It was hard to tell if the pain in his head was from a blow or the fall. Azaryne could still taste the bitter flavor of sleeping magic on his tongue, but it was impossible to determine the source.
Taking inventory of his body, he realized that his hands were carefully bound together by thick rope. There was barely enough room to keep from stopping circulation, and certainly no opportunity to wriggle free. His cheek was pressed against a cold, musty smelling surface. As his vision came into focus, he realized he was lying on a cobbled stone floor.
Memories swam through his mind groggily as he fought to remember where he was- or at least where he had been the last time he was conscious. He could hear a girl's voice… The clashing of steel…
"Oh, come on Meril!" Eralane shouted.
She dropped her sword arm in frustration and shook her head, pulling more strands of hair from her disheveled braid. Merilius's face was pale and sweaty, and Azaryne wondered for a moment if he might be about to retch.
"Take it easy." He said to Eralane, stepping away from his own archery target and toward the sparring pair. "This is his first real training session. Don't you remember when you were 15?"
"Az, how is he going to learn to fight if he can't even see an opportunity when it dances in front of him?" Eralane demanded. "I could put down my weapon and stand here with my arms stretched out and he still wouldn't hit me."
Azaryne watched as Meril's complexion somehow went even paler than it had been as his sister attempted to pantomime her suggested situation.
Az put down his longbow and unstrapped his quiver, setting them carefully to the side before moving to the weapon rack and picking up a long blunted sword. He shooed his sister away with a wave of his hand and stepped into the rope circle that had been laid into the dirt.
He slid his feet into a comfortable fighting stance and presented his weapon to the terrified boy before him.
"It's..." He started, thoughtfully, looking at the rounded point of his blade. Meril shook silently in front of him, his already wide red eyes stretching open even further, as though convinced that in this moment he was about to die.
"Imagine it's a game of tag." Az said finally. He stepped forward in a slow, fluid motion and tapped his brother on the side. "But with longer arms."
A smile rose to Azaryne's lips as he watched Meril's face soften slightly, and heard Eralane scoffing loudly from behind them.
"So now, you're It. But, it doesn't count if you only hit my sword. So try to tag part of my body, alright?"
Meril nodded, shakily raising his own sword and looking over Az with darting eyes.
Azaryne groaned, screwing his eyes shut. He attempted to pull his head up off of the ground, but only managed to inch forward toward the thick metal bars that lined what must have been his cage.
The sound of footsteps echoed through a stone walled corridor. It was then that he realized that even within the cage he was not alone. There were other bodies, bound as he was but far more alert, leaning against bars, each other…
He did not recognize any of the faces that he saw. Judging by their clothing, they were mostly commoners and servants, and a man in House Telvanni robes. There were a few Argonian slaves, and even children.
He could only assume that he must be the latest addition to whatever twisted gathering they were assembled for.
When Meril stepped forward to land his blow, Az did not stand still. Instead, he moved very slowly and exaggeratedly, as though moving through water, to evade the attack. The older boy brought up his own weapon to parry the blow and stepped gracefully to the side, nodding encouragingly.
He stepped forward and tried again and again, each movement faster than the last; slashing in broad arcs which Az would parry with a swift tap of his own weapon, or thrusting timidly as Az easily evaded. After a few minutes, they were almost moving at full speed, with short bursts of laughter filling the air just as often as the clashing of steel.
"See, you're doing so well!" Az chuckled to the boy as he sidestepped another forceful swing. "Keep this up and you'll be a better fighter than even father."
Merilius fought to keep from snorting loudly as he swung his sword again.
"Sure." He replied. "And I suppose you'll be a dance instructor, with all your fancy footwork."
Az's expression suddenly turned deathly serious, and Meril's movements stopped in their tracks. However, instead of swinging to hit back, Azaryne sunk into a regal bow.
"My dear serjo, may I have this dance?" He said, articulating each word with every bit of formality that he could muster with a straight face.
After a brief moment they both burst into laughter so loud and so mirthful that Az fully buckled to his knees, allowing Meril to step forward and tap him on the chest.
"And now, you're It." Meril said, fighting to catch his breath.
"Yes, I am." Az responded. He wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and moved to stand and brush himself off.
However, he suddenly felt a firm grip on his shoulder, and he knew immediately from the size of the palm whose hand it was.
As the footsteps grew nearer, he saw shadows emerging from the halls. Black robed figures, led by an Altmer with long white hair and a pointed circlet and a staff carved of wood as black as night.
Black cloaked mages..?
Necromancers?
But that didn't make sense.
Unless… No.
Azaryne coughed loudly and sprung to attention, causing Merilius to drop his weapon to do the same.
"Playing games? On your brother's first day training with the others? Are you really that foolish?"
Azaryne's mouth opened and closed again like a fish, searching for words to defend himself. However, before he could come up with a good explanation, Meril had already begun.
"Father, he was helping me!" Meril blurted out from behind him. Az closed his eyes in regret.
Now he had truly done it.
