Part I: Cooking the Books

Somehow, the cheese was the worst. No matter how many corpses you piled up, how long you've let them rot, how virulent the rats and skeevers are that have dug into them for food and shelter, a bunch of rotten cheese smells the worst.

As a Bosmer, Nedhelfin had never gotten much of a taste for cheese, or any dairy or cream-based product for that matter. They were carnivores through and through, and he could sooner envision taking a bite out of a skeever tail than choking down some moldy Border Watch Blue. He placed a hand over his face, covering his mouth and nose, in an attempt to staunch the unyielding flow of stench.

"Are you okay?" Brelyna asked, looking at him with fondness and genuine concern. "There are a lot of corpses, I'll understand if you need to step outside."

"Hm?" Ned said, looking around and snapping out of his cheesy daze. "Oh, yes. Corpses. How do necromancers do it? I feel like I need to take a shower just being in the same room as a dead body, and they practically roll around in them."

"I don't think they quite go that far," the Dunmer responded, nudging a body aside with her toe so that she could better walk around it. Ned followed after her, his breathing somewhat steady again.

"No, I'm quite sure of it," he went on. "They probably throw a bunch of corpses into a big pit, strip down to their skivvies, and dive into it like a lake in summertime. They probably consider it therapeutic."

Brelyna chuckled. She seemed to be entirely unfazed by their surroundings - Dunmer were like that, Ned mused. Totally at home with the macabre. The deep blue tint of their skin wasn't the only reason they were known colloquially as 'Dark Elves.' As much as he hated to admit it, he was much less suited for this kind of thing. His Inner Stereotype was yearning for a tree to climb, but instead he was in a series of dungeons underneath a decaying fortress filled with people who considered death a speed bump on the road to a good time. Ancient jail cells were littered with corpses, ranging from kinda-sorta-recent to extremely-decomposed. Some were trapped within inhumanely small cages suspended from the ceiling.

If anyone finds us down here, that'll probably be us, Ned thought with a sigh. Dangling five feet off the ground and begging for a scrap of rotten cheese for the rest of a relatively short life. He was in the middle of wondering what being a reanimated corpse would be like, when he felt himself thrown backwards into a wall, and saw Brelyna's face very close to his own.

"Uhm," he said awkwardly, glancing around for any sign of what had just happened. "Hi?"

"Er," Brelyna stuttered, seemingly just as flustered as he was, but then she looked away, inclining her head downwards towards a slightly elevated circle on the floor, that Ned had just been about to step on.

"Oh," Ned said, as Brelyna released him. "Right. Good eye." He gingerly stepped around it, Brelyna following close behind. Now suddenly much more aware of his surroundings, and feeling a bit awkward and foolish, Ned kept his thoughts as corralled as he possibly could, maintaining a stark awareness of his surroundings. Horrible bloody torture implements on a table over there. Disgusting spider webs on a bookshelf over there. Ooh, look, another pile of bones. Been a whole ten steps since the last one.

Now something else was furiously vying for the attention of his brain, and he slowly became aware of a sound up ahead. The scuffling of feet, and muttering of a voice. The hallway they were in was curved slightly, so he was unable to see who was up there, but he slowed his pace even further, and turned back to make sure Brelyna was on the same page. She nodded, her face grim, and motioned for him to lead the way. Ned sighed.

Creeping forward, painfully aware of how every one of his footsteps sounded like the building was falling down around them, he strained his ears for an indication of what the voice was saying. It sounded frantic, bordering on unhinged.

"...Drastically behind schedule, running out of bodies, the Caller demands more, but yours will both do nicely, will need many more, but two is a start, will let the dogs have you first, make do with the remains..."

Ned looked back, locking eyes with Brelyna. Two prisoners, possibly in imminent danger. Brelyna began to mouth the words, "don't do anything stupid," but Ned cut her off by doing something incredibly stupid: he held charged forward around the corner, frost coalescing inside his right hand to form an icey spear, and yelled, "freeze!"

The man in the middle of the next room looked at him, blinking in confusion a few times. "Excuse me?"

"Uh...f-freeze," Ned said again, his momentum somewhat faltering. "As in, 'stop right there, criminal scum,' but also because I'm using frost magic. See?"

The man, wearing the typical pure black robes of a rogue mage, appeared to be thinking this over for a moment, then offered a retort by way of raising his hand and shooting a volley of lightning into Ned's chest. The elf toppled backwards, tripped over something that made a 'ka-thunk' noise and gave way beneath him, and collapsed onto the ground, feet flung up into the air.

