Stallion of Whiterun (Skyrim Balgruuf SI) Chapter 11 (Patreon)

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It didn't really take too long to find out where the Draugr came from. The undead were not subtle in their movements and Irileth spotted their trail as easily as she could breath. Crushed roots and branches, deep boot spoors on the earth. It led higher into the hill and towards dark looming ruins of what used to be a castle. In its heydey, it would have been a mighty bulwark overlooking the White River and Eastmarch beyond. Now, the walls had fallen here and there with only the keep standing still. 

"This used to be called...Fellglow Keep, I think," Balgruuf muttered as he spied the ruins. He, Irileth, and the riders had all dismounted, creeping under the leaves. The cold bit at them and their faces, spots of white snow stuck to Irileth's lashes and made her shiver. Balgruuf and the Nords however acted like they weren't even feeling it. 

"Not a barrow," Irileth said, her eyes trailing the parapets.

Balgruuf hummed. "Not a barrow," he nodded. "What possible reason could old ruins spawn draugr?" 

"Necromancers?" one of the riders suggested. 

"Possible," hummed Balgruuf. "Only one way to find out." he said knowingly, turning to Irileth. Despite the pounding of her head, Irileth knew what was expected of her. 

"As my lord commands," Irileth sighed. One second, Irileth was there in front of Balgruuf. Then, she was gone in a blink of an eye. She was not erased from existence however, merely cloaked with magic that rendered her invisible. With that, she crept as quietly as she could towards the castle. It was practically simple for her to infiltrate the place. As she saw, the walls had long fallen and the main gate itself was no longer there. She did however assail a climbable section of the wall. She thought of going through the main gate but it felt too easy to do. Hells, an entire section of wall didn't even exist. 

Immediately, her ears picked up on conversation. There were two of them clad in black robes, chatting away in a tower. Necromancers or dark mages, Irileth surmised. 

"How long do you think Birkir is going to last?" the first dark mage asked his friend. 

"Knowing the Master, he probably won't last long. Break like glass, you know? He'll be begging for mercy, I am sure of it." his friend replied, totally unsympathetic to this Birkir. Irileth however was much more interested in who this Master was. It sounded self-important, smug and utterly sure of themselves.

"But will the Master grant it though?" asked the first mage, a little bit more concerned. The response of his friend was instant. "He had a simple job and he fucked it up. Do you think he's going to get spared?"

Irileth listened and listened, taking in the important bits of information. She stood hidden and waited some more to gain more information but then the two mages started drifting their conversation to something else, to something inane. Information gathering was over now, Irileth mused, as she moved towards other things, examining methods of attack for one. 

As she already saw, a whole section of wall did not even exist and the mages didn't even bother to put up defenses. Perhaps they really were that confident in their isolation that they felt they didn't have to put up wards and such? Irileth's glowed briefly to check and sure enough, she couldn't even detect any hint of such around. She turned her attention back to the chatting mages and quirked her lips as she unsheathed her sabre. 

"...Wait...did you just hear a sword getting pulled?" 

There was a dismissive snort. "You're hearing things. It must be the wind." 

Idiots.

Later, Balgruuf watched as Irileth appeared again out of existence, the scent of death fresh on her. She returned her sabre, dusting herself off. "The mages in there are supremely confident fools who believe they are hidden. They feel they are safe enough that they haven't even bothered erecting palisades to wall off an exposed section of the castle." 

"Numbers?" Balgruuf asked, his mind already considering how to attack it. 

"There were only two mages I saw posted on the walls, my lord. The rest of them are inside the keep. The mages mentioned that one of their number was being punished. Perhaps they are watching the judgement happening?" Irileth theorized. 

Balgruuf hummed. He turned from his housecarl and towards the castle. His eyes flashed with calculation. For what seemed like a few minutes, he turned to his men. "So, this morning was supposed to be a simple escort mission and now, we have a possible cult of necromancers in our hands. What do you think lads? Want to take them?"

His riders glanced at each other. Nothing else was said other than them taking out their weapons in a flash. 

"We are going to be facing mages, you know. There aren't squishy bandits," Balgruuf reminded them again but still, the weapons remained unsheathed. 

"They won't be Altmer battle-mages, my lord. These are downgrades," a rider quipped. 

Balgruuf hummed. "Late breakfast it is, then." He stood up and hefted his weapon against his shoulder. "Let's make this clean. Irileth, care to muffle us?" 

