The Elder Scrolls: Dragonborn Legacy - 4

      It was still new to her, the knowledge that she would never again see a sunrise.  She would never again hunger, her beauty would never fade.  Wrapped in bearskins and armed with her bow, she walked to the top of one of Skyrim’s massive hills and looked down upon her new home.  Snow and forests and rivers all stretched out before her.  This was her future.  She would bring the truths of the daedra to this frozen land and spread Molag Bal’s blessing to the worthy.  For she was a Daughter of Coldharbor, the first to be born for an age.
      Tremere wrapped her hand around the pendant that her parents had left her before sending her on her pilgrimage—a raven’s skull.  It would help to ward away fire and protect her from the sun.  But it would not save her if she was caught too long in its unforgiving rays.  She thought back to the ceremony that made her what she was.  None of the other girls who had attempted it for decades had survived.  But she was special.  She was stronger.  She was—
      “Dovahkiin!”
      Tremere ducked down as she suddenly her great thundering wings and a roar filled the air.  The dova, a great beast with wings like fire, did a great turn over head before landing like an earthquake on a rock outcropping not fifty yards away.  A dragon.  She had only killed one before, a red beast that had lit the sky in her homeland.  She had heard stories that the dragons of Skyrim were the most fearsome creatures in all of Tamriel.
      She watched it with her glowing eyes, her heart pounding a bit.  What should she do?  Attack it?  Wait for it to go away?
      “Dovahkiin!  Sven stil dos tre noch!”  The dragon’s mouth hardly moved with each word, but the voice unmistakably came from its jaws.  It stared at her, hard small eyes unblinking.
      Tremere slowly stood up from where she was crouching, her bow at her side.  “What do you want, dragon?” she finally demanded.
      “Sven col thu’um joor?  Still speak with mortal tongue?  Aas freg dova!  Such a young dova.”
      She dared to draw a little closer as to stand before the creature.  “Have you come to avenge the dragon I slew?”
      “Na vis, Dovahkiin,” it replied, “A dova does not avenge one of the fallen, even one so sadly to die of joor.”  Hot steam sprayed from its nostrils.  “I am Yolvensah.  I come with a broshan.  A message.”
      “A message?” she asked, projecting her voice a little louder than necessary, “A message from whom?”
      “Ya ishgod.  Patience, joor dova.  You must prove worthy of it.  Yol Wuld!”
      The last two words came with wide open mouth, and a fiery cyclone ripped through the bushes toward her.  Tremere gasped and leapt to the side, the heat of the flame eating at her skin even from a distance.  Her mother had promised the pendant would protect her, but she wasn’t ready to test that just yet.  She whipped her bow around and fired a shot into the dragon’s chest.  It roared and flapped into the air, the arrow seeming but a splinter in its scales.  It roared, though Tremere could almost hear a word, and a stream of fire poured out and lit the earth ahead of her on fire.
      She hadn’t been a vampire back when she’d slain that dragon.  And this one seemed far bigger and more terrifying than the last.  She fired several more shots, a couple missing but most hitting their mark before being forced to take cover under a rock outcropping.  She heard the dragon boom something in the dragon tongue and then more fire came.  Despite herself, she was terrified.  She unleashed some arrows into its wings.  But it was no more than being jabbed by needles to it. And it would take a lot of needles to harm it.  And that fire was making her skin crack.
      It was then she decided that it was time to attempt to use the new powers she’d gained.  Fleeing back into more cover, she watched as the dragon circled overhead.  She closed her eyes, let the vampire both course through her like a hurricane, her every blood vessel swelling until it exploded into power.  Her limbs grew powerful, vampire magic poured from her hands, and she sprouted wings.  Letting out a screech she reappeared from the cover and began to throw great balls of red energy at the beast.
      The first grazed its wing, forcing Yolvensah to fly higher, whirling around, hills and trees occasionally obscuring it.  “Loos gor, Dovahkiin!” it cried, “Gaan Lah Haas!”
Deep purple magicka struck her and the ground all around her, and Tremere felt a portion of her power leave her, going to strengthen her foe.  She was not very familiar with magic and these vampiric powers were new to her as well.  Still, she managed to put out a spray of ice from her hand to cool the flames before her, charging another red blast in her hand.  She said a quick prayer to Meridia for strength, unleashing it at the distant dragon once more.
      None too soon, if she had not been hovering, she would have sure fallen as Yolvensah landed directly in front of her.  His jaws struck, and she barely pulled her vampiric wing free before his teeth sank in.  Tremere was forced to flee into cover as another blast of fire swarmed her.  The fresh blood of her birth waned and she reverted back to her natural form, curled up against the rock that shielded her, feeling her skin flake away.  She heard the thunder of the dragon’s movements and scurried around it only to be caught by its tail.
      She cried out as she hit the ground, the monster seeming even more massive than before.  She sat up and fired shot after shot into its face, but it merely rebuffed them with disconcerted growls.