He heard low-pitched growling and the sound of gnashing teeth, and his frazzled brain began to put the pieces together: he had just tripped over the release switch to one of the jail cells, apparently the one holding the ravenous murder dogs. Figured, really.

Next he felt a sudden burst of heat wash over him, and saw a flame atronoch bloom into existence and glide gracefully across the floor away from him. This alleviated his hopelessness somewhat; conjuration was Brelyna's best subject, and the pitiful sound of yelps indicated that the atronoch was successfully dispatching the dogs. Finally regaining sensation in his extremities, Ned stood up, albeit wobblingly.

"That was your plan?" Brelyna said, rushing to his side and helping him regain balance.

"Not 'plan,' so much. More, 'thing I decided to do on the spur of the moment.'" He looked at her exasperated expression and added, "I knew you'd have my back."

"And your front, too, apparently," she said with a sigh. "Why don't you free the other prisoners - the ones who aren't bloodthirsty wolves, if that's okay with you - and I'll tango with this guy?"

Ned let off a sharp, mocking salute, and said, "yes, sir!" before rushing over to the rest of the release switches.

He heard more sounds of battle behind him - the sizzle of lightning arcing across the room, the whoosh of a fireball streaking towards its target. He decided to assume Brelyna had things under control, and yanked on the first lever, which caused one of the grates to open up and reveal the sharply dressed Altmer that Ned had been told to expect. He came rushing over and embraced the Bosmer in a warm hug, clearly relieved to still be alive.

"Okay, okay," Ned said, prying himself free. "You're Orthorn, right? The big stupid moron whose fault it is that we're here in Hellmurder Castle in the first place?"

"You must be from the College," Orthorn said, beginning to perspire a bit, but clearly trying to keep his cool. "Thank you so much for saving my life, clearly I am forever in your debts, and your forgiveness is something I will always treasure-"

"Bup bup bup bup bup, let me cut you off right there," Ned said, holding up a hand. "We're here for the books you stole. Saving your sorry ass is what we call a tertiary objective. So really, it's not too late for you to have an unfortunate accident."

Sometimes, the narrative forces of the universe align with perfect dramatic timing. Just as Ned finished saying this, there was a horrible scream, and the sound of a very recently deceased man collapsing to the ground. Brelyna walked over, a bit charred but no worse for wear, and took her place beside Ned.

Orthorn looked between the two of them, clearly horrified, and held up his hands. "Okay! Okay! I screwed up. I did. I'm sorry I stole from the college. I regret it. Clearly that career choice has not worked out for me, okay, or else you'd find me in the Caller's chambers and not in a jail cell next to some freak!"

This reminded Ned that there was, apparently, a second prisoner. Which was odd - he had been told Orthorn would be here but he had received no warning about a second person who'd have caught the ire of the necromancers. Perhaps simply an unfortunate traveler?

Ned clapped Orthorn on the shoulder in an amicable way, and said to Brelyna, "if he tries to make a run for it, immolate him, okay?"

"You don't have to tell me twice," Brelyna said with a grin. Orthorn went from pale to paler.

Ned walked over to the next cell, where a Khajiit was sitting bow-legged on the floor, arms folded politely in his lap. He was wearing a very plain and tattered brown robe. He had long silver hair that draped down past his shoulders, and an impressive silver mustache to accompany it. Ned self-consciously ran a hand through his greasy, tattered head of hair and regretted the miserable patch of fuzz around his chin that he called a beard. There was something very stylish about this man that seemed to accentuate everything mediocre about Ned.

"Uh, hey," he said, a bit disconcerted by the fact that the Khajiit had not acknowledged his presence, or even moved or opened his eyes since. "Hello? My name is Nedhelfin. I'm from the College of Winterhold. We're here to...er, save you...?" Still nothing. Maybe he was already dead and being held in place by necrotic magic, Ned mused. Probably something really ancient and dark, with lots of y's and k's in it. Magyyks.

"I told you he was a freak," Orthorn called out, apparently trying to be helpful. "When they dragged him in here, he was perfectly calm, and he's just been sitting like that ever since. It's unsettling."

"HEY!" Ned yelled, reaching out and shaking the bars of the cage.

"Ned, knock it off!" Brelyna hissed. "There are probably still other necromancers about."

"Whatever," Ned said with a sigh. "Later, cat. Have fun starving to death, I hear it's a hoot and a holler."

He walked back over to Brelyna and Orthorn, fixing his gaze firmly on the latter. "So. About these books."