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And just as he promised, it was quick. Irileth cast a spell that kept them quiet as they swarmed into the keep. Balgruuf had to admit seeing the mages's faces when they opened the front door and saw a squad of heavily armoured Nords before them was utterly hilarious. Before he could give a cry of alarm, an arrow found his throat. He collapsed on the floor, dying with a throaty gurgle. Like driver ants, they rushed and dispatched anyone they came across wearing black robes. 

Absolute stealth couldn't be kept forever, however. The death throes of dying mages was loud and in the halls of Fellglow, it echoed. 

"We are under attack! Defend yourselves!" a particular mage cried out when he walked in on Irileth running a man through with her sabre. He lifted his hands and tossed a shard of sharp ice towards Irileth. The Dunmer seized her victim and pushed his body forwards, catching the spike. He was about to go again when Balgruuf suddenly charged from nowhere and delivered a punch that sent him knocked onto the floor. A second later, bones snapped as Balgruuf brought a heavy boot on his neck.

"That makes us square," Balgruuf declared as Irileth took a nearby rag and wiped away the blood on her blade. The Dunmer rolled her eyes as her lord marched off, looking for more mages to slaughter. Irileth followed him, finding themselves in the main hallway. It stunk of damp air, musk, and blood. 

"Are these really mages? They haven't been chucking spells at us as I thought they would be," Balgruuf muttered as he marched and kicked a dead body over. Glancing down, the dark mage was young, barely without hairs on his chin. 

"Novices, then?" Irileth offered. 

"Again, possible. Their first instinct was to run or scream," Balgruuf said with a click of his tongue. "We're slaughtering metaphorical newborns." 

"And does that thought bother you?" Irileth asked, turning towards her lord. Balgruuf paused to consider the question. 

"They're not exactly surrendering," Balgruuf pointed out as the sound of running feet echoed through the hallways. Ahead, three figures rushed up. Compared to the ones earlier, they looked older and more experienced. 

"You stand before Lord Balgruuf! Raise your hands and surrender!" Irileth barked at them. Instead of actually doing that however, there was a hum as magicka was being powered up and the figures glowed. Balgruuf hefted his weapon in his hand. 

"At least you tried," Balgruuf offered one last word before the hallway erupted into a sea of magicka. The first mage sent a flash of blue lightning towards Balgruuf who lifted up his weapon to catch it. The second and third mage, a jet of fire poured forth from their hands that would be enough to incinerate the hallway. Irileth quickly stood before her lord, a ward appearing before her hands. She grit her teeth as the mages poured everything they had into breaking her shield. 

"I can't keep this up!" Irileth snarled, feeling her magicka reserves slowly being drained by the flames. But, she didn't have to for long either as Balgruuf's other riders rushed into view, shields held aloft as they rushed into the hallway. Cries of pain echoed as the mages were pushed back with a swift bash to the forehead. Not a second later, they were dispatched swiftly. Irileth's shoulders slagged as the drain inside of her exhausted her. Balgruuf turned to her, his eyes flashing with concern. 

"You alright?" 

She nodded slowly. "Y-yes...I...I am fine." She gulped in some air. "They had some punch in their flames. I had to concentrate some more otherwise, we would have been burnt." 

"You reckon they got a boost from whatever cursed ritual they're doing?" Balgruuf asked, glancing at the corpses. 

"Only one way to find out," Irileth spat. "Let's ask their precious Master." 

And so, they descended into the bowels of the Keep, the muffle spell Irileth cast having long since been gone. The clinking of mail and iron plates echoed, a foreboding sense of doom for whoever was going to be on the receiving end. And they arrived to it, a large chamber that looked to be a training hall now turned into a ritual hall. Irileth quickly spotted coffins of the Nordic variety either haphazardly opened or stacked on each other. At the very center  of the hall stood a robed figure, a woman, by the shape. And underneath her was a puddle of squished meat. 

Probably the poor bastard that the mages from before were talking about. 

"Welcome to my cas-" the Master tried to speak but a stirring cry from Balgruuf cut her off. "Attack!" he ordered. And immediately, his riders moved to obey. Arrows were loosed upon the lone mage, men and women rushing with the intent to lop her head off. Snarling, the Master blinked back into the corner, what arrows loosed upon her held aloft by a unseen ward. 

"Let me talk, damn you!" the Master cried out. 

"No!" Balgruuf retorted. "And fuck you!" He added for good measure. The riders were swift, quickly crossing the distance between them and the mage. There was going to be no negotiation, no chance for the necromancer to monologue. This, the mage recognized. If she wanted an audience, she would have to create a situation where she could talk. And thus, she slammed into the ground and conjured a bright and searing wall of flames. The Nords had to halt lest they get burnt. 

With heavy breaths, the mage glanced up at Balgruuf. "Now, listen, you damned fool!" 

Balgruuf clicked his tongue in annoyance. "We can still shoot you with arrows, you know. Make it quick, mage." 

Growling, the mage crossed her arms. "Fine!" She took a moment to take a breath. Calmer now, she began to speak. "I am the Master, not my real name, of course. I am here to establish a new College of Mages. Winterhold is stagnant, it hates people like me. Headmaster Aren is talented but he refuses to change. I will change that." 

Balgruuf hummed. "So if I understand this, you are trying to establish a college....in a isolated corner of Whiterun, in a ruined fort, and ignoring the authority of the local Jarl regarding it?" 

"I was going to go legitimate, fool!" The Master bit back. "I was going to turn this place upside down and make it presentable! Then you had to come in, kill my students and assistants, and destroy my research!" 

"I will be frank with you. I did not even know you existed until draugr attacked my men. Draugr which came from here. And I see that you have in your possession coffins that are Nordic in design," Balgruuf said, glancing at the coffins in the corner. "Which barrow did you break into to get these?" 

The Master clicked her tongue in annoyance. "What choice did I have? I do not have riches and those draugr could be used better than just having them stand around in their graves." She crossed her arms. "I did not send any of them to attack you, my lord. I swear it. My damned fool of a student let them out, accidentally." 

"And where is this student of yours?" Baglruuf asked. 

"He's that puddle of meat you and your Dunmer are standing by," the Master pointed out. Balgruuf and Irileth glanced down. "I was originally going to torture him till he understood the price of failure. But I got carried away." 

"Clearly," Balgruuf deadpanned. "So, what do you want, mage? You've already wasted my time long enough. Cut to the chase." 

"Impatient cur," she growled. "Fine. Let me walk out and I will take my business elsewhere. I have no problems with you, my lord. You are not my enemy, the college is. I will pay for my passage even. What treasures I have, I will leave behind for your trouble." 

Balgruuf paused to consider. He glanced at his men and Irileth. "...I have to admit that I admire your brass balls for trying to negotiate with me. It's almost admirable." 

The Master shrugged. "I rather like living, my lord. I will sacrifice much leaving behind my things but I can always gain new followers. And I understand Nords respect boldness, no?" 

"We do. And you are very bold," Balgruuf said. He hummed once more, his mind working. "You swear to never return to Whiterun ever again?" 

"I cannot promise such a thing considering I will be travelling but, I swear not to raise an arm in hostility to you or your Hold." the Master vowed. 

"I would be willing to let you part here and now but there's something you forgot. You used necromancy," Balgruuf said happily. "And you know how we Nords also feel when necromancy is used and when it is also used on our dead." 

"Necromancy is not illegal!" blurted the Master. "And I wasn't using them to harm people! I was going to use them for labour!" 

"Is that supposed to make us feel better?" Balgruuf asked with a raised eyebrow. 

"No? Yes?" the Master blinked. As she saw the unfeeling and unsympathetic looks on the faces of the Nords, the Master realized that she wasn't going to make it out alive. And the more she spoke, the worst it became for her as the her flames were slowly dying out. With time slowly running out, the Master pulled out one more card out of her sleeve. 

She raised her arms in surrender. Balgruuf clicked his tongue at that. 

"...I really, really do not want to die," the Master admitted. "And if you have made the deals which I have, then you would understand my position." 

"You're gutless," a Nord spat. 

"My shame in surrender is better than getting chewed by Hermaeus Mora," the Master sneered. She turned towards Balgruuf. "I surrender myself to you, my lord. I ask and beg for your mercy," she said succinctly. Despite her tone, her eyes all but showed her fear. 

"Fine," shrugged Balgruuf. "You're lucky that not a single one of my riders actually died otherwise, I would have just killed you here and now." 

The Master sighed with relief. 

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A/N: Updoot.