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Ahbiilok watched the small family of wolves play with a mix of jealousy and ravenous hunger. She was sunk deep in one of the sulfur pools near her home, with only her eyes and nose above the stinking yellow mud. She could feel it seeping into the chinks in her armor and knew it would be the cause of much bothersome hard work later. Cleaning mud out of her armor was not how she liked to spend her time.
It will be worth it for the food, Ahbiilok reminded herself. Just think how those wolves will taste roasted . . .
Very few animals lived in the hot springs that surrounded her home. The stench of the mud combined with the poisonous water kept all but the toughest wolves and mammoths far away. Still, the harsh environment suited Ahbiilok. She enjoyed her solitude, but when times were as lean as they were now, the hunting could be a pain. Spring brought deer and elk, winter brought ice and constant hunger; in summer and fall the only meat was from the packs of lean wolves that preyed on unwary travelers. Mammoths were out of the question. The giant that herded them was more than a match for Ahbiilok.
The wolf mother stood and headed into the small shelter provided by an overhanging stone ledge, followed by her yipping pups. Other wolves followed or stayed behind to watch and guard against enemies like Ahbiilok. Finally, only one wolf was left in Ahbiilok’s line of sight. Now was the time to spring her trap.
Slowly, smoothly, Ahbiilok tensed her muscles and raised her head. Any disturbance of the mud was cloaked by the constant bubbling of the pool. She took a deep breath, letting the Words of Power gather on her tongue, feeling the cold tingle of the Storm Voice in her lungs. Then--
“Yol! Toor! Shul!”
A fireball left Ahbiilok’s mouth with the roar of an inferno and burst upon the ground between her and the wolf.
“Missed!” Ahbiilok swore. “Daedra take it. I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
Powerful muscles in her back rippled as she heaved herself free of the pool. Lunging at the wolf, she caught its tail in her teeth just as it turned to flee. Muddy water sprayed from her wings in sheets as she flapped once, twice, and was in the air, straining to stay aloft.
“Whoops!”
The wolf’s tail broke off and the animal dropped. Ahbiilok dove after it, flapping madly, wingtips scraping the ground. A tree smacked her in the nose and she fell the last ten feet to the ground, driving her claws through the body of the wolf. She swayed, unable to balance properly on only her feet, then tipped to the side, hopping awkwardly on one foot to avoid squishing her meal. Her right wing slapped into a sulfur pool.
“Ow! Ow! Curse this mud!”
After a few seconds of mad thrashing, Ahbiilok righted herself and took to the air again. The dead wolf dangled from her left claw.
“It’s probably ruined,” muttered Ahbiilok. “Just my luck. Scales full of mud, a whole day wasted sitting in a smelly pond, and only a skinny wolf to show for all my trouble. That’s what I get for living in a wasteland.”
Her home was just ahead, on a crest of stone littered with bones. Steam seeped from fissures in the rock, wrapping the summit in a layer of cloud. A strange dark shape waited at the top, all but concealed by the steam.
Ahbiilok’s eyes narrowed. What or who was this unwelcome visitor? It moved as she circled the crest, uncurling to reveal a neck and tail. Wings unfolded a moment later and flicked water off to either side. Ahbiilok groaned inwardly; she knew those silvery wings anywhere.
The newcomer shuffled back to allow Ahbiilok to land. She took her time, flapping her wings more than necessary and making sure to blow hot steam into the visitor’s face.
“Ahbiilok,” said the newcomer when she had settled. He had a deep voice, deeper than Ahbiilok’s, and his snout had a narrow, almost delicate look to it.
“Drem Yol Lok, Sahloknir,” she replied. The visitor was not unknown to her. Sahloknir inhabited a lair just to the South of Ahbiilok’s, so his territory bordered her own. He was of the first generation of dov, the ones created by Akatosh, and so he was many hundreds of years older than Ahbiilok, who was of the second generation. By tradition, the elder dovah would speak first, but Sahloknir had invaded her territory and she was not in the mood to comply with tradition.
“What are you doing in my territory? I was not expecting any . . . interruptions, today or any other day.”