"Yes, yes, of course," Orthorn said. "The Caller will have them. Up in the ritual chamber, most likely. She's crazy, that one. I just thought...well, I wasn't really thinking. I figured it'd make me cool to dabble with that kind of magic, y'know? That the power would...I don't know. But her, she's truly mad. She'll kill anyone who gets in her way."

"You hear that, Brelyna?" Ned said, maintaining a straight face as best he could, "Orthorn here just volunteered to go in first. How considerate of him."

Ned would not have guessed that the poor Altmer could've blanched any further, but he did. Ned half-expected him to break down and cry, but to his surprise, and grudging respect, he said, "okay."

"What?"

"Okay. It's the least I can do. If I die, well, it is a death I will have earned for a life lived poorly. I only ask that when you return to the college, you give my sincerest apologies to those I wronged."

Ned blinked a few times, and could not think of anything to say. He looked to Brelyna, who appeared equally speechless.

"Uh...okay, wow. We're not going to just let you get killed. I mean, come on, that'd be a really shitty thing to do." Ned shrugged. "We'll be fine. Lead the way, but Brelyna and I will have your back, okay?"

The seemed to buck Orthorn up a bit, and he nodded, heading towards the exit. Brelyna followed him, and Ned took up the rear. They were almost to the door when a voice called out, "wait."

Ned turned around, grinning. The Khajiit was now standing, and gazing soulfully towards him.

"Ah, decided to rejoin the world of the living, eh?" he said. "Alright, I'll let you out of your cage and then you can bugger off to wherever it is you were going." He walked over, and cranked back the final lever, opening the door to the final cell. The Khajiit stepped forward, and smiled.

"Thank you, kind sir. I would like to make one more request of you, however." His voice was raspy, but he spoke with better enunciation than most Khajiit Ned had met.

"Oh yeah?" Ned asked.

"The path before you is gravely dangerous. Let me accompany you."

Ned looked the man up and down - no weapons and no armor to speak of - then looked at his face to see if he was joking. He looked, if anything, sorrowful.

"Uh. Are you sure you will be of much help?" Ned asked, glancing back at Brelyna, who shrugged uncertainly. "Do you know magic?"

"I am a skilled healer, but other than that, no," the Khajiit responded. "But I will be a valuable asset regardless. I do not wish to see any bloodshed, but if it is between an innocent soul such as yours and a corrupt one such as she who calls herself The Caller, the choice is clear. I will aid you."

Ned opened and closed his mouth a few times, but could think of no good excuse to refuse. "Alright," he said. "You better be more of an asset than a burden, is all I'm gonna say."

Feeling somehow less confident than he did when there were only three of them, Ned followed Orthorn and Brelyna out of the room, the Khajiit trailing behind. As Orthorn navigated the way upwards towards the ritual chamber, Ned looked back at the new companion.

"So, uh, what's your name?" he asked.

"I am called S'shani. And you?"

"Nedhelfin. But, uh, I prefer Ned, since the full version is kind of obnoxious."

They walked on, once more engulfed in awkward silence. For whatever reason, Ned found himself far more anxious about this conversation than he was about the impending battle. "You, uh...what is it you do? Like, for a living?"

"I wander," S'shani answered. "Heal the wounded, help those in need. And you?"

"Uh, student," Ned answered, feeling that this usage of 'and you?' was hardly fair. "College of Winterhold. Y'know, magic. And...things."

"Of course," S'shani answered.

"Shh!" Orthorn called out from ahead, and Ned had never been so grateful for the prospect of incoming hostiles.

"What is it?" Brelyna whispered, trying to crane her neck to see.

"Mess hall," Orthorn answered. "And it's about dinner time. There's going to be upward of a dozen skilled necromancers in between us and the ritual chamber in a matter of minutes."

"Okay, those aren't...great odds," Ned responded, counting on his fingers. "Can we each kill three people?"

"You could hardly kill one, earlier," Brelyna said with a sigh.

"Okay, okay, can you each kill four, and I'll kill one? I'm kidding," he hastily added, withering under Brelyna's gaze.

"Perhaps stealth is the best solution," S'shani suggested, and Brelyna nodded.

"What, are we just going to hope nobody looks at us as we crawl across the middle of a crowded floor?" Ned asked. "That's an even worse idea than mine."

"We're mages, Ned, we'll use magic," Brelyna said. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder how you got into the College in the first place."

"My good looks, probably," Ned conceded with a shrug.

