An Enchanting Tale

Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty Six

The conclusion of Thorald's business ended when the townsfolk of Whiterun gathered before the Skyforge. It was customary for the fallen Companions to be burned upon the mysterious forge; the giant, stone eagle stood watch above them. Each member of the order took a turn praising their fallen, shield brother. Once the short ceremony ended, Vilkas took a torch to the pyre supporting Durro's body.

"You've done a fine thing, court wizard. From this day on, you are one of us. If ever you need assistance, come back to Jorrvaskr," Vilkas said.

"If my brother likes you, I like you. Thanks," Farkas added.

"Not bad for a wizard. I welcome your presence around the mead hall any day, S'maash," Aela said.

The elf feigned a smile. He watched how the Companions gave their respects without grieving. They were glad to have avenged Durro and helped him to enter the eternal fighting and feasting of Sovngarde; it was not a time for grief but for celebration. Thorald was present as well, wearing dark finery.

"So, it's all over, eh," Thorald asked. S'maash looked up to meet his eyes. He nodded slowly. "It was more than just necromages wasn't it? It's no wonder the Companions required aid. Well, you've done a fine thing here."

Blinking rapidly and prodding at his blind eye, S'maash looked around. The torch fires wavered, casting dancing shadows. Inside S'maash's ears, the crackle of flame was like the sound of tearing cloth; obscenely loud. Above him, the stars sparkled like diamonds. J'zargo must be right...I must have contracted, his thoughts broke suddenly.

"What," S'maash asked, startled.

"I said you're probably off to College business. Anyway, should you ever need anything at all from me, I, and Whiterun's people, are in your debt," Thorald replied.

After patting S'maash's shoulder, the Jarl joined the Companions inside Jorrvaskr for drinks and food. "Aren't you coming," Aela asked.

"No, thank you...my wounds still ache," he replied.

He watched them all vanish behind closed doors before thinking back. The previous day, just after the vicious battle, S'maash and J'zargo had done their best to heal everyone, but their powers of restoration were lacking, so they limped back into town, where Danica, the priestess of Kynareth, bandaged and braced everyone's wounds. S'maash had neglected to tell her he fought Delyla, the elder vampire. Danica, being the phenomenal healer she was, noticed the bite marks regardless.

Suddenly, he heard her say, "Normally, Porphyric Hemophilia only takes hold of one's soul after sleep. So long as we remove the disease before it becomes the curse, you'll be fine," her thick, nord accent with rolling R's rang throughout his mind like a bell.

He stood there, gaping at the flaming pyre, and the scent of charring flesh made his stomach churn, but worse was the way Danica's words echoed in his mind. Then, the khajiit's gravelly voice burst into his head.

"Heheh, J'zargo does not believe your ailment to be so simple. Delyla was an elder vampire. Her bite may have affected more than just your blood. Do not sleep unless you are certain the disease is cleansed from your soul."

He worried. The voices in his mind were almost like reliving the conversations. Everything around him had taken on a strange essence, unfamiliar, surreal. He decided to return to Danica. The Temple of Kynareth was modest and clean. Danica was watering some lavender plants when he entered. She, too, had attended Durro's ceremony.

"Feeling better? Or worse?" she was concerned.

"J'zargo said an elder vampire's bite might be worse than normal vampires'."