and ran like a hare for the exit. I didn't take the time to look behind us for Guardian Saerek. Ghent was prepared after the events in the canals. Aela and I slammed the door shut behind us and he began casting his sealing-spell once more.

He was just halfway through when Saerek Shouted from the other side, "Bex!" His Thu'um slammed into the door, commanding it to open against Ghent's will. The blue-clad mage struggled to hold the door against the demand of the Shout, but the ancient voice was magnitudes more powerful. Ghent cried out and clutched his hands like they'd been burned as the door burst asunder under the weight of the conflicting spells.

The animated corpse standing in the light of our spells brandished an age-blackened mace with the telltale red of daedric manufacture. His shield was a tower of bones that guarded him from neck to knees. Guardian Saerek brandished his waepon and advanced to finish Ghent.

Revenant and I rushed to meet Saerek with a roar, even as Aela's first arrow and Nuala's arcane missile raced me to the foe. The wight barely staggered under the successive impacts. He blocked my charge so forcefully with his shield that my arm bounced back behind me. I was so off balance that kneeling was my only chance to dodge the red-stained mace that swung in at shoulder-height.

I shifted Revenant high to intercept the crowing blow that must follow and shatter my head, but Achenar's flame covered machete flared blue above my head and took the blow. The old cleaver shattered in blue arcane flame when the draugr's mace collided, giving me a chance to roll away and regain my feet.

A ball of flame a foot wide flashed by me as Morgan joined the fray. Saerek took the hit on his shield, but was forced back into his chamber. Perhaps feeling himself overmatched, Saerek Shouted again, "Feim zii gron!" The wight disappeared from sight.

I didn't waste a second. "Aela, get them out of here," I said, tossing Saerek's skull-key to Achenar at the same time.

My wife nodded and knocked another arrow without so much as looking at the string. The rest of the group followed her.

"Las ya niir," I whispered. The dark catacombs became alive round me. My party was a retreating concentration of fear and worry as I looked about. I perceived a knot of patience and anger where my eyes told me no one stood. "Come out, come out. Where ever you are," I muttered under my breath.

Saerek's aura became solid again on the walkway before his key's pedestal. I shut Revenant down and ran.

I came to one of the many intersections in Ragnvald's crypts. Positive that Saerek knew where I was running, I ducked into the hall to my right and waited for the tread of his boots. I heard him stop in the intersection. I pressed myself hard against the wall and waited for his move, ready to switch on Revenant and drive her into his mummified flesh.

"Fiik lo sah!" He Shouted.

I had a moment to wonder what "mirror, deceive, phantom," did when I saw Saerek stride past me. Revenant's light drove the dark away once more. I reached my arm around Saerek's neck and drove the white-hot blade through the leathery flesh of his back. Saerek faded in a curl of smoke and I discovered what the strange Shout's use.

"Wuld!" I bellowed and allowed Whirlwind Sprint to pull me into the cloister at the end of the hall. Behind me I heard Saerek's daedric mace bury itself in the rock wall. From my place in the small room, I saw him lurch his mace free of the wall. Saerek's eyes flared blue and they appeared to smoke as he advanced. I cast Ironflesh to strengthen my skin for the slugging match to come. I swallowed on my sore throat, hoping I could bring Saerek down or Shout again before his horrid mace pulped my body.

Revenant illuminated our duel with streaks of light and flashing shadows. A dozen little orange cuts decorated the bone plate of Saerek's shield. The air stank of my sweat and the hot smoke odor of his unnatural weapon. But however hard we might try, neither of us could land a damaging blow. In the lingering all-sight of Aura Whisper Saerek was a mass of calm and patience. Waiting for me to make the mistake that would win him the battle.

I felt almost safe—I was waiting for the same opportunity. I chose to create one. "Ven, mul, riik! I Shouted. The catacombs filled with Alduin's choking fog. I switched off Revenant and dove away. I came up and did my best to shift away silently.

I held my breath. The only thing visible in the inky black fog was the fuzzy blue glow of Saerek's eyes. They wavered in the air like will-o-the-wisps baiting their victims. Before long Saerek stopped trying to see through the impenetrable mist. I saw the blue haze of his eyes turn and float back to the hall. He stood in the door of our cloister and waited for my next move.

I did not dare. Saerek gave the aura of a compressed spring. He was ready to make his mistake. "Zul mey gut," I said the words as if I were speaking aloud, but no sound came from my mouth. The words of power buried in Krosis's memorial drifted from my mouth and into the passage beyond Saerek. They came to the intersection and only then did my thrown voice taunt him. "Come and get me," I taunted from the intersection, just loud enough to be heard.

Saerek's eyes flared brighter in the mists and he turned to chase after my illusion. I put Revenant back on my belt and swapped out to the antique dagger I stole from the embassy. I padded after the undead guardian, knowing I was about to win our battle.

The mists faded, allowing the dim votive candles and sputtering torches to light catacombs. Saerek was a struggle to keep up with. His strides were long and fast as he paced transepts in the halls. We were near the door leading to the main chamber of the temple when he came to a sudden stop. He rushed to the exit and posted himself there. From my hiding place in a branching passage, I peered out and weighed my options. Swallowing, I lit Revenant and threw her to the other side of the intersection. The flashing light drew Saerek like iron to a magnet. He dashed down the hall and lurched off the right. He stopped as he came up to Revenant lying in the middle of the passage. Saerek stood there stupidly, not looking behind him.

The keen moonstone of Elenwen's dagger parted Saerek's preserved flesh and drove in up to the hilt. The blade slid free of the flaking, age-blackened skin. I brought the knife over his throat and slit it as if he were a living man. The wounds had the desired effect. The Draugr Tongue fell limp to the ground. I scooped up Revenant and departed for Ragnvald's basilica.

So waivered the long vigil of Guardian Saerek.

I have more to come. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.