"Apologies, but I am not a mage," S'shani interjected. "Unless one of you are able to cast a spell on two of us, I will not be able to assist in this endeavor."

"But they know you're a prisoner," Brelyna said. "Same with Orthorn here," whom she jabbed in the back. "I'll just put an illusion spell on Ned to make him look like one of the necromancers. Then he just walks the two prisoners by, saying they're needed in the ritual chamber."

"You're going to put our lives in the hands of this oaf?" Orthorn snapped.

"Alternative suggestion: we throw Orthorn into the middle of the room, and sneak by while everyone is killing him," Ned said coldly, glaring at the Altmer, who sighed.

"Fine. We'll do it her way. But where does that leave you?" he asked Brelyna.

"I'll maintain the spell until you're safely past everyone. Then I'll just throw on a light invisibility spell and catch up with you."

Ned, who had been incredibly proud of himself for successfully forming an ice spike earlier, stared at Brelyna. She was going to change his appearance, and then make herself invisible? Damn.

"Well, we better get this over with quickly, before someone stumbles upon us hanging out in this hallway like sitting ducks," Orthorn said. Brelyna nodded, and held her hand up to Ned. He felt a wave of magic wash over him. Looking down, he now saw the black robes of the necromancer they had killed draped around his body.

"A new face is an improvement for you," Orthorn said with a chuckle. Brelyna giggled as well, to Ned's chagrin.

"Alright, go! I'll catch up when the coast is clear." Brelyna gave Ned a gentle shove, and the Bosmer grasped the shoulders of both Orthorn and S'shani, pushing them ahead of himself.

Compared to the consistent darkness of the catacombs beneath the keep, the main hall was startlingly bright. Ned had to blink his eyes a few times to adjust, and became worried that he looked too disoriented and out of place. He tightened his grip on the Altmer and Khajiit - ignoring a yelp from the former - and hurried towards the back stairwell as quickly as he could.

"Niraegaer!" came a voice that was approaching him at great speed. A hand clasped him on the shoulder jovially. "So, they finally let you off guard duty, eh?"

"Yes," Ned said, stone-faced.

"And the Caller wants...eesh, both prisoners? What's she doing up there, I wonder...having all the fun without us, eh?" the man chuckled.

"Ah hah hah hah hah hah," Ned muttered, trying to put his heart into it. "Well, I best get these to her-"

"Now hold on a second," the man continued, grabbing Ned's wrist rather firmly. "I've got an experiment of my own I've been waiting for a test subject on. The Caller hardly needs both of them, right? How about you let me have one?"

"I really think I ought to just bring them to-" Ned frantically tried to say, but was cut off by another necromancer coming up and grabbing Orthorn by the shoulders, grinning maliciously at him.

"Take the rotten Elf here," the newcomer said. "Ol' Orthorn will be far more useful once he's dead than he ever was when he's alive, ain't that right?" Both necromancers laughed. Orthorn squirmed in the second man's grip. He was a big man, who towered over the Altmer. His square jaw and wide grin loomed out from the confines of his dark hood.

"So, we're in agreement then? You give the Caller the furball, and we'll show Orthorn one last spell, for old time's sake?" the second man said. He was smaller, skinnier, more wiry. Ned wasn't that physically imposing himself, but figured this was as good a time as any to clamp down on someone potentially weaker than him. He balled his right hand into a fist, and brought it firmly into his adversary's jaw, sending him flying into a table. Several more heads turned to stare at them, but he puffed out his chest defiantly.

"Anyone else who wishes to defy the Caller can take it up with her," he said. "Now get out of my way unless you want to be a third sacrifice." Without waiting another moment, he pushed Orthorn and S'shani ahead of him up the stairs.

He felt every heartbeat echo through his body, felt his blood rushing through his veins. The world was a blur until they reached the top of the steps, and he finally exhaled.

"You did good work," S'shani said, offering a genial smile. Even Orthorn nodded in grudging agreement. Ned was about to reply, either with thanks or a stream of curses induced by the intense stress, but was cut off by the sound of a commotion from below. Various shouts and scuffling of feet, as if the group below was mobilizing.

"Shit! They're onto us. We're dead!" Orthorn cried. Ned slapped him - partly for being hysterical, and partly because he had really wanted to slap him this entire time.

"Where is our destination? Perhaps we can make it there first," S'shani said. Orthorn nodded, rubbing his cheek.

"It's just down here. But we'll need a key, and I don't have one." He sat off, the other two following behind him.