"You call this helping, Azaryne?" His father demanded. "Do you think that in the heat of battle, an enemy will just 'play tag'? Do you think that at war-"
"But we aren't at war!" Azaryne protested.
"Not right now, we aren't, but we could be at any time! We could be invaded, or there could be an uprising. It's happened before, and it's my duty as the leader of House Redoran to ensure that our troops are ready for battle whenever that might happen. And it is your duty to be learning what you can from me, because one day this will be your duty. That is the honor and privilege of your noble birth, but instead of doing what is right, you choose to do what is easiest!"
Az suddenly found the strength to sit up, wrestling himself upright despite the bonds at his wrists and ankles. As the mages approached the cage, Az heard one of the children behind him whimper. He instinctively looked around for a blade- a bow- a club- anything that might be able to be turned into a weapon. His own swords were gone from his side, leaving him hopelessly vulnerable even after all of his military training.
One of the mages carried an urn filled to the brim with something shimmering and purple. Azaryne thought he recognized the clinking of the animus crystals they used at the fort to power enchanted weapons.
He folded his arms and looked away from his father's indignant scowl. There was nothing that he could do to protest. Regardless of his intentions, he hadn't followed the exact rules, and was therefore in the wrong. Despite his lack of response, his father began speaking again, further drilling home his disappointment.
"There are many of your kinsmen who have worked hard to earn what you were gifted by blood, and you continue to disrespect that." He raised a hand, quoting from their own house words, "Life is hard, and events must be judged, endured, and reflected upon with due care and earnestness. A light-"
"-careless life is not worth living."
Azaryne froze as he realized he had been muttering under his breath. His father's face grew dark and Az watched as his jaw tightened so furiously that Azaryne thought the older man might burst a blood vessel.
"You are not a child anymore, Azaryne. And I expect you to stop behaving as such."
Azaryne swallowed hard, fighting to keep himself steady on his feet as the back of his throat began to burn. His father, seeming to understand his surrender, raised a hand to his own forehead and after a moment, quietly spoke.
"I am sending you to Mournhold." He said.
"Ready the sacrifices." Their leader spoke evenly.
Az couldn't contain a grunt of protest. His father, however, ignored him.
The white haired mer leaned forward, eyes alight with greed as he peered through the bars.
"You will stay at the Redoran kinhouse and do some work there for the Tribunal. Maybe that will put some sense into you. Go home and pack your things."
Az closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, determined not to give in to terror. He squared his shoulders defiantly, forcing his face blank and willed himself to meet the eyes of his captors. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear.
"From tonight on," The necromancer said slowly, "your souls belong to Molag Bal."
⁂
It was all Az could do to scowl angrily at the ground, refusing to meet his father's eye. He bitterly registered that Meril, behind him, was quaking like a leaf once again. Eralane simply stared at him, her face fighting between a silent "I'm sorry" and "I told you so".
As his father marched back to the other troops, he beckoned behind him for Meril and Eralane to follow. Meril took a small step forward before looking pleadingly into his older brother's eyes.
"I'm sorry." he mouthed.
Az shook his head in answer, trying his best to give a reassuring smile.
"I'll miss you." Meril whispered, now backing slowly toward the path his father was leading.
"I won't be far." Az whispered back, now fighting back tears. "You can come visit. I won't be gone long. I'll see you again soon."
Eralane shepherded Meril onward with a final sigh and shrug.
"Try not to cause too much trouble." She muttered, making sure her father was out of earshot. "I want Almsivi to trust me when I get there, not think of you and your ridiculous exploits."
She punched him teasingly in the arm before raising two fingers to laxly to her forehead in a half hearted salute. The tension broke within him and he let out a genuine chuckle.
"Thanks." he said sarcastically.
"Any time." Era replied, and with that she turned on her heel and fell into step behind Meril.
Azaryne folded his arms and sighed. He could take a short walk before packing his things, he decided. It wasn't as though he would be able to ready his horse for Mournhold until morning either way.
As he made his way down the bank of the inlet, he could hear a familiar trotting footfall behind him.
"Blackjack!" He called.
He turned to see the mutt bounding up behind him, tongue lolling out as he panted in the humid summer air. Together, they walked along the water's edge until they reached a small shelter.
After dropping his pack and bow gently on the ground, Azaryne pulled the old fishing tarp from atop a pile of blankets and flopped down dramatically. He stared at the crudely made awning above, frowning absently as he mulled through the day's events in his mind. Blackjack, however, seized the opportunity to lope forward and begin licking Azaryne's face. He, in turn, sat bolt upright, laughing as he fought to push the dog away.
"Okay, okay!" Az shouted "Stop, stop, stop. I get it. No more moping."
Blackjack responded by settling down on his hind legs, an almost satisfied expression on his face. He quirked his head to one side as the boy leaned back against a woven basket to face him.
