An Enchanting Tale

Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty Three

S'maash arrived in Whiterun during the middle of a chilly night. He hugged his blue robes tightly over his armor. Guards stood watch both inside and outside the city walls.

"Destruction magick's fine. Just don't go burning down any buildings," a guard said.

"Never my intention," S'maash replied with a nod.

He shuffled down the stone roads to Dragonsreach. Inside, warm fires burned brightly as an elderly maid swept the floors. Thorald, in his magnificent finery, sat upon his throne at the far end of the room. He stood when S'maash approached. Once they were close, the Jarl addressed his court wizard.

"Glad to see your return. I'll begin immediately as there is little time to waste," he said. The palace's heat quickly warmed the elf over as he listened intently. "Word has spread like wild fire that necromages have taken residence in StrongmouthCave. I don't like the thought of their evil machinations taking place inside my city walls. Their presence threatens my people."

"What would you have me do," S'maash asked, slightly befuddled.

"I spoke to the Companions. They are willing to fight these necromages, but I fear their skill in blade and armor alone isn't enough of an effort. The Harbinger, Vilkas, suggested I speak to my court wizard. My decision is for you to speak directly with him in Jorrvaskr. See to what he requires. That is my order, S'maash."

"As you wish...I hope this can all be handled with haste. I–"

"Yield not to haste, mage! No doubt you have your own research, much as Farengar did, but I need you to help the Companions solve this problem without incident. Is that understood?"

"Of course. I will go see the Harbinger then."

He sped from Dragonsreach like a rabbit outrunning a fox and reached Jorrvaskr, mead hall and resting place of the Companions. The ancient, wooden building had the appearance of a capsized boat. Great, long, wooden boards lined its roof. Shields hung in decoration. S'maash entered through large, wooden doors.

Inside Jorrvaskr were three tables lining a fire pit where meat was cooking. The aroma made S'maash's stomach rumble. Three seasoned warriors eyed him with curiosity. One, a gorgeous woman with trim figure and thick, auburn hair, approached him.

"Are we lost, dunmer?"

Squinting, he said, "Not in the least. I am the Jarl's court wizard, S'maash Ilteriel."

"Come, Aela, finish your story. Then, I will have words with this wizard," a scarred man in heavy, strange-looking, steel armor said.

Aela walked back to her seat and beckoned for S'maash to sit as well. Then, she continued her story. The mead hall was alive with revelry that night.

"So, Farkas had tracked the frost trolls back to their lair. His brilliant idea was to charge in, sword swinging. I told him the best plan of attack was to sneak in, making little noise, and take the trolls by surprise. You should have seen the look on his face, yes that one," she said, chuckling.

The third warrior, obviously named Farkas, had long, thick hair. It was graying, but he seemed every bit the powerful nord. He, too, wore steel armor, though it was a more common type worn by many adventurers, and not the kind emblazoned by wolfish features as Vilkas wore.

"I don't know why you have to tell it like that," Farkas commented.

His voice was frightening and powerful but it reminded S'maash of Balimund and he smiled. Aela seemed rather boisterous in her demeanor as she spoke, and Vilkas appeared calm and collected—the leader, or Harbinger. Aela continued.