"Hey, where is Brelyna?" Ned asked. He could feel the magic falling off of him. He was once more wearing his normal blue robes, and he could only assume his regular homely face was plastered back on the front of his head. "She should've caught up by now."

"Maybe that was the commotion," Orthorn said with a shrug. "Maybe they saw her and she had to make a run for it."

"Then we have to go back and help her!" Ned shouted, and immediately made to run back the way they had come, but a hand firmly grasped his shoulder, holding him back.

"No," S'shani said. "Doing so will help no one. She is skilled, and will be able to evade capture. We must continue with her plan as best we can without her."

Ned sighed. The stupid Khajiit was right. Brelyna was twice the mage Ned was, and throwing himself into any fracas with her would just make things more complicated and difficult.

It was sometimes nice to at least pretend he wasn't such a hindrance.

"Halt!" a voice suddenly cried out. It was not coming from behind them, but from down a side passage. A new necromancer was rapidly approaching them, hands glowing and ready to unleash hell at the slightest provocation. Ned and Orthorn froze.

The necromancer grinned. "Oh, the Caller is going to enjoy this little gift," he said, and raised both his hands into the air-

-And suddenly one hand was being twisted backwards, the wrist caught in the iron grip of S'shani. The necromancer let out a gasp of shock and pain, buckling to his knees as bones in his wrist splintered apart.

"Do you have a key to the ritual chamber?" S'shani asked, calmly.

The necromancer nodded furiously.

"Using your free hand, take it and politely toss it towards my friend Nedhelfin here," the Khajiit continued, nodding in Ned's direction.

The necromancer stuck his sweaty and shaking left hand into a pouch on his robes, grabbed a key ring, and threw it. Ned fumbled it, and it clattered to the floor. As he awkwardly bent over to pick it up, S'shani continued speaking.

"The path of necromancy is a dark and misguided one. You have, by virtue of associating with these miscreants, committed great injustices against the gods and your fellow man. It is never too late for redemption, however. I am going to release your hand. You may either repent for your misdeeds, and accompany us safely away from this den of iniquity, or you may continue down the path you are on. Do you understand your choice?"

The necromancer nodded furiously once more, and S'shani released him. He collapsed backwards, nursing his injured hand, then glared up at the Khajiit, hate clearly etched into his eyes. "I'll skin you alive for that," he shouted, lightning flaring up once more in his good hand, but in a heartbeat S'shani's hands shot outwards, grasped the necromancer firmly around the neck, and twisted. His corpse slumped to the ground.

"Uh," Ned said as S'shani walked back towards him.

"I do not wish to talk about it," the Khajiit responded. "You have your keys. Let us continue."

His jaw still hanging agape, Ned followed. Orthorn also appeared to be as stunned as he was, but quickly snapped out of his reverie and moved back to the front of the group.

"The ritual chamber is just over...ahah," he said, turning through a final corridor and stopping in front of a large pair of oak doors. Ned went to hand him the keys, but Orthorn shook his head. "Oh, no no no. I'm not going in first, not when I know we've got some sort of crazy fighting guru with us. Send him in."

"I will be glad to lend my assistance if confrontation is unavoidable," S'shani began, "but I am only useful in close-quarters combat. If this 'Caller' is able to maintain distance, as I assume adept mages do, I will be dispatched rather quickly."

"You heard the man," Ned said, holding the keys back out to Orthorn, "mages first."

"But...you're a mage, too!" Orthorn protested.

"Right, addendum: mages who are also weasely little snots first."

Orthorn sighed, grabbed the keys, fished out the correct one, and put it in the lock. Gulping, he pushed the door open, and the three stepped inside.

Two raised platforms were in the far back corners of the room, each with a pedestal on them, each pedestal topped with a book. They were looking for three very rare, very specific books - and his gut told him these were, of course them. The third was on another pedestal, this one at the very center of the room. It was open, and being read by a woman in the same dark robes that everyone else in the keep had worn. She looked up, a rather pleasant grin spreading across her face. Ned was horrified to realize she was quite young and attractive. He had assumed being a total creep was a prerequisite for this line of work.

"Ah, Orthorn. So nice of you to drop by," she said, slowly walking around the pedestal. "And who is this you've brought with you? A nice new rug, and some Bosmer for dinner?"

Orthorn tried to retort, but ended up making a bunch of stuttering, clicking noises with his mouth. The Caller laughed seductively.

"Er, I think what he's trying to say," Ned piped up, "is, 'we're here to stop you and take back what's ours.' Or, uh, something."