"They're sending me to Mournhold." He explained quietly to the dog. "Well, he is. My father. He wants me to learn a lesson in responsibility or gravity or something equally stupid… He doesn't get it. If he'd just show Meril a little patience, he'd be a great fighter. He just cracks under pressure. You'd think he'd notice this by now, but no…"
He sighed heavily and picked up a smooth stone from beside him, turning it over in his hands.
"I never really wanted to be a soldier. I'm just not cut out for it, I think." He said quietly.
A moment passed in which he had to forcibly stop himself from dwelling too deeply on the subject before he earned himself more slobbery pick-me-up kisses.
"That means I won't be here to feed you for a while," He started again with forced brightness, " so you'll have to learn to hunt your own guar. If muthsera Moreleth finds you sniffing around their trash again, he'll probably start poisoning it, and I don't need you getting hurt while I'm away, alright?"
Blackjack lay his head down on the boy's leg in response and heaved a sigh as Az scratched behind the mutt's ears.
"Maybe this will all work out alright." Azaryne said hopefully. "I'll get to do a bit of travelling, strike out on my own… Maybe I'll even make a decent first impression for Eralane. You know how she's always wanted to be an Ordinator. It won't be so bad, I'm just being bitter."
With a flick of his wrist, he skipped the stone across the water of the bay, counting until with a final splash it sank. Silence had set in as the sun lowered on the horizon, and as Azaryne watched the lanterns of the fortress light up one by one, he knew he needed to start heading home.
He spent a brief moment tidying the small shelter he had created, took down the few strips of half-dried meat that hung on the drying rack, and, tossing them to Blackjack, made his way back around the shore.
The tide had come back in, causing the path he had originally walked to become quite narrow, and so Blackjack trotted along behind him, single file.
It wasn't long, however, before he heard other footsteps, and those footsteps caused a rumbling growl from the dog behind him.
Azaryne turned to see dark figures moving through the shadows.
His heart skipped a beat. It wasn't dark enough yet for them to blend in so thoroughly without magical aid. But who might be using stealth magic at dusk? Were they bandits?
He quickened his pace and fought to keep his eyes straight ahead. If he could make it back to the fortress before they were able to get close, he thought, they might move on to some other passerby. But if he were to start sprinting, they might draw weapons and give chase.
He heard Blackjack stop behind him, growling all the more fiercely.
"C'mon." Az whispered sharply. "Blackjack, let's go."
But Blackjack stayed. The figures were growing closer. Too close now to hope to get away, so instead Az drew his bow and nocked an arrow, aiming in their vague direction. Even if he couldn't see precisely where they were, if there were multiple of them, he might have a chance to hit one. Or at the very least, it was a decent bluff of a threat.
His breathing quickened as the figures grew closer, but pinpricks on the back of his neck told him that there was something behind as well.
He felt something blunt hit him squarely between the shoulders, and he turned in time to see a black hood over a fair skinned face just before the wind left his lungs and his vision went black.
⁂
That was right. He had been heading back home to pack his things and then…
The necromancers left him no time for further thought. He found himself being roughly grabbed by either arm and instinctively elbowed his captors. The Altmer strutted to the front of the sea of black cloaks and languidly lit the candles that lined the walls.
"My servants." He began, pausing over a candle. "Tonight, we begin preparations for the remaking of our world. Soon, I will possess the key to breaking the veil between this realm and the realm of our great and powerful master. Those who remain valuable will be granted power. Those who do not, will be put to other uses."
Azaryne was being dragged forward now, despite his attempts to resist. He knew it would do little good. He was surrounded, outnumbered, and unarmed. But, still, he would not give himself up without a fight.
His futile struggling, however, drew only murmurs of laughter from the necromancers in the crowd, and soon he found himself detained not only physically, but magically. A wave of a hand from the Altmer in charge stopped his movements immediately. His limbs felt as though they had been tied down to steel weights. No matter how he tried, he could no longer budge an inch.
The Altmer looked at him with bored amusement before turning to once again address his audience.
"With every soul we capture and take to Coldharbour, its connection to Nirn grows stronger. Once the veil is torn, Molag Bal will already have what he needs to begin merging our worlds together. After that, it is only a matter of time…"
With that, he was laid out on the stone altar lined with candles. His heart pounded in his chest, every part of him screaming at him to run, to fight, to scream for help, but even his voice remained resolutely muted. The ropes that had bound him were cut and his arms placed at his side without his permission. His throat burned hot as the Altmer waved his hand once more and he felt a cold tingling in his chest attaching itself to something deep within him.
"God of Schemes! Lord of Brutality! Father of Vampires!" The Altmer cried out. "We offer these victims to become your slaves! We spill their blood and give you their souls so that you may begin to tether our worlds!"
He could not move. He could not even close his eyes or brace for what was to come. The magic held him captive as a silent witness to his own death. The cold feeling in his chest was lifting.
"Through the power of innocent blood, we ask that Coldharbour remake Nirn in its own image!"
There was a flash of the knife in the candlelight, a burst of pain, emptiness… and then nothing.