Swordsinger didn’t know what she expected, but whatever those hidden expectations may have been, they were erased in a moment by the reality.

 

 

The stairs led to a room that was not quite as big as the one they had just left but was still large enough to dwarf any palace throne room. Doors stood in the stone wall to the left and stairs led further up and in along each wall but she only registered those details through an oblique lens – her eyes were drawn with helpless immediacy to the massive wall that curved nearly the width of the cavern. It was carved in relief with a dizzying array of pictures and strange marks that she could only assume were some sort of lettering, though like none she had seen before.

 

“What is this place?” The words slipped out before she was cognizant of their presence.

 

Delphine’s face was lit up like a girl on her birthday. “It is as I told you – this is Sky Haven Temple, home of the Blades. And the Dragonborn, when she isn’t imprisoned somewhere.”

 

“Yes, you told us but that doesn’t tell me anything. What who or what are the Blades?”

 

“The Blades were dragon slayers, back in the day. When the dragons disappeared, they became the king’s personal guard. Then the war happened and they were wiped out almost to a man. Or a woman.” A bitter smile. “The few left went into hiding – the Thalmor wish nothing more than to eradicate the last of us.”

 

“So you are one of these Blades.”

 

“She is, yes,” the old man’s voice replied from behind Swordsinger. “We both are.”

 

Swordsinger glanced back as Esbern and Wooly entered the room but the old man didn’t pay her – or anything else – any attention when his eyes caught sight of the carved wall.

 

“Divines! It is here!” He moved toward the wall with a haste that belied his seeming age, but stopped once he neared it as if afraid to disturb it. “I wondered if it truly existed.” He reached out a shaking hand and touched the relief.

 

“What do you mean, you weren’t sure it existed?” Delphine’s voice had turned flat and Esbern spared her a glance and a chuckle.

 

“Knowing a thing existed in the past does not mean that that thing still exists today.” He stepped back and surveyed the wall. “This tells the tale of the dragons of the past, and the Blades who fought them”

 

“Does it tell how they defeated them?”

 

“I don’t know yet. It will take some time to decipher everything. I certainly hope so.”

 

 Delphine ran a hand through her hair. “Hopefully whatever you find something before it’s too late. And we still need to find Sian.”

 

Swordsinger tilted her head at the name. “That’s your Dragonborn, yes? Do you have any ideas where she might be? Perhaps we can help.”

 

Delphine gave a small smile and shook her head. “I appreciate the offer but I have the best working on that particular problem. If they cannot find her, no one can.” Her eyes narrowed and she tapped her chin with a finger as she studied her Stormcloak guests. “But since you mention it, there is a way you could help. But it might…create issues.”

 

“Issues? What do you mean?”

 

“Well – I seek to restart the Blades. And that means I need people know how to handle themselves against dragons.

 

“I know you are vowed to the Stormcloaks and tied up in the war, but in my mind, it is clear that the dragons are the biggest threat to Skyrim, if not all of Tamriel, right now. They need to be dealt with, but the war is draining most of the fighting resources. In order to defeat the dragons, the war needs to end, so it would not be a conflict of interest for you and your people to join us as well.

 

“Obviously we cannot hope to have final victory against them until we have found Sian, but without the war, at least we would have a better chance of controlling the dragon population until we can find her.”

 

Hammerleaf snorted. “So you are suggesting we join your little cult?”

 

Delphine tossed him a glare with eyes that seemed able to cut metal with a glance. “It’s not a cult. It’s an ancient established militia that stands in peerage with the Companions or the Vanguard or the Fighter’s Guild or any other similar group you might wish to name.”

 

Hammerleaf shrugged. “Fine. Even if that is true, what would joining do for us? You do not seem to be in a position to offer us anything in return.”

 

“No?” Delphine gestured around. “A safe place for you and your soldiers to rest? Also, there are these.” Delphine lifted a black-hilted sword in an equally black sheath from table, held it up, and slowly removed the blade from the sheath.

 

It was unlike any weapon Swordsinger had seen – the blade was just as dark as the hilt yet still somehow shone. As more of the blade appeared, strange ruins inscribed in silver were revealed. It had a strange graceful curve that ended in a needle-sharp point. She could not take her eyes off it, not only because of its beauty, but because she could sense an energy emanating from it; an energy remarkably similar to the y̌êz buud that only the Ansei could generate.

 

The thought cast a bitter shade over Swordsinger’s thoughts. Her mother, the youngest Ansei in history, had been able to create the swords made of nothing but spirit energy by the time she turned twelve. Swordsinger was nearly twice that age and still had not managed the feat. If he accepted Delphine’s proposition, she would hear her mother’s scorn that she needed such a weapon every time she used it. Yet, there was no denying its power, and her hands twitched in slavering lust to hold it.

 

“Not just weapons.” Delphine had been talking but Swordsinger hadn’t heard a word of it. She dragged her attention away from the blade and tried to focus. “Armor as well. Armor designed to protect from dragon attacks, especially their breath attacks.”

 

“Those aren’t breath attacks,” Esbern interrupted, though his eyes never wavered from the wall. “They’re word attacks.”

 

Delphine rolled her eyes and glared back at the old man. “Yes, I know, but everything thinks of them as breathing fire or ice or whatever. There is not need to be pedantic about it when doing so just adds confusion.”

 

“Add confusion? Being accurate never adds confusion, it removes…”

 

Swordsinger cleared her throat and cut in. “We’ll…um…need to talk over your offer. We can’t just abandon the Stormcloaks. And, yes, I know you said they wouldn’t conflict but some would not see it that way.”

 

Delphine’s attention returned with a new level of intensity. “Understandable, of course. But there is one more thing you really need to see.”

 

She reached into her pack and pulled out a sheaf of papers, fingered through them for a moment, then separated a few pages and slid them across the table. Swordsinger and Hammerleaf exchanged glances, then Hammerleaf stepped forward picked up the papers, and brought them back to Swordsinger. 

 

The papers appeared to be from the Thalmor – they were written with the tight and neat scripting that was the hallmark their writing. It was, for back of a better word, a dossier on none other than Ulfric Stormcloak. And what it said…

 

Swordsinger looked up as the dread slowly forming in the stomach for the past year and a half sprang forward as a fully functional panic.

 

“Where did you get this?”

 

“From the Thalmor themselves.” Delphine smiled a little. “Sian snuck into their embassy and took that, along with some other information. Interesting, isn’t it?”

 

Hammerleaf shook his unusually pallid face. “If this is true, it does answer a lot of questions.”

 

“Yes. Like why the war is stalled. Like where we’re here in the Reach in the first place. If this is true…it changes everything.” Swordsinger glared at the papers then looked up at Delphine. “We cannot just take your word for this. We will head back to the cave and continue our mission while we verify this information.”

 

Delphine nodded as she stuck the rest of the paper back in her pack. “Of course. I would do the same.”

 

Hammerleaf frowned. “How are we going to do that?”

 

Swordsinger tossed him a grim smile and she turned and headed for the stairs. “I can only think of one way - we are going to have to kidnap some Thalmor. Ready to go on a little mission with me?”

 

Hammerleaf’s surprised was masked by a sudden vicious grin. “Am I ready to hunt Thalmor? What kind of question is that? I am always ready for that.”

 

“Good.”

 

They marched down the stairs in tandem as plans formed in Swordsinger’s head. Plans revolving around the papers she still clutched in her hand – the papers that seemed to prove that Ulfric Stormcloak, would be king of Skyrim and leader of the rebellion against the Empire and the Thalmor that Swordsinger had been embroiled in for three and a half years, was a secret agent of the Thalmor and therefore a traitor to his own people.