"Oh? Is that what you're trying to say, Orthorn?" she came a few steps closer, and extended a smooth hand towards the Altmer. "Or did you come to get back into my good graces? Wouldn't you rather rejoin us, become one of the elite once more?"

Ned groaned as Orthorn nodded ever-so-slightly.

"Then start your process of ingratiation by killing these two for me, would you, dear?" The Caller backed away, once more placing a hand on top of the book.

Orthorn turned towards Ned, his face sorrowful. "I'm sorry about this..."

"Oh, you really are an ass," Ned said, before a blast of fire threw him backwards. It wasn't too terribly overpowering, however, and he was soon back on his feet, albeit coughing up a few mouthfuls of ash. "That all you got?" he sneered.

He anticipated that Orthorn would try to throw another fireball at him, so he quickly materialized a shield of energy in front of him. The blast hit it and ricocheted off, flying towards the Caller. It slammed into the pedestal, and the book she was reading went up in flames. Both she and Ned cried out at the same time.

"S'shani! Save the book!" he cried, but was interrupted by Orthorn, forsaking magic, tackling him to the floor. The feeble elf managed to get a good handhold around his neck, but Ned pushed back, rolling over and gaining the high ground. He slammed the palm of his hand down onto Orthorn's face, flattening his nose and causing blood to seep down his mouth and chin. Suddenly the Altmer was hot to the touch; his hands erupting in scorching pain, Ned leapt backwards. The bastard had put a flame cloak spell on.

"How about you...COOL off?" Ned yelled, holding out both hands and launching a barrage of freezing air towards his adversary. Orthorn coughed and spluttered, stumbling backwards against the onslaught. As the life seemed to drain almost completely from his eyes, Ned stopped, balled his hand into a fist, and clubbed him over the head, knocking him unconscious.

Or, as he would've put it...out cold.

Ned turned back to see S'shani slowly moving towards the Caller, locked in a powerful stream of lightning that was steadily emanating from both her hands. Ned ran towards her, but she took one hand away, pointed it at him, and fired a volley that effortlessly flung him across the room. Ned rolled across the floor, and realized he was rather close to one of the raised platforms. If he could just grab the books and get out of there while she was focused on S'shani...

He couldn't help but envision a much smaller version of himself appearing on one of his shoulders to fix him with a condescending glare.

"Ned, he is putting himself in great danger to help you, and he doesn't even know you. He is a good man - you cannot simply leave him to die."

A second version of himself, this one with a pointed goatee that Ned could never hope to grow himself, materialized on the opposite shoulder.

"Yeah, and you don't know him either. Just because he's got a fetish for playing the hero doesn't mean you owe him squat. You've got one mission, and that's grab the books, get home, and sleep in your nice, comfy bed."

Grunting with pain as he stood up, Ned hoisted himself onto the first raised pedestal and grabbed the first book. The Caller seemed to have turned her attention fully back onto S'shani, and so he ran as quickly as he could across the room, hopped onto the second platform, and grabbed the second book.

S'shani had fallen to his knees now, but was still crawling pathetically forward, as the Caller took a few steps back to remain out of reach. She cackled, clearly enjoying herself. Ned backed away slowly, almost to the door...

Oh, god damnit.

He charged forward, lifted one of the books over his head, and slammed it down on top of the Caller. She yelped, turned around, and released a potent blast of fire. Ned had been anticipating this, and brought up his shield. The resulting effect was catastrophic: the two of them were both flung backwards, and Ned felt the book in his hand get torn apart by the force of the blast.

As he slammed chest-first back onto the ground, however, he could feel the third and final book still intact against him protected by his shield. He needed to get it out of here at any cost.

He stood up, hobbled a few feet, then felt another jolt of electricity hit his legs. He stumbled forward, and this time slammed his head into the hard floor with enough force to hear his skull crack. The world went out of focus; his hearing dimmed, and everything looked blurry. He cast his bleary gaze back towards the Caller, who was approaching him.

"I'm going to have fun killing you over the next couple of weeks," she snarled, raising her hands-

The air seemed to empty from the room. His eyes were drawn to S'shani, who looked to be inhaling.

"Fus..."

"Goodbye, whelp..."

"RO DAH!"

The world itself rippled away from S'shani; suddenly the Caller was no longer in front of him. Turning his head as far as he could without his vision exploding in pain, he saw her crumbled against a wall, her body broken and misshapen.

Then he saw the Khajiit running over to him, before he blacked out.