Taken away from his home at a young age, the Reachman, then only little older than a child, was forced into a live of service to Breton nobles. For years did he toil and endure the hardships of slavery at the cruel hands of his masters. As fortune would have it, the selfish endeavours of a certain Daggerfall baron took the Reachman far from the eyes of his master to the Bosmer homeland of Valenwood where he would cross paths with the most unlikely assortment of individuals…
- Excerpt from The Reachman -
1
22 Frostfall 3E422, Thirty miles outside of Silvenar, Valenwood
The air was uncomfortably humid and every breath was taken with concerted effort. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead into his eyes. The salty liquid made them sting. Droplets of rainwater ran slowly across his lips to the corners of his mouth. His face was completely soaked and it felt as if a thousand insects were crawling all over him. He knew that slight movements would probably not compromise his position, but he preferred not to make the mistake of growing complacent and didn't scratch away his itch, or wipe away the sting. Instead he retreated to the inner sanctity of deep thought whisking himself away to open plains of tall grass. Cool dry air whirled around him and the grass swayed in all directions. The beating wings of birds complimented the sound of a family of deer racing across the ground.
Dayan opened his eyes. The stinging returned, the itching intensified, and he realized the pitter-patter of deer feet were in fact small stones being thrown at him. The Redguard cocked his head sharply to the right, ascending his gaze upwards to a large twisting branch in a nearby tree. Dayan had to squint to find his spotter. The Bosmer certainly were masters of camouflage. Elgamil, Dayan's spotter, removed her gloves revealing her unnaturally bright skin easily spotted amongst the overwhelming green and brown colours which dominated Valenwood's undisturbed forests. Dayan concentrated on interpreting Elgamil's message relayed through a pre-arranged system of hand signals: Two fingers pointing to the eyes, five fingers and two raised arms; four fingers, a closed fist and a wave-like motion; five fingers, a closed fist, and crossed arms. She sees fifty troops on foot, five carriages and fourty ships. Wait, fourty ships?
From along the expected route, the only semi-paved road in the immediate area leading from Cyrodiil province inland to Valenwood, he could hear the sound of the approaching caravan and apparently their naval escort. He distinguished the squeaking metal of rotating axles as they bumped and banged along the uneven road, over fallen trees and across mounds of leaves and other vegetation. Fifty on foot, only about thirty armed, three covered carriages, two buggy carts loaded with goods, and four platoons of mounted cavalry. Where the heck did Elgamil get ships from? Dayan surmised that either he or Elgamil had forgotten the proper signal for horses.
Two Bosmer were leading the convoy, native guides hired for their knowledge of the land. Several feet behind them were their armed escorts marching drudgingly in military rank and file. I guess they weren't going for a stealthy transit. Their armour clanked with every step and from the look of their faces he could tell they had probably not rested since crossing the border. Tied to the rear of the carriages were a number of individuals, slaves, lashed together by the neck and walking in single file. The mounted soldiers trotted along in the back. Occasionally a horse would get startled and rile the surrounding animals up in a small frenzy before their riders calmed them back down. The canopy of the jungle was so immensely thick that the bright light of the sun was reduced to a mere glow. Steam rose from the ground swirling and bending with the wind, only seen when beams of light penetrated through the jungle canopy above.
Another one of the horses was startled as the shadow of a figure dashed across the trees from high above the convoy. This was the signal Dayan was waiting for. Moving methodically, he drew back on the drawstring of his bow and let loose an arrow into the neck of the lead cavalry soldier.
"Ambush! Ambush!" One of the guards yelled as more cavalrymen and infantry dropped to the ground dead or incapacitated.
The mounted soldiers reared on their horses, trotting in circles looking for the enemy to charge. He drew another arrow from his quiver and fired into a foot soldier's chest. In his periphery he saw a blur of brown and gold move swiftly from a high branch down upon the confused foot soldiers. Three infantrymen were tossed into the air as if they were pieces of rubbish. Another was flung backwards into the first carriage, the wood splintered and crunched as the roof collapsed under the weight of his armoured body. The blur descended without hesitation upon the surviving infantry and they were mercilessly hacked to pieces. A barrage of arrows pelted the cavalrymen, horses and riders alike cried out in pain before falling dead to the ground.
When the fighting stopped, Dayan could see the slaves were untouched, but extremely frightened, seeking refuge underneath the carriages they were tied to.
"All clear!"
He stood up from his position behind a large tree and proceeded down towards the wreckage. Where the infantry platoon had been moments earlier, a Khajiit now stood smiling proudly.
"Good work Toji." Dayan commended.
The Khajiit sheathed his dual scimitars and began to rummage through the dead.
From all around the ambush site the rest of Dayan's Riders emerged. Dayan removed his blade and cut the tether binding the slaves.
"Don't worry you're free now." Dayan extended his hand to a Breton woman.
She was nervous at first, but soon understood the situation and wrapped her arms around the Redguard. A few moments passed before all of his team assembled before him. Dayan released his embrace from the Breton woman.
"Good work men! We did a good thing here today. Let's get these poor souls back home!"
"Let's get these poor souls back home? What kind of sap do you take me for?"
"You don't believe me?"
"Not on your hundred year old ass."
"One hundred and two, but thanks for the compliment."
The old Dunmer smiled, pleased with the exceptional observational skills the young author possessed.
"Why don't you believe me?" She asked.
"Please! That's the crap you'd expect to hear in a…storybook! The heroic Redguard leads a band of righteous warriors in a flawless ambush to save a couple of slaves? Doubtful."
"You don't think there are good people in the world Mister Finn?"
"Yes there are people like that, but I get the feeling that Dayan, did I get his name right? Dayan was not one of them. And neither were you."
It was provocative and perhaps impolite, but after years of conducting investigations, poking and prodding into the annals of history, Sean discovered the only way to uncover the truth was to be a bit abrasive at times.
"Harsh …but true."The Dunmer faced away from Sean.
"Can you please just level with me? I'm not here to judge you."
"Very well Mister Finn."