“I come bearing news,” rumbled Sahloknir. His sharp claws clenched and his tail flicked in irritation at the breach of etiquette. “News that you may not wish to hear.”
Damn right, thought Ahbiilok.
“The joorre in my territory have become increasingly noncompliant with Dovah law,” he continued. “They refuse to pay tribute to us, either in riches or in food to fill our bellies. The Dovahdraalid have done little. Viinturuth interrogated the one that calls itself Nahkriin, the Vengeful One, and it reports that many joorre have begun to ignore the Dovahdraalid entirely. It can do little, aside from using power more forcefully than it can at present.”
“Viinturuth has thin scales and weak claws. Everyone knows he is all talk and no Thu’um,” said Ahbiilok.
Sahlokniir ruffled his wings together. “That may be true, but I have heard similar reports from all across the land, from more reliable sources.”
“Such as . . .?”
“Lodunost of the North told of mortals carving towers out of the stone arch near the cove. Bromjunaar said much the same.”
“Bromjunaar spends too much time with that Dovahdraalid of hers, Morokei. You call those ‘reliable sources’?” Ahbiilok lifted her head high in disdain. “Besides, mortals do not concern me. The ones who dare to live closest to my lair live forty miles to the North. I have much to do without herding joorre.”
“May I inquire as to what, exactly, you have been doing?” asked Sahloknir. “You look like a horker, covered in mud as you are.”
Ahbiilok took a step forward. “My business is my business, Sahloknir.”
“What is that caught on your claw, Ahbiilok? Surely, that is not a matter of business, but one of personal grooming.”
Ahbiilok looked at the limp wolf. She had inadvertantly stepped on the wolf during her conversation with Sahloknir, and gore had oozed out and caked onto her claws. The pelt was ruined, and her claws had smashed their way through the body to emerge out the other side. “Dinner.”
Sahloknir shook his head, scales rasping and clicking against one another. “You stoop to such levels, Ahbiilok. I never eat less than an elk myself, and I don’t even have to hunt for it. The joorre do that for me. You, of all dov, should be eating like Alduin, to keep up your strength for, shall we say, the next gener--”
“Sahloknir!” roared Ahbiilok. “You insult me in my own lair! Leave, before the fire of my voice drives you away!”
The brown dragon rose up on his feet at the challenge, flapping his silvery wings for balance. “My Voice is stronger than yours, Ahbiilok. When fire and fire collide, the stronger Thu’um will win, and we both know that will not be yours. Look at you: covered in mud, with a skeever stuck between your toes. You are not worthy of fighting me.”
“Coward!” said Ahbiilok.
“Yol!” Shouted Sahloknir.
Ahbiilok hissed as the fireball struck. She twisted aside, then Shouted back at Sahloknir, adding a second word to prolong the Shout. The resulting jet of fire knocked the other dragon off balance and he quickly crouched to avoid falling over.
I wish I had thought of crouching, earlier, she thought.
Sahloknir took a deep breath to return the shout, when the earth shook violently beneath them. Steam jetted from the cracks in the stone, filling the air with rancid mist. Ahbiilok found herself clutching the ground with her claws as boulders shook themselves loose from the stone spires around them, landing on the ground far below with sharp cracks.
Shouting match forgotten, she yelled over the noise, “What’s happening?”
Sahloknir appeared to be listening to something. “Lord Alduin calls!” he said. “Listen to what he has to say.”
If Alduin was calling in a Voice loud enough to shake the earth from the Throat of the World, then it must be important. Ahbiilok lifted her head and listened.
Sure enough, she could hear a voice amid the rumbling and cracking of the rocks. A deep voice, yet not slow and cumbersome, and filled with the intelligence and cunning of a truly ancient Dovah. Alduin’s voice.
“Dov! I call upon you! Paarthurnax, Odahviing, Mirmulnir, Sahloknir, Vulthuryol, Viinturuth, Nahagliiv, Numinex, Ahbiilok, Krahjotdaan, Grahkrindrog, Nahfahlaar, Bromjunaar, Lodunost! Come to Monahven!”
The earth ceased its shaking.