Chapter Text
In the immediate aftermath, we took stock of our situation. First we assessed the defences, which were in surprisingly good condition. Conchobhar assigned a cluster of his warriors to replace the gate where it had been torn off, and several more to reset those snares and alarms and such as had been triggered in the fight. The rest of us checked bodies and searched for wounded. Rethel was, amazingly, still alive. He had been impaled through the belly with a mist-monster lance and left to bleed out, but the lance had stopped the wound.
Wounds to the belly are, however are known to be particularly perilous. The Nords and Forsworn both hold that there are poisons in the gut, and that if the gut is torn, they will leak into the blood and cause sickness and fever that leads to death. To tell if this is the case, they treat one with such a wound in this manner, that those who are tending to the wounded will prepare a broth or a tisane of strong odour. The favoured source is onions and garlic, for it is the belief that these are good for the body and so if the gut is intact they will aid in healing. They then feed this to the wounded one, and after some time has passed they examine the wound. If they can smell the broth or tisane, then they say that that one has soup sickness, and they may make them comfortable or end their suffering as the one so afflicted chooses.
While Herger attended on the Forsworn shamans with the wounded, I continued to assist the First Men with their tasks. A few hours had passed before I was again in the vicinity of the medical tent, and approached Herger who was standing outside. He seemed morose, a far cry from his usual demeanour and was drinking from a large horn. When I stopped beside him in companionable silence, he took a long draught, and the extended the horn to me. As I took it, he commented to me in a wry tone
“Skeld. Halga. Roneth. And Rethel will be joining them.” Having seen Roneth and Halga die for myself, I took this to mean that he did indeed have the soup sickness, and confirmed this later in the night. After a minute or two, Herger stood without a word and returned to the sick tent. I remained where I was, and was startled when one of the Forsworn warriors came to stand next to me. She extended a hand for the horn, and I passed it over. She also took a long draught, before laying the empty vessel on the ground.
When she spoke it was in passable Nord.
“The work is done, mostly.” I was aware of this. The wounded had been gathered, our dead laid in neat rows to await a pyre. Those of the repairs to the defences that could be done by torchlight had been, and anything else must wait for dawn, only a few hours away now.
“We are for our rest now.” She continued, and turned to face me. “You are welcome in my furs.”
It took me a moment to take her meaning, to recognise the invitation for what it was. I had discovered that a battle won, or even simply a battle survived, has great effects on a man’s virility and desire, and from the expression on her face and the tone of her voice, women experienced a similar effect. So it was that I followed her to her tent, and joined her in her bed until after the dawn.
The sun was fully clear of the surrounding mountains when we emerged, but not by any significant degree, and I was instructed to join my companions at the Hagraven’s altar. Herger saw me approaching and passed me some breakfast, a roll of hard bread, cut open and stuffed with meat and cheese.
“Did she finish you?” He asked, “Or bring you back to life” and I shook my head at the openness with which these Nords approach so many topics that other folk might deem private. I retorted that it is not the habit of the polite to discuss such matters, and he laughed, ushering me towards the altar. There, the Hagravens and my surviving companions, along with Wielow and Chonchobhar, were gathered around the slab, considering the carcass of one of the mist monsters that had been laid upon it. Several Forsworn warriors and other Shamans and Briarhearts looked on, one commenting that it looked like the mating of a man and some beast.
I drew closer, examining the body, before responding definitely that is was a man, or rather an Elf. While my studies at the College had been largely related to the geography of Tamriel, I had on occasion dined with members of the medical faculty, and had had opportunity to attend both lectures and dissections, and so was confident when I pointed out those features that permitted identification. The ears were long and pointed, and the pale blue skin tone, while not before recorded was not too far a stretch as to be related to the much darker shades exhibited by the Dunmer of Morrowind with whom my companions and I had recently been acquainted.
So too, the musculature and bone structure was entirely humanoid, with feet that would sit almost flat on the ground from ball to heel. The needle-like claws showed evidence of having been filed, tool marks easily visible on a closer investigation. The only major differentiation, were one cleaned up and introduced into society, beyond the colour of their skin and the filed teeth would have been the complete lack of eyes, their eyelids long having fused shut. It is an adaptation recorded to be common in cave-dwelling or subterranean creatures, and I made sure to point out this fact, and the corollary that many such creatures often have other senses develop more highly to accommodate the disability.
Our defence of the redoubt must have been effective, for this was the first encounter in which they had not carried off all their slain. Instead several bodies had been left tangled in the palisades, largely of the warriors, but some few of their mounts as well. These were large beetles, with claws like blades and razored mandibles. From the looks of things, though capable of flight they had difficulty gaining much altitude, and this we had seen from them, as they could only take off when there was mist and the air was thick. In addition to these, the First Men had taken several prisoners, mist monsters who had either taken a wound that prevented their escape or had caused them to lose consciousness.
They had been bound and were held under guard. I was given to understand that they were being held only long enough that they regained their wits, before they met their fate. Those that the others deferred to were to be given to the Hagravens for augury, whereas the rest were to be put to the sword and their remains placed as example for any who might assail the Forsworn.
Augury as practiced by the Hagraven’s works as such, for as I had proven to have much lore and an agile mind it was suggested that I attend upon their ritual. I witnessed with my own eyes as four Briarhearts, overseen by Conchobhar and Wielow, and several of her Shamans dragged one of the Mist Monsters to the altar at the highest point of the redoubt, and held it laid back on the slab. The Hagravens wielded knives of black stone, straight bladed and sharpened on both edges, but lacking a guard and with the blade but a handspan in length.
One of the Hagravens crouched over the victim, and smote them mightily across the breast, opening the chest and pulling back the ribs to expose the internal organs. They both examined these in some detail, conversing in their harsh croaking voices about the form and array of flesh before them. They paid no attention to the screams and cries of their subject, though I had great difficulty doing so myself. Indeed I had to turn my face away, lest I lose my gorge. Herger came to my rescue, having accompanied me to provide translation.
Much of the results of the augury were already known to us. That the Mist Monsters were nocturnal and cave-dwelling we already knew, but the Hagravens divination suggested that the Falmer had withdrawn not from Skyrim but to the high places. And when Ysgramor had hounded them even there, they sought refuge with the Dwemer and moved into the deep caverns. It was there we would have to hunt them, for there was no victory to be had in holding our ground and waiting on their attacks.
Their strength, the Hagravens said was in their head and their heart, and those were what we must target, although Wielow related that their findings could also be read as mind and soul. We spoke of amongst ourselves and with Conchobhar and Wielow and came to the conclusion that it was meant that we must slay the leader of their Warriors, and also whatever passes for High Cleric or Shaman. Thus the plan was made that we would make our preparations and gain access to their holdings.