The dagger was snatched out of the air by a Telekinesis spell and flung aside, but the crisis of comrades turning on each other was far from over. Onmund heard a vicious gust of wind behind his head—that was the Khajiit's hooked claws. He threw himself into a roll, hitting the floor and shouting,
"I never meant to betray anyone!"
"Tell J'zargo—what did Onmund say to the Psijics!"
"He said Master Skyl will bring a series of unpredictable changes to this world. That we should stop him."
"Onmund believes the Psijic words. J'zargo does not believe."
"No, of course I don't believe them either. But I'm afraid you might." Onmund slowly got to his feet. "The legends about the Psijic Order carry too much weight. No spellcaster wants to turn down a chance to speak with them."
"The Psijics vanished along with Artaeum. There is no trace of them in all Mundus. The Psijics want to stop Master Skyl from pursuing mysteries. The Psijics are cowards." The Khajiit's voice was always rough, his turns of phrase strange. It made him sound just a little unhinged.
"Master J'zargo, you trust Master Skyl a bit too much." There were other things Onmund didn't say aloud. After all, Khajiit were a lot like cats—cold and selfish by nature. If he said that out loud, he'd be called a racist.
"Master Skyl helps J'zargo, J'zargo helps Master Skyl. Master Skyl trusts J'zargo, so J'zargo also trusts Master Skyl."
"None of us goes anywhere near the teleportation circle. Understand?"
"Good. J'zargo agrees."
Onmund stared, eyes wide. "And no one is allowed out of the other's sight."
"Exactly so."
The two of them slowly sat down on the sofa and just stared at one another in silence.
The long night dragged on. Before they knew it, both of them were nodding off like pecking chicks, and the house-elf quietly came over and draped blankets over them.
Onmund suddenly shivered himself awake and stood up. Across from him, J'zargo's eyes flew open wide.
"J'zargo is watching you!"
"I'm just getting a glass of water."
"J'zargo will go with Onmund."
Clearly this was turning into a death match of stubbornness. Onmund silently walked over to the red-and-white console. J'zargo abandoned the pachinko machine and stood right next to him, watching.
Every time Onmund played Contra, he managed to burn through all his lives by the second stage, and the little pixel man on the screen just shrugged in resignation.
"Master J'zargo, want to join in?" Onmund pulled out the second controller and handed it to the Khajiit.
J'zargo's fingers were short, thick, and furred, not well suited to the buttons, but his reaction speed was faster than Onmund's. Working together, the two of them actually started making real progress.
"Tell me… do you think Mage Maryon would choose to betray us?" Onmund suddenly asked. His little man had just been killed by the boss in stage three; now everything depended on J'zargo's play.
"The Psijics told J'zargo to alter the teleportation circle."
"They told me the same thing."
"Maryon did not come to the Tower of Tomes. What did Maryon say to the Psijics?"
"Should we warn Master Skyl?"
"No. The Psijic monks are watching us. We can't let Master Skyl know."
"There has to be some way to help Master Skyl while the Psijic monk is watching," Onmund said, keeping the conversation going. Sure enough, J'zargo got distracted and his character died. Onmund immediately beamed. "Let's start another run."
"J'zargo trusts Master Skyl. Master Skyl trusts Maryon. Then J'zargo also trusts Maryon."
…
At last, the long night came to an end.
Skyl had Gally go and wake Onmund and the others.
"Good morning. Even if you can't tell down here underground, it is morning," Skyl said as he washed his face. Last night he'd used Transfiguration to rig up a little condensation collector—while it dehumidified the air, the water it gathered could be used for washing. "Why do you all look half-dead? Didn't sleep well?"
Onmund forced a smile. "What are you talking about, I slept great."
J'zargo spoke at the same time as him, but what he said was, "Did not sleep well."
"Uh, maybe I was snoring and kept Master J'zargo up," Onmund said.
The Khajiit mage said nothing, his expression cool.
Skyl called to Brelyna. "Maryon, breakfast."
The house-elf brought over a basket of freshly baked croissants, along with an assortment of fruit jams, custard puddings, bacon and fried eggs, sunny-side-up eggs, and a huge slice of cheesy apple pie.
Breakfast was a quiet affair.
"Before we start exploring for the day, does anyone have anything they want to say?"
Onmund and J'zargo both twitched, exchanged a look, and were just opening their mouths when Brelyna suddenly stood up.
"It's really miserable down here. Let's finish what we came to do and get out as soon as we can."
Skyl said nothing, only nodded.
That day's excavation work remained uneventful. The sealed burial corridors of Saarthal branched and twisted endlessly. Along the way, traps and magical mechanisms began to appear.
"I'm starting to doubt this is really a common graveyard," Onmund said, frowning. "Right now I'm thinking it was built specifically to pen these draugr in."
Skyl cleared out packs of draugr with his icicle barrage. Compared to Fireball, Ice Spike did far less collateral damage. In a subterranean tomb like this, if you cast large-area spells, you had to worry about whether you'd bring the whole place down on your head.
"I have a feeling—we're almost there."
The deeper they went, the stronger the draugr became. They didn't just hit hard; some of them could cast spells as well, and their weapons and armor were top-notch. A simple barrage of icicles wasn't enough to pierce some of them anymore.
J'zargo snatched an ebony longsword from one draugr's grip. "Treasure!"
"Ebony—or 'black glass,' said to be forged from the blood of the god Lorkhan—is very fine stuff," Skyl agreed with a nod. "Let's keep looking. If we find any rare weapons or armor, we strip them all."
The group finally reached the end of the tomb.
Standing here, they could already faintly feel the surging tide of magicka beyond the iron door.
Onmund felt a creeping dread, like a sailor at sea hearing a storm rise beyond the horizon, yet seeing nothing through the darkness of night.
"What is in there… exactly?"
He took two steps back and watched his three companions' faces out of the corner of his eye. J'zargo's cat eyes were like two beads of ice, giving away nothing. Master Skyl wore an odd, rapt expression, as if he were yearning for something. At some point, Brelyna Maryon had turned her gaze squarely on Onmund.
The Nord mage forced a smile, though he had no idea how awful it looked.
Skyl suddenly opened a portal. "All of you, get to the teleportation circle and wait for my signal. Be ready to receive the cargo at any time."
J'zargo went in first, followed by Onmund.
Brelyna gave Skyl a long, deep look, and at that moment that familiar sensation of time being peeled away ripped through Skyl's nerves again.
Those Psijic monks were back.
What were they plotting?
He couldn't help himself. "Who is it?"
"Skyl," Brelyna said, "sometimes all we need is to believe."
"You think I don't trust you enough already?" A strange silver light flickered in Skyl's eyes.
"Dear Magnus, do not doubt your own radiance. It is the shadow of conspiracy that fears you." Brelyna turned and stepped through the portal.
Inside the Tower of Tomes, a carefully constructed summoning array glowed with a faint blue light. Onmund and J'zargo stood on two of the vertices of the inscribed triangle within the circle. They looked toward Brelyna as she walked toward them.
"Mage Maryon, we're just waiting for you to take your place."
The dark elf carefully studied the expressions on their faces. "Before we begin, I have one question."
Onmund and J'zargo remained outwardly calm.
"We are loyal to the Tower. Loyal to our friends. If anyone wants to walk away from this… there's still time."
//Check out my P@tre0n for 20 extra chapters on all my fanfics //[email protected]/Razeil0810