      “Joor,” he bellowed.
      “Gaan!” she answered, her mouth gaping wide.
      The dragon whiplashed back, struck by something, and she felt…stronger.  She put away her bow and held out both hands, streams of red draining more strength from her foe and increasing her own.  She gave a war cry, boldly striking its jaw with her bow before notching another arrow.
      “Drem!  Stay your weapon, Dovahkiin.  You have proven worthy.”
      Tremere held her bow drawn for a moment longer before lowering it, touching her throat.  What was that power that had come out of her?  “Who sent you?”
      “Rii Akatosh?  How did Dovahkiin know I was sent?”  He growled.  “Ah, the broshan.  The joor do not deliver their own messages, is it so?”
      “Not anyone who considers themselves important, no.” She put her bow on her back.  “And I know there are other known dragonborn in Skyrim.  Some who even command dragons.”
      “It is so,” Yolvensah replied with remorse, “We dov follow he that has the strongest thu’um.   Never did my master Alduin imagine a dovahkiin could trump his thu’um, his voice, but such is what happened in time not long from the now.”  He took a deep, steamy breath, filling the cold air with moisture and heat.  “I am dova sah to Marth Windkin, Lord of Castle Volkihar.  He is a half-breed vampire of the ancient blood…and my las mir.  My master.”
      Tremere came a little closer to the dragon’s head—which by itself was the size of a horse.  “I see,” answered the redguard, “And what message do you deliver for your master?”
      “That you are in danger, Dovahkiin.  For you are a daughter of Coldharbor, or so he believes you to be, for his foresight predicted your coming.”
      “I am a Daughter of Coldharbor,” she affirmed.  She looked out at the frozen landscape.  “Skyrim is a dangerous place.  But I trust he meant a more specific danger.”
      “Indeed.  As a daughter of Coldharbor, your blood bears significance to a certain preshov.  An artifact.  The joor call it Auriel’s Bow.  Heard you of it?”
      “No, I’m sorry.  I don’t worship the gods of Skyrim.”
      “It is said that if a daughter of Coldharbor would gain this artifact, she would have power over the sun.  My master warns, the enemies of the children of Molag Bal will do anything in their power to see you destroyed, Dovahkiin.”  Another steamy snort.  “There is one other thing.  Marth Windkin is dovahkiin as you are and wishes to teach you his thu’um.”
      “Thu’um?” she asked with curiosity, “I’m sorry, as you said before, I am young.  And I know little about dragons or being dragonborn.  I am a priestess of Oblivion.  Being dovahkiin, as you say, was never written in my destiny.”
      “There are many daedra worshippers in Skyrim,” the dragon replied, “But very few dovahkiin.”  He adjusted his position, using his wings like legs, and looked at her squarely, the scales on his muzzle so like the flames she feared.  “And only one daughter of Coldharbor.”
      She looked down and thought this all over.  “Tell your master…that I thank him for the warning…and will consider his offer.”
      “You may thank him yourself, Dovahkiin.”  Yolvensah turned his side to her.  “I am commanded to bear you to Castle Volkihar, unless you resist.”  He rumbled what sounded like a sigh.  “A dova is not ridden lightly by joor, nor would I allow you such a privilege if my las mir had not commanded it.”
      “Our lords often command things we do not wish,” she sympathized, “I know this all too well.”  She pressed a hand to her chest and bowed. “I would be greatly honored to be borne by you, Yolvensah.”
      He lowered his neck.  “You will hold tightly, joor.  Should you fall, your body will be lost as well as my soul.”
      She placed her hand against his neck, feeling his mighty scales.  “Would be a poor end to both our stories.  I will not fall.”
      Yolvensah thrust his wings up, then down, and in an instant she was seeing a world she had never imagined.  Trees turned to weeds, mountains to rock piles, snow to an indistinguishable skin of white, and the sky seemed to swallow everything but her legs and the dragon’s head.  Tremere held her breath.  She hadn’t ever been afraid of heights, but the awe of it all was truly terrifying.  From the stars she could see they had turned north and the darkness of the night sky obscured the ground completely.  No.  Clouds!  The tops of clouds…and a massive spike of land penetrating them in the east.
      “The Throat of the World,” she uttered, the wind gusting through her black hair.
She gazed at that incredible mountain that seemed a world all of its own.  And she trembled as suddenly, with a voice like thunder, the mountain seemed to speak.
      “ZUL GUT YAH!”
      And a voice like a whisper answered.
      Seek me at High Hrothgar, Tremere, daughter of Trevas.  Seek me, and know the Way of the Voice.
      Tremere gasped, looking about her.  The voice of one of the Princes?  She didn’t know.  But if it was, there was no way she would deny his request.  She looked from the mountain to the world stretching out below her.  This was her destiny, written in the stars.  She would serve the Daedra, spread their truth, and always